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His White Queen: A Prequel	By : jsu1660n Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 18950 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Harry Potter, neither the characters from the books or movies. I receive no profit from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
As you can see, this is the final chapter for 'His White Queen: A Prequel'. As of right now I am considering whether or not she should return to Hogwarts as Hermione or continue with the Dark Lord and their plans. Anyway, I just want to say that in spite of the few minor bumps in the road along the way, this has been an incredibly fun journey for me and I hope that you all enjoy this final chapter.

I do have plans to continue 'A Cruel Obsession' over FFN as well as 'His Cassandra'. I am also currently working on another Hermione story.

So, with that being said, on with the story. And for old times sake, feel free to review!

xoxo

princessNyxxx

She was more than human to me. She was a Fairy, a Sylph, I don't know what she was - anything that no one ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant. There was no pausing on the brink; no looking down, or looking back; I was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her.

- David Copperfield, Charles Dickens

Chapter 15

It was time for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Due to the awarding of points in the Second Task, Harry and Cedric would go inside the maze first followed by Viktor Krum and then Fleur Delacour. Hermione wondered exactly why Fleur was chosen to compete. She had done terrible in the first two tasks compared to the other Champions. The Beauxbatons Academy seemed more proficient in looks and manners rather than magical aptitude.

Hermione really didn't care who won the tournament. Her main concern was if Harry would make it unscathed after the night's events. She stood at the very top of the stands surrounded by Ginny, Ron, Neville and the twins. Professor Moody stood at the base of the stands, not exactly being inconspicuous in his watching as Ron questioned more than once why he seemed to be staring at her.

About an hour into the tournament, red sparks brightened the sky alerting the judges that someone was in trouble. Surprise, surprise, it was Fleur. She had been incapacitated and Hermione wondered which one of the Champions did it. She was betting against Viktor. He seemed the easiest to corrupt.

"Who do you think is going to win?" Ron asked her, obviously just trying to find an excuse to talk to her.

"I don't know. I doubt it will be Krum. He seems to be weaker, mentally I mean."

"Yeah, well my money is on Harry. Just look at how he was able to distract the dragon in the First Task. I won't even begin to describe how well he came through for me in the second."

Hermione gritted her teeth. Ever since Harry pulled Ron from the lake, he constantly sings his praises. She was surprised Harry could even walk with Ron's lips perpetually attached to his arse.

"Ron, shouldn't you be with Lavender?" Ginny said, saving Hermione from cursing the annoying git.

"No, she's spending time with Parvarti. She said that since we started dating she never has anytime for her friends," he shrugged.

Hermione rubbed at her eyes. Her vision started to get blurry. The noises around her, the cheering and talking grew muffled almost like she was underwater again.

"Hermione?" Ron said, sounding miles away. "Are you okay?"

"Ron?" she mumbled. She felt Ron catch her in his arms and the last thing she was Cedric appearing onto the field with the Triwizard Cup in his hands.

Barty grinned madly when the Diggory boy appeared with the cup. Phase One of the plan had went off without a hitch. The instant Diggory arrived, he ran for Dumbledore warning him that Harry was in trouble and that the Cup was a Portkey.

Barty quickly cast a protective spell on the Granger girl. Dumbledore met his eye, seconds away from pulling his wand.

"Not today, old man."

Barty slammed Moody's staff against the ground sending a seismic shockwave through the stands causing it to collapse. The students screamed falling down in the splintered wood before the professors could attempt to save them. He levitated Granger up before she could fall, quickly Accio'ing her to him. With the unconscious girl in his arms and the spectator stands in ruins with dozens of injured students and spectators, Barty shot the Dark Mark into the sky with a mad cackle and Apparated away.

It was time for Phase Two.

~…*…~

Hermione awoke on the damp ground. She was surrounded by a thick blanket of fog in what looked to be early morning just before sunrise. The last thing she remembered was watching the Third Task from the stands with Ron, Ginny, and Neville. She saw Cedric appear on the field with the Triwizard Cup in his hands looking frightened beyond belief.

