3
The Dark Palace's great hall held an impossible stillness, broken only by the steady rhythm of footsteps against stone. Lord Voldemort stood before the towering windows, his reflection a dark silhouette against the grey morning light. Behind him, Antonin Dolohov waited in practiced silence.
"A month," Voldemort said finally, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had brought the wizarding world to its knees. "And what do we know of our guest at Malfoy Manor?"
Antonin stepped forward. "She has settled well. Narcissa reports she is... agreeable. Quiet. She spends her days in their gardens or library, causing no disturbance."
"Agreeable," Voldemort repeated the word, testing it. "And yet Lucius sends only the barest reports. One might think he wishes to keep her hidden." He turned from the window, his pale features cast in shadow. "What secrets do the Malfoys guard, I wonder?"
"They claim only to be ensuring her proper preparation for your court, my Lord."
"Do they?" Voldemort's lips curved into the ghost of a smile. "How... conscientious of them." He moved to his chair, each step measured and deliberate. "I find myself curious about this carefully sheltered bride. This pure-blood jewel Lucius was so insistent would suit our purpose."
He settled into his seat, fingers trailing over the ancient wood. "Send word to Malfoy Manor. I will arrive in three days' time to see this paragon for myself." His red eyes fixed on Antonin with terrible intensity. "Let us discover what manner of flower they've cultivated in my absence."
The words hung in the air like frost, and in that moment, the fire in the great hearth seemed to dim, as if sharing in some private knowledge of what was to come.
The autumn morning brought with it a peculiar tension to Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa stood in the drawing room, their postures rigid as they awaited their master's arrival. They had arranged for Alice to spend the morning in the conservatory, her usual haven among the rare magical plants that fascinated her so.
A shift in the air announced his presence before he materialized. Lord Voldemort appeared without ceremony, his tall figure commanding the space instantly. His dark robes seemed to absorb the morning light that streamed through the windows.
"My Lord," Lucius bowed deeply, Narcissa following suit with a graceful curtsy. "We are honoured—"
"Where is she?" Voldemort's question cut through the formalities like a blade.
"The conservatory, my Lord," Narcissa answered, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "She tends to the night-blooming cereus. They've taken well to her care."
A slight tilt of Voldemort's head acknowledged this information. "Lead me to where I might observe her. Unseen."
They moved through the manor's corridors in silence, reaching a side door to the the glass-domed conservatory. Through the crystal-clear panels, Alice was visible among the exotic foliage, her simple grey dress a stark contrast to the vibrant greenery surrounding her.
Voldemort stood motionless, watching. The girl moved with quiet purpose between the plants, her movements gentle but sure. She paused before a particularly delicate bloom, carefully measuring water into its soil. There was something arresting about her careful attention, her complete absorption in her task.
"She has no idea what she tends to, does she?" Voldemort's voice was barely above a whisper.
"My Lord?" Lucius ventured.
"That particular specimen. It's an exceptionally rare variant of Mortis Orchidius. One drop of its nectar can stop a heart. Yet she handles it with such... innocence." A strange expression crossed his face, gone before it could be properly read. "How fitting."
Below, unaware of her observers, Alice began to hum softly to herself, an old melody that drifted through the air like a ghost of simpler times. Voldemort knew the tune - some old inane folk ballad that the kids would sing in his days when he was Tom. Rueben, Rueben, I’ve been thinking… what a grand world this would be…The sound seemed to hang in the air between them, a reminder of something long forgotten.
At Voldemort’s imperceivable nod, Lucius stepped forward to call for Alice’s attention, but something in Narcissa made her move first. She reached up to quietly stop Lucius, calling forth. “Alice, darling, come meet our guest.”
Alice looked up, a smile on her face as she caught sight of them in the shadows and rose, her movements almost fluid, but for her dainty little steps that bounced her ponytail gently in the sun. Sweeping into an elegant curtsy, her innocent face turned to Voldemort, smiling.
“Alice, this is…” Narcissa left the introduction hanging, lies didn’t come naturally to her elegant nature.
“Tom,” Voldemort filled in, his cold gaze roving over her, his voice low and smooth. Narcissa's face betrayed nothing as she gestured to the manor's sprawling grounds. "Alice, perhaps you could show Tom the gardens? You've become quite familiar with them this past month."
Alice brightened at the suggestion, her natural shyness temporarily forgotten in her enthusiasm for the gardens she'd come to love. "Of course, I'd be happy to." She turned to Tom with an earnest smile. "They're quite beautiful this time of year. The autumn roses are just beginning to bloom."
Narcissa watched as Alice led the Dark Lord down the conservatory steps, her heart thundering beneath her composed exterior. The girl moved with unconscious grace, pointing out various plants with quiet animation, while beside her walked the most dangerous wizard in Britain, his tall figure a dark shadow next to her light one.
"The white roses are my favorites," Alice confided as they disappeared around a hedge, her soft voice carrying back to where the Malfoys stood frozen. "Though I suppose that's rather traditional of me..."
Lucius gripped the windowsill, his knuckles white. In their garden, the most feared dark wizard of their time followed their young ward, listening with unreadable patience as she shared her simple pleasures, utterly unaware of whom she was truly guiding through the autumn blooms.
Voldemort's carefully composed features betrayed nothing of the shock that coursed through him at the sight of her youth, nor the cold fury that rose within him at Lucius's deception. The girl before him was barely more than a child, sixteen, perhaps seventeen at most. He filed away this transgression for later consideration, his rage at both Lucius and the Minister a quiet, dangerous thing.
"The gardens truly are lovely this time of year," Alice said, her voice carrying a gentle warmth that seemed at odds with the autumn chill. Then, with a natural innocence that would have stopped the hearts of anyone who knew Tom's true identity, she reached out and took his hand in her small one. "Come, I'll show you my favourite spots."
Her fingers were warm against his cold ones, delicate as a bird's wing. For a moment, he found himself struck motionless by the casual touch – when was the last time someone had reached for him without fear? Behind them, he could sense Narcissa's barely concealed horror at the gesture, but Alice was already leading him down the garden path, completely unaware of the profound effect of her simple action.
"The white roses are just past here," she continued, her other hand lifting her skirts slightly to navigate the stone steps. Then, with a hint of mischief in her voice, "Though I must admit, I've grown rather fond of the black dahlias. They're delightfully dramatic, don't you think? Like flowers trying very hard to be mysterious."
Her observation carried just enough gentle teasing to be notable, and Voldemort found himself studying her with increasing curiosity. Her small hand remained clasped in his as she led him through the winding paths, her commentary now peppered with surprisingly astute observations wrapped in innocent charm.
"And these," she said, pausing before a cluster of deep purple blooms, "are quite fascinating. The books in the library say they're incredibly powerful in certain potions." She glanced up at him, her eyes bright with intelligence rather than mere enthusiasm. "Though I suspect the most interesting bits about them are in the books I'm not allowed to read yet."
Now alone with Alice in the gardens, Voldemort found himself studying her with a peculiar fascination. There was something unexpectedly engaging about her manner – the way she balanced innocent enthusiasm with flashes of quiet wit. She was utterly unlike the sycophants and servants who surrounded him – there was no desperate calculation in her words, just an artful blend of honesty and gentle daring.
"And these," she said, pausing before a cluster of deep purple blooms, "I've been reading about them in the library. They're meant to be quite powerful in certain potions, though I'm afraid I don't know much about that yet." She glanced up at him, a slight flush colouring her cheeks. "I suppose that sounds rather foolish to you."
"On the contrary," he replied, his voice measured. "Knowledge should be pursued, regardless of its source." He found himself oddly entertained by her earnest pursuit of understanding, even as he noted how thoroughly unprepared she was for the role that awaited her. The Minister would pay dearly for this - he would not be made a fool of, but for now... for now, he would indulge this strange interlude.
"I'm glad you think so," she said, settling onto a nearby bench with an easy grace. Her legs swung slightly as she sat, a girlish gesture that somehow made her moments of wit even more intriguing.
Tom settled beside her, maintaining a careful distance that Alice seemed completely untroubled by as she turned toward him with bright curiosity.
"Have you traveled far to visit?" she asked, settling on the bench with an easy grace that made him wonder if her previous shyness had been entirely genuine. "The Malfoys don't receive many guests, at least not ones they let me meet."
A shadow of amusement crossed his features. "I have several properties," he replied smoothly. "Though my primary residence is quite different from Malfoy Manor."
"Oh?" Alice leaned forward slightly, something knowing in her smile. "Let me guess – darker, more austere, probably terribly impressive but in desperate need of a garden?" When his eyebrow raised slightly at her accuracy, she laughed – a silver bell sound that carried no fear. "The Malfoys always end up describing the same look when they talk about important magical places. All grandeur, no flowers."
"You seem very sure of yourself," he observed, caught between amusement and something darker.
"Not at all," she replied with disarming honesty. "But I've found that sometimes, when you're very unsure, the best thing to do is to be brave anyway." She tilted her head, studying him with unexpected directness. "Besides, you don't strike me as someone who suffers fools gladly. So either you'll tell me if I'm being foolish, or you're finding me entertaining enough to humor.”
"Indeed," Voldemort replied, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You equate a lack of fear with entertainment. Tell me, little flower, do you truly believe yourself capable of flourishing in any environment?"