In the distance, she could see someone moving. "Hello?" she called. She went for her wand, but it was not with her. She was alone and defenseless in what looked to be a cemetery.

"After all we have been through together, 'Mi," the familiar voice called through the fog. "Are wands really necessary?"

She followed the voice and found her standing before a marble tombstone, a single white rose in her hand, covered in a black cloak with the hood drawn.

"Meira?"

"I find it very discouraging in all that I have shown you, all that I have shared with you, you still doubt me. You doubt yourself."

"Why am I here?"

"Do you know how simple it would have been to just possess you once you acknowledged my presence?"

Hermione felt nervous. She recognized Meira's tone. It was the same tone she used whenever she had to hurt someone. "You couldn't possess me because you are not real."

She laughed softly, still with her back turned. "Or is it you who is not real?"

"I am real. I have a life! I have friends and a family! I am real!" But even in her proclamations, she started to feel the doubt, the second guessing, the what if's that she had ignored for months weigh heavily on her.

"You are real, 'Mi, because Dumbledore made it so," Meira said softly.

"That is a lie!" Hermione hissed

"Trusting Hermione. Intelligent Hermione. Loyal to the point of death Hermione." Meira carefully placed the rose on the tombstone and turned to face her. She pulled her hood back and Hermione looked away. She hated to see Meira because there really was not that great of a physical difference between them. "He needed someone to advise Harry. To balance him and accompany him whenever he decided to do something stupidly reckless. Ron Weasley was the perfect pick for a sidekick. Even with his abrasive personality and quick temper. He would be the favored companion over you, and as hurt as you would be, you would keep coming back for more like the perfect little masochist." Hermione shivered from the undisguised malice in her voice. "Until you eventually became the next Mrs. Weasley."

"That's not true. Dumbledore would never manipulate someone's life like that."

She laughed humorlessly. "He was the puppeteer and the three of you danced to his tune. Let me tell you a thing or two about Albus Dumbledore. He has a hero complex, if you will, as long as it is convenient for his needs. Half of the atrocities committed by Grindelwald could have been prevented were it not for Dumbledore's love affair with the man. And when he finally did 'defeat' Grindelwald, it was only so he could gain his secret weapon. Don't worry, you will learn more about that later."

"Whatever reasons Dumbledore had for doing what he did are his own."

"My, does he have this generation snowed! You are nothing to him, 'Mi. He only wants you around to keep Harry alive for whatever purpose Dumbledore feels he must serve. The second you step out of line – it's over! He would easily sacrifice you for the greater good."

"Lies!" she turned away only to be turned back around by Meira. "Let me out of here! I don't belong here!"

"You don't like it here? Join the club. This has been my home for the past thirteen years. Dumbledore trapped me here the night Tom lost his body."

"You're not…real."

"Really? As smart as you are 'Mi, did you really think that you dreamed up my life all on your own? I thought that I was the arrogant one."

"You're wrong. Somehow, our lives must have crossed. Someone cursed me and gave me your memories."

"Just keep grasping at those straws, 'Mi."

"You just want to take over my life so that you can help the Dark Lord kill Harry," she accused.

"Have you been paying attention at all? I never thought that killing Harry or Neville was the answer. And I still don't believe it has to end that way. But I promise you, as sure as I am standing here, if you resist and continue to allow us to be separated, Dumbledore will manipulate you, he will use you, and when it is all over, he will kill you and declare that it was the work of Death Eaters. That is his M.O."

"But if I let you out, then I won't exist anymore. I won't be Hermione."

"Dumbledore took the best parts of me. He cut out what he deemed bad and what was left was you. If we merge, you will still be you. That will never change."

Hermione swallowed heavily and finally asked the one question that had been plaguing her for months. "Who is Ciarán?"

Meira's gray eyes shimmered. "He was my son," she whispered.

She felt her heart sink with dread. "What happened to him?"

"Do you really want to know? Do you really want to see what your beloved Albus Dumbledore did to my baby?"

Hermione felt something painful clutch at her heart as her mind ran rampant with various scenarios. "Show me."

Hermione closed her eyes and felt Meira's cool fingertips press against her forehead. Immediately she was assaulted with memories. Beautiful, sweet, and devastating memories. She relived the memory of telling the Dark lord she was pregnant. Her heart pounded in her ears so loud that she barely heard his whispered reverences of "my heir." She relived the sensation of feeling the baby move inside her belly for the first time…the way the Dark Lord would always touch her belly to feel the baby kick and whisper things that she could not hear…she relived their debates over baby names before deciding on Ciarán Salazar or Eirene Merope…she relived the argument with Dumbledore…his demands that she leave her husband…him raising his wand at her…the fear that crippled her as she screamed in her head for Tom…the sickly bluish gray light leaving his wand and impacting her…the pain…the unacceptable knowledge of feeling her baby die inside her…Tom Apparating with his followers too late…the metallic smell of blood in the air as she thrashed on their bed…the unnatural sensation of the baby's body being expelled from her womb…the stifling silence that should have been filled with their baby's first cry… oh, the silence!...awaking to Tom's trembling shoulders as he mourned the loss of their son…the loss of any child between them…

And then it was over. The onslaught of memories stopped and Hermione lay on the ground, her arms wrapped around her middle as she sobbed brokenly. "My baby. He took my baby!"

Meira kneeled beside her brushing Hermione's hair out of her face as tears clouded her own eyes. "I know, I know."

"This hurts so much," she whimpered. "Ciarán, my little boy." She let Meira help her stand and clutched her chest. The pain and emptiness in her heart was like nothing she had ever experienced. "Why does this hurt so bad?"

"Because you are seeing and feeling everything as if it is happening for the first time. In a way I suppose it is."

"Make it stop," she begged. "I can't – I can't breathe. I need – I need…!"

"You need your husband."

Hermione's bottom lip trembled. "I need my husband," she admitted.

Meira smiled gently and held her arms open. "Then let's go to him."

Hermione hesitated for a moment. This would change everything. Her loyalties would shift. Her love for her friends could never measure up to her love for him. Could she do it? Should she do it? Turn her back on everyone who cared for her? Who supported her? Could she really trade one life for the next as casually as changing robes?

Everything she knew she would be giving up came to mind. Home cooked meals and family vacations with her parents. Visits to the Burrow. Molly Weasley nagging her to eat more because she was too thin. Reprimanding Fred and George for their pranks even though she was secretly impressed with their creativity. Arthur Weasley picking her brain about the latest Muggle device he discovered. Helping Neville in Potions when Snape's back was turned. Ron making her laugh when he was not being a total git. Sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room before the fireplace with her boys plotting to solve the latest mystery. Immediately, Harry's warm, green eyes flashed before her. His sweet smile and loving hugs. Could she live without them?

And then Harry's face was replaced with Tom's. Her lover. Her husband. The Dark Lord. She would be trading in her carefree, everyday life for the turmoil and strife that came with being the wife of the darkest wizard their world had ever seen. It would be so easy to say no and return to her life under the radar. Follow Harry blindly in whatever adventure they would undoubtedly land in. Even give Ron what he wants and marry him. Push out a bunch of bushy, red haired babies. And the only cost of that life was passion. Experiencing not happiness but contentment. No excitement. An unquenched thirst for a man who was her match intellectually and not afraid to be the dominant partner. They may never have children. It was painful but manageable.

Hermione glanced up at Meira who waited patiently with opened arms. Knowing there was nothing left to be said, Hermione took a deep breath and stepped forward into her waiting arms.

There was no turning back now.

~…*…~

While Hermione went through the process of merging with Meira, the Dark Lord had Apparated them to their bedroom in the Black Sea Manor and lowered her onto the bed. "Ava!" he called for their house elf.

"How may I serve you, master?" she bowed.

"Wash and dress your mistress and do not wake her."

"Yes, master."

"I take it tonight was a success then?" his portrait-Horcrux called.

"Mostly." The Dark Lord poured a glass of Firewhiskey and started to flip through Hermione's dream journal. Barty had taken the liberty of collecting some of her things before the tournament. "Potter escaped. Our wands connected in Priori Incantatem."

"Then this thing with Potter and Dumbledore will take longer than it should."