"Every place can bloom," she responded with quiet conviction, "if given the chance." She glanced at the garden around them, at the roses climbing the ancient walls. "Even the most unlikely spots can nurture beauty."
Voldemort felt something stir within him – not quite emotion, but a kind of intellectual intrigue. Here was this slip of a girl, speaking of transformation and beauty with such artless wisdom, utterly unaware that she sat beside the darkest wizard of the age. The irony was... delicious.
"And is that what you intend to do here at Malfoy Manor?" he asked, his voice low and measured. "Transform it?"
Alice's cheeks colored slightly. "Oh, no, I wouldn't presume... I only meant..." She gathered her thoughts, then continued with surprising steadiness, "I only meant that sometimes things aren't what they first appear to be. Even the deadly nightshade has healing properties, if you know how to use it properly."
He almost smiled then – almost.
Alice's smile wavered, and she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "I suppose... since you're here visiting, you might already know," she began, her voice thoughtful. "I'm to be married to a great magical lord. The Minister was rather vague about him, just that it was terribly important. For everyone." She met Tom's gaze briefly, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "I can't help but wonder if there's been some mistake. I'm hardly...remarkable. Why me?"
Voldemort observed her with cold amusement, feeling a flicker of contempt for her youthful uncertainty. This great magical lord she spoke of – himself – had conquered death, ruled the wizarding world. And here she sat, fretting about her perceived inadequacies, as if her feelings held any weight in his grand design.
"I know I'm younger than most would expect," she continued, tilting her chin up slightly, "but I assure you, I learn quickly. The Malfoys can attest to that." She tapped a finger lightly on her skirt, more a gesture of consideration than nerves. "I hope I'll be enough, given everything."
He said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them. Her innocence was almost offensive in its completeness - yet something in her simple determination to "try her best" struck him as peculiarly entertaining, like watching a mouse declare its intention to befriend a snake. But was that not what had intrigued him in the first place? A blank canvas. And so she was.
"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked, her voice dropping conspiratorially. When he nodded, she continued, "Everyone keeps treating this arranged marriage like I'm being led to execution. The Minister, the Malfoys – they all tiptoe around it." Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. "But I think they're underestimating both me and this mysterious lord of theirs."
"Oh?" Voldemort found himself genuinely curious about her reasoning.
"Well, anyone powerful enough to arrange all this must be rather intelligent, don't you think? And intelligent people rarely want mindless devotion. It's terribly boring." She glanced at him sideways, a hint of challenge in her smile. "I suspect what they really want is someone interesting to talk to."
The sheer audacity of her assessment – so close to truth yet wrapped in such innocent presentation – almost made him laugh. Almost.
"A dangerous assumption," he warned softly.
"Perhaps," she agreed cheerfully. "But life seems full of those lately. I might as well make the interesting ones."
The irony of his words tasted sweet on his tongue, like poison masked with honey. Let her cling to her pitiful illusions of autonomy – they would make the eventual breaking all the more satisfying.
As they made their way back to the manor, Alice turned to him with a warm smile that held just a hint of that earlier mischief. "Will you stay for dinner? The Malfoys set a lovely table, and I'd hate to think I've used up all my interesting observations for the day."
"I'm afraid not," he replied coolly, though with a trace of amusement he hadn't intended. "I have matters of importance to attend to."
Inside, Narcissa and Lucius awaited them, their faces carefully composed masks. Alice curtsied gracefully to Tom, her eyes bright with that same mix of innocence and subtle daring that had marked their entire interaction. "Thank you for the pleasant afternoon," she said, before excusing herself to prepare for dinner.
The moment she was gone, Voldemort's demeanor shifted entirely, the temperature in the room seeming to drop several degrees. "Narcissa," he said, his voice carrying an edge that made her spine stiffen, "arrange for her immediate transfer to the palace. Within the week."
"My Lord?" Narcissa's voice wavered slightly.
"I find myself... entertained by the prospect of having such an amusing little mouse to play with when matters of state grow tedious." His lips curved in a cruel smile. "She will serve as a pleasant diversion, if nothing else."
Turning to Lucius, his expression hardened. "As for you..." The words hung like ice in the air. "Your lack of thoroughness in vetting this situation – her age, her profound unpreparedness – is disappointing. However," he paused, watching Lucius's face drain of color, "I will grant you the opportunity to redeem yourself. See to it that the Minister understands the full scope of his... oversight. I trust you will be creative in expressing my displeasure."
Lucius bowed deeply, relief and dread warring in his expression. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."
"Oh, and Narcissa," Voldemort added as he prepared to depart, "do ensure the girl brings those books she's so fond of. It would be a shame to interrupt her... studies." The mockery in his voice made it clear exactly how little he thought of Alice's attempts at learning.
With that, he disappeared, leaving behind an atmosphere thick with unspoken horror at what was to come.