"So it would seem."

"I assume I am to remain here as your fail safe?"

"For now it would be for the best."

Ava left him alone once she had finished with Hermione. He watched her sleep anxious for her to awaken. There was a chance she would still be Hermione when she opened her eyes. Only when she stopped resisting would she become his Meira. As he waited, he allowed himself to drift back to the first night he met Meira Belikov.

Tom Riddle felt discontented. He was exceedingly handsome, currently the most intelligent student at school. He was steadily gaining more followers and was well on his way to becoming more powerful. Yet for all of his accomplishments, he felt as though there was something missing from his life.

From the time he was a small child he knew that he would grow to become powerful, more powerful than everyone else. He used the pain stemming from the loss of his mother and the neglect of his father to strengthen his resolve. He knew that love and relationships made people weak. It caused them to lose focus on what was really important – power.

Yet lately, he felt a chasm opening in his black heart. He was lonely. Of course, he would never be so foolish as to admit it aloud, but the last time he was in Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, his ancestor noticed the change in him.

"What troubles you, my son?" the founder spoke to his heir from his portrait.

Tom closed the Dark Arts text after reading the same page for the fifth time. "Nothing is wrong, milord."

"You seem distracted, Tom. What plagues you?"

"It's foolish, milord," he said, feeling slightly embarrassed that he was about to admit such an insignificant weakness to the wizard he admired the most above all others.

"Nonsense. Tell me what is wrong," he ordered.

"I am two years away from leaving Hogwarts. My thoughts should surround nothing but building my empire and finding some way to make contact with Gellert Grindelwald."

"But…?"

"But now I can't stop feeling…lonely."

Salazar Slytherin, perched on his throne, his basilisk resting at his feet, laughed uproariously further angering and humiliating his heir.

"That is what all of this Gryffindorish brooding is about? You know, to be the Heir of Slytherin, you really are a dramatic child."

Tom bit back a less than respectful rebuttal and crossed his arms clearly bothered. "I realize that it is completely foolish to entertain such feelings, milord—"

"Now, now, Tom, I was only teasing. You should know by now that every great ruler, every great wizard, needs a queen. You are no exception, my son."

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I don't need a queen, milord. Love is an emotion for the weak and only serves as a distraction. It is utterly useless."

"You have no idea how wrong you are, my son," he sighed. "But you are young yet. You will learn sooner or later that love can be the most powerful weapon a wizard can wield. I only hope that by the time you do, it won't be too late."

To say that his ancestor's declarations unnerved him would be an understatement. What could love possibly do to improve his situation? The fact that he was spending so much of his valuable time thinking about it now only further proved his point. Love was a useless emotion.

After dinner, Tom planned to hold a meeting with his Knights. For one thing, he had to change their name. Knights of Walpurgis? Really? What was he thinking? While the headmaster droned on with announcements, Tom boldly read over his book about Horcruxes as the highly suspicious book was glamoured to look like his Arithmancy text. He only tuned in to the headmaster's speech when he mentioned Dumbledore's niece.

Dumbledore's niece? Interesting. That man had been a thorn in Tom's side since he first set foot into the orphanage. How gratifying it would be to bring her over to his side.

Tom turned his head slightly and spoke lowly so that only the blond next to him would hear. "What do you say, Abraxas? Up for a special assignment?"

Abraxas Malfoy smirked, already deciphering Tom's silent order. "It would be my pleasure, milord."

"Please welcome, Meira Belikov."

All heads turned in the direction of the dramatically slow opening double doors of the hall. She walked slowly, not as though she were savoring all of the attention, but more like she was allowing everyone their chance to see her.

Her hair was long and like corn silk that carried down her back, resting just above her ample bum. Her nose was small and button like. Her lips were pouty and soft pink. She had high cheekbones and very becoming dimples when she smiled. Her teeth were stark white and perfectly straight. The white sweater-dress she wore clung to her body and hugged her heaving breasts invitingly. Her stomach was flat. Her legs were long and shapely. Her hips flared attractively. Her skin looked smooth and as rich as cream.

Finally, she reached the dais and perched herself atop the stool, crossing her legs. A sight that made nearly every boy in the hall drool and the girls huff enviously.

"As I said, it would be my pleasure," Abraxas said with a smirk as their housemates discussed the Russian beauty.

Tom glanced around the hall wearing his mask of polite indifference, but inwardly he seethed. The second the girl set foot into the hall, he had not been able to tear his eyes away from her. Several times, he caught himself staring at her face to will her to notice him. He wondered if the girl was a Veela or perhaps some other demoness sent to punish him for his nefarious dealings.

It didn't matter. She was probably just another stupid blonde. To make matters worse, she was related to Dumbledore. Surely, she would end up in Gryffindor or at the very least Huffle—

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat yelled out suddenly.

Well, that was a surprise. He just knew she would be in Gryffindor. From the faltering of his smile, Dumbledore seemed to hope for it as well. The girl stood gracefully and gave a small curtsy in response to the applause. The Ravenclaws were genuinely excited over their newest addition.

Despite Tom's renewed interest in Dumbledore's niece, he decided to ignore her for the time being. He thought of more positive things. His research on Horcruxes. The summer before his fifth year, he created one after exterminating his disgusting Muggle father. Performing the spell was easy, but actually splitting his soul was not as easy.

"The first time always hurts, Tom," Salazar said, when he explained what the ritual would entail.

The pain was excruciating, but it was worth it. Lord Voldemort was now immortal. Tom felt someone watching him, which was not all that unusual. Many people watched him, but he could literally feel the heaviness of this person's stare.

He looked up and across the hall, the Belikov girl's eyes were trained on him. Her cheeks tinged pink as she smiled shyly.

"Did you see that, Tom?" Abraxas whispered. "The girl noticed me!"

"Oh, yes, I saw." Out of all of his followers, Abraxas Malfoy was the most pompous. He believed as a result of his wealth, name, and good looks he was entitled to everything. Merely being in his presence was taxing for Tom at times, however, he could not deny that he was the most resourceful.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself after dinner."

"Yes, do not waste any time in—"

"Good evening, Tom," the head of their house Professor Slughorn said.

"Good evening, professor. How are you?" he asked politely.

"Oh, fine, fine, my boy. I wanted to ask a favor of you, Tom."

"Oh?"

"Yes, some of the other professors were discussing Miss Belikov. It seems that she scored highly on her entrance exams and is now taking all advanced courses."

"Advanced courses?" Orion Black murmured in barely concealed awe. "But she's only a fifth year!"

It did not surprise Tom that the girl was intelligent, but he didn't exactly expect her to take all advanced courses. Curious indeed.

"What is the favor, professor?" he desperately wished for the chattering man to be gone so that he may process this new bit of information in peace.

"I was hoping you might assist Miss Belikov with her transition. After all, you will have the same classes with her and as a Prefect it is your duty to set an example for the younger students. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for her. New surroundings, no one she knows except for her uncle," he sighed wistfully.

Tom inwardly rolled his eyes. "If I understand you correctly, professor, you would like me to…befriend her?"

"Precisely, and not just you, I expect everyone in my House to reach out to her. In these trying times, we need more House Unity. So, I will leave you to it."

He clasped Tom's shoulder, oblivious of Tom gritting his teeth from the unwanted contact. Although the man annoyed him immensely, Slughorn had unwittingly provided Tom and his followers the perfect excuse for interacting with and befriending Meira Belikov and the best part of it all – there was nothing Dumbledore could do about it.

When dinner was over, Tom noticed that the Belikov girl managed to insinuate herself into Aiden Lovegood's circle of friends. Tom, with Abraxas on his heels, made his way across the hall to introduce himself to the girl.

"…Quidditch practice. You should come and watch sometimes."

"That does sound like fun," he heard her say. Her voice didn't sound like that of the other girls. It was slightly accented and breathy without any conscious or unconscious effort. Her voice was that of complete innocence with just a touch of seduction. "Of course, I only ever rode a broom twice."

"Really? Do you not like flying?" Orphelia Goldstein questioned.

"One of my father's associates had a stable of magical creatures. Usually, I used one of them."

No one besides Tom seemed to notice the hesitant strain of her voice. Just as Abraxas opened his mouth to speak, the girl tensed and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes raked over Abraxas then settled on him. Her eyes were a startling shade of gray, icy, but not cold. They were wide and innocent. Tom was overcome with the sudden desire to protect the girl from any and everything.

"Hello, Miss Belikov," Abraxas said, giving Tom a chance to gather his bearings. "My name is Abraxas Malfoy."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," she said as he kissed her hand.

"Please, call me Abraxas."

"Abraxas," she smiled. Her eyes slid over to Tom. "And you are?"

"Tom Riddle, Slytherin Prefect." He could not understand why he felt the need to boast about his title to this girl.

The second their skins touched a sort of electric tingle thrummed over them. The girls' eyes brightened as she beamed at him. "Hello, Tom."

The Dark Lord blinked, coming out of his reveries. He had never felt more relieved than he had the moment Barty Apparated to the cemetery with the girl in his arms. Hermione. After months of hearing reports on her questionable behavior from Barty, and even seeing her through his portrait-Horcruxes eyes was maddening. It was as if she was so close, yet always just out of reach.

The look on Lucius' face when he saw her was priceless! Fortunately, the others had already been dismissed and Obliviating him was not a problem. He imagined Barty was walking a hole in the floor of Malfoy Manor awaiting news of his lady. Thirteen years later and he was still just as fond of her as he had been when they first met.

For some reason this caused his thoughts to shift to the Diggory boy. His mood quickly soured again. He knew from Barty and from his connection with her that she was no longer involved with the handsome Hufflepuff. Despite her pleasuring him the day she returned from their manor, which he quickly realized had been a ploy to demonstrate who held the power in their "relationship." He longed to watch the light leave the boy's eyes for daring to think that he could ever lay a hand on Lord Voldemort's wife!

His scowl deepened as he recalled Potter pulling the boy out of the way of Wormtail's Avada at the very last second.

"No matter what she says, it would kill Hermione if something happened to you. Now get to the cup and warn Dumbledore!"

The Dark Lord snarled slamming his cup on the table ignoring the waves of amusement he felt from his portrait-Horcrux. Neither boy should have made it out of the cemetery alive. But of course, everyone's favorite headmaster Apparated beside the boy at the last moment, took one look at him and Disapparated them both away before he could even lift his wand!

"No matter," he muttered, stalking over to the window to watch the crashing waves against the rocks. "Dumbledore's death will be slow and painful."

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

The Dark Lord spun around as the seductive, slightly accented voice called to him from the bed. Gray eyes stared back into his own. Her full pink lips smiled happily. "Meira." He practically flew over to the bed. His long, spidery fingers hesitantly touched her cheek. What he thought would be a small thrum as their flesh met turned out to be a full-blown compulsion to touch and possess her, to taste every inch of her skin. He struggled to contain himself. "What do you remember?"

She smiled knowingly. "I remember everything. My mother and grandmother. Escaping Grindelwald. Our time at Hogwarts. The marriage, Ciarán," her eyes unfocused briefly. "The traitor Regulus. You leaving to fulfill the prophecy. Feeling you hover just above the brink of death. Dumbledore. A part of me being locked away inside my own mind while the rest of me lived on as someone as else."

"Hermione Granger."

"Yes. I have all of my memories from that time as well."

"And how do you feel?" he asked, cupping her chin to peer into her eyes.

Her heart fluttered from the long awaited touch after years apart. "Aside from the obvious, I don't think I would object to one of my Mind Balm Draughts." Her eyes swept over him appraisingly. "Perhaps you should have one too."

"Are you doubting Wormtail's potions ability, dear?" he smirked, but nevertheless summoned the two bottles.

"Better safe than sorry. And don't think we will not discuss the risks you have taken in using Harry's blood for the ritual."

His eyes narrowed dangerously as she tipped back the bottle. "Still Harry, is it, dearest?"

Meira swallowed the potion feeling the cool sensation sweep through every inch of her. She already felt ten times better and the slight headache was gone. "Drink your potion, Tom," she said warily, as his temper threatened to burst. She could tell he didn't appreciate her still being so familiar with Harry Potter.

He swallowed the potion feeling the same cooling sensation travel through his body. His shoulders visibly sagged and he closed his eyes.

"Better?"

"Yes."

"I shudder to think how you would behave without it. We should definitely give this to the others when you free them from Azkaban."

"Already planning a mass breakout?" he smirked.

"Oh, as if it was not already on your mind."

"Actually," he said softly and Meira felt the immediate change in the air. "At this very moment there is only one thing on my mind, little wife."

"Really, and what pray tell is that, husband?"

He shifted on the bed, slowly slithering up her body. His red eyes glowed in the near darkness of the bedroom. He brushed the covers aside as he hovered above her. She wore only a thin black gown that failed to cover her bare, pulsing sex. She could feel his throbbing erection pressed against her stomach.

"Finally." His lips kissed the smooth skin of her throat. "Reclaiming." His hands cupped her thighs, sliding up to squeeze the soft globes of her ass as she writhed underneath him. "What is mine." He lowered the straps of her gown, his tongue laving the dip of her collarbone. "What has always been mine."

"Tom," she whispered, spreading her legs widely. "Make me yours again." She captured his earlobe between her lips and whispered the words that would make him lose control. "Replace his touch with yours. Make me scream your name."

His red eyes glowed eerily as he easily recalled her pleasure when the Hufflepuff took her the night of the Yule Ball. He growled as the last of his restraint snapped. Meira answered his growl with a taunting smirk and could only gasp when the Dark Lord tore at her gown until all that remained were mere tatters of fabric on the floor. His robes received the same treatment as her body flushed with the desire to be ravaged until she could hardly see straight. She needed him. Craved him.

But the Dark Lord, always a connoisseur of torture, refused to fill her hungry body despite needing it nearly as badly as she did. She found her hands bound to the bed as he kissed and licked his way down her body leaving love bites that stung pleasantly.

He spread her legs widely, gazing hungrily at her dripping, pulsing womanhood. She squirmed and started thrusting upwards as his hands held her hips in place.

"Stay still, Meira!" he ordered coldly.

She whimpered softly and with great effort, held herself perfectly still.

"So eager to please," he hissed, drawing his finger over her slit. He entered her scorching heat and his cock twitched as she gripped his finger tightly. Teasingly, he moved his finger around in excruciatingly slow circles. He watched her every reaction. Enjoying how she bit her lip to the point of bleeding to keep from thrusting as he drew his finger in and out of her. "So willing," he whispered. "So…desperate."

"Please," she begged when he withdrew his finger and parted her lips.

A delicate tremble ran through him as he gazed at her glistening pink flesh. He started hissing in Parseltongue and Meira screamed loudly when invisible fingers pinched and twisted her nipples. She felt hands all over her body. Caressing her face, her lips, her throat, slowing skimming down her sides and scratching lightly at her hips.

"Such the little slut you are, Meira." He stroked and teased her swollen clit leaving her teetering over the edge, but never allowing her the relief of coming. "Licking little Ginny Weasley's cunt while her mother and father slept down the hall. Seducing the Hufflepuff and letting him take your sweet little arse. You even gave yourself to my portrait-Horcrux. Riding his cock when you knew I would see it. Naughty, naughty, little witch," he clucked his tongue.

Meira panted. She felt as if she was on an overdose of pleasure. "It wasn't enough! I still wanted…needed…you, Tom. Just you." She closed her eyes and attempted to focus on her breathing to force herself to calm down.

And then she felt her husband's tongue on her clit. His forked tongue. She screamed and whimpered, but by some miracle managed to stay still. She could feel her nails biting into her palms as her hands turned to fists. His tongue squeezed her clit in a deliciously painful way that had her juices squirting out of her core and onto his chest.

But that momentary respite only seemed to increase her need to feel him inside her. Before she could beg, he sheathed himself inside her wet, pulsing heat with one deep thrust. Meira's orgasm hit her with an earth shattering force as her body arched from the mattress.

The Dark Lord stilled inside her, savoring the fill of her silken walls clamping down around him. It had been too long. Thirteen miserable years without a body while his wife remained lost and forced to live life as another. Unable to remember him and how much she loved him. Unable to remember their son and the revenge they vowed for him. He started thrusting into her over stimulated body and his thoughts took a darker turn. What if Wormtail had not returned to him? What if Barty was still in Azkaban? He would never have regained a body. Meira would never have come back to him. Would she have succumbed to that Hufflepuff? Married him? Carried his children?

Rage and blind panic consumed him. His thrusts were hard and swift. Skin slapping against skin echoed around their bedroom. Sounds of his cock plunging in and out of her wetness drowned out his harsh breathing. Desperately, the Dark Lord gazed at his wife as if expecting her to be snatched away from him at any moment.

Sensing his fear, Meira opened her eyes. He could hear her thoughts pushing into his mind just as desperately. I will never leave you again. No one will come between us. My husband. My lord. My love.

He released her from her bonds and hugged her body to him, kissing her deeply while never faltering in his thrusts.

My wife! He thought back to her. My Queen. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!

He was so deep in his own panic and silent fears that he didn't notice his body changing. Follicles of dark hair suddenly sprouted on his head. His face reshaped to his Tom Riddle features. Meira lifted her legs, shifting so that he was even deeper inside her, hitting that precious spot inside her again and again. He felt her walls tighten almost painfully around him as her nails left bleeding trails in the skin of his back.

"Mine!" he roared, coating her womb with long hot spurts of his seed.

"Yours!" she answered as her orgasm left her weak and boneless.

The Dark Lord collapsed on top of her, holding her tightly against him. Their hands intertwined and he noticed that their wedding bands reappeared, proof that their bond was renewed. Underneath him, Meira ran a hand through his soft, damp hair. "Welcome back, Tom," she whispered lovingly.

"It feels good to be back, Meira." He loathed the thought of separating their bodies. A part of him still worried that this all had been a dream or a surreal hallucination spurred by years of desolate isolation. He kissed her lips and her neck as she murmured assurances in his ear while running her fingers up and down the nape of his neck until his panicked tremors ceased.

Finally, Tom pulled out of her. They shared a hiss from the sensitivity and loss. His arms wrapped around her waist drawing her into him. He could never be close enough to her.

Knowing exactly why the Dark Lord reacted the way he did moments ago, feeling the same tremors of fear and panic herself, she hated to think it, let alone suggest it. But deep down Meira knew it had to be done. There was more to consider besides their separation anxieties.

She cleared her throat and licked her lips. "There is still one other thing that has to be addressed."

"And what is that?" he sounded so at ease and happy.

She turned to her husband and braced herself for the worse. "Although I adore Barty's theatrical tendencies, his abrupt departure and my subsequent 'kidnapping' has left us without eyes and ears inside of the castle." She watched his eyes narrow into slits and quickly pushed on. "Snape's loyalties remain ambiguous and, Ginny, who I agree is capable of fulfilling the job, does not have the necessary defenses to keep Dumbledore or any other proficient in Legilimency out of her mind. We need insurance to protect our interests." He regarded her silently. His face was an impenetrable mask. The only thing gave that away any outward appearances of rage was the ominous glow of his eyes. She didn't dare try to read his mind now. "We cannot afford for our hand to be tipped before the time is right."

"So, what are you saying?" he said in a deathly whisper that set off warning bells in her mind she decided to ignore in favor of her determination.

"We need a spy. Someone to get you close enough to monitor Harry and intercede whatever plans Dumbledore has for the three of us."

"And just who would that someone be?"

Meira straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin in a stubborn trait she had acquired over the last few years. "Me."

The Dark Lord grabbed her chin, drawing her so close that their noses touched. "Absolutely. Not."

From his place on the wall, the portrait-Horcrux of Tom watched the Dark Lord and his White Queen face off in silent stubbornness. Neither was willing to give the other even an inch of compromise. He chuckled softly, put his hands behind his head, and settled comfortably for the upcoming battle of wills.

Things were definitely about to get interesting in Black Sea Manor.
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His White Queen: A Prequel