7
Voldemort sat atop his obsidian throne, fingers drumming an idle rhythm on its arm as he listened to yet another report of breached wards at the Greengrass estate. The sacred twenty-eight houses were meant to be bastions of pure-blood supremacy, yet lately they seemed determined to test his patience. Some had grown too comfortable in their ancient powers, forgetting who truly ruled magical Britain now.
"My Lord," Yaxley continued, "the Greengrass patriarch claims ignorance of his daughter's activities, but our sources suggest—"
A knock interrupted the report. Antonin entered, followed by a stream of anxious pure-blood heads of house, all seeking audience. Their faces bore the particular strain of those who feared their carefully maintained positions might soon crumble.
Tedious. All of it was becoming increasingly tedious.
He had spent the morning fielding their transparent attempts to secure their families' futures, each one trying to prove their loyalty while subtly distancing themselves from the Greengrass scandal. Their words blurred together – an endless drone of politics and promises.
His thoughts drifted, unexpectedly, to simpler conversations about tapestries and transformation. To genuine wonder in green eyes, unmarred by political calculation. He caught himself again in this strange contemplation, irritation flaring at his own distraction.
"Enough," he cut through Yaxley's continuing report with a sharp gesture. "The Greengrass estate will serve as an example. Antonin, see to it."
As his followers bowed and retreated, Voldemort noticed Antonin's slight hesitation. "Something else?"
"Lady Waters," Antonin began carefully. "I was meant to show her the libraries today."
Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. "She'll survive the disappointment." Yet even as he said it, he found himself picturing her waiting in the entrance hall, that steady acceptance never wavering. "Though perhaps..." he added, almost against his will, "have one of the house elves inform her of the delay. No need to be uncivilized about it."
Antonin's face remained carefully neutral, but his eyes held a glimmer of something that made Voldemort's next words sharper than necessary. "Now go. I believe you have a house to discipline.
The castle had taken on a different air in recent days. Alice noticed it first in the way the house elves scurried more urgently through the halls, in the increased tempo of footsteps echoing behind closed doors. Something was brewing – she could feel it in the very stones of the place.
On this particular morning, she waited in the entrance hall where Antonin had promised to meet her, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved into the stone railings. He had spoken of showing her the libraries today, perhaps even the western gardens. But as the grandfather clock struck ten, then eleven, the morning stretched on without any sign of her escort.
A group of cloaked figures swept past, their voices low and urgent. They paid her no mind – she had become like the tapestries to them, just another fixture in the castle's elaborate decoration. Still, she caught fragments of their whispered conversation: "...the Weasleys..and now Greengrass…”
Alice straightened her skirts and moved toward one of the tall windows, watching as more figures apparated at the gates far below. There was purpose in their movements, a kind of controlled chaos that reminded her of the Ministry during times of crisis. She thought of Tom – she hadn't seen him since their conversation about the tapestries. Perhaps he too was caught up in whatever storm was gathering.
It was strange, she reflected, how quickly one could become accustomed to a routine, even in a place like this. Stranger still to feel its absence as keenly as she did now. She touched the cool glass of the window, watching her breath create small clouds of fog on its surface. Somewhere in the castle, decisions were being made, plans set in motion. And here she stood, as always, on the periphery of power – watching, waiting, wondering. But for what? No one had noticed her for weeks now, should she not show some self direction and find the gardens herself? Who would notice or not notice where she was, but herself? She smiled, half wry, half amused at her own observation.
Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Alice left the entrance hall and wandered the castle's winding corridors. Her steps were light, almost playful – after all, what harm could come from a little exploration?
The corridors grew grander, more imposing, until she found herself before a set of enormous doors carved with serpentine patterns. They were slightly ajar, and through the gap, she could see hints of a vast chamber beyond. Curiosity drew her forward.
She slipped through the narrow opening, and her breath caught at the sight of the cavernous throne room. Towering columns stretched toward a vaulted ceiling where enchanted constellations wheeled slowly in eternal dance. At the far end, an obsidian throne sat atop a raised dais, and descending its steps was—
"Tom!" she began brightly, but the word died on her lips as the full impact of the scene struck her. The throne. The overwhelming presence of power in the air. The familiar figure, now cast in a completely different light.
Her hands flew to her mouth in a girlish gesture of shock, green eyes widening as understanding dawned. Not Tom at all, but Lord Voldemort himself. All their conversations, all their chance meetings – they hadn't been chance at all.
But even as the shock rippled through her, that characteristic steadiness reasserted itself. Her hands lowered slowly, clasping together at her waist. She didn't back away or cower, though a becoming flush colored her cheeks.
Voldemort watched this transformation with keen interest. He had seen countless reactions to his true identity over the years – terror, horror, desperate attempts to flee. But this... this was different. The initial shock melting into composed acceptance, her natural grace reasserting itself even in the face of such a revelation.
To his own surprise, he felt something almost like relief. She hadn't recoiled from him, hadn't let fear overcome that peculiar steadiness he had come to... appreciate.
"Well, Lady Waters," he said softly, his voice carrying easily across the vast chamber. "It seems you've wandered rather far from your usual paths."
"I..." she began, then steadied herself. "I was looking for the gardens, my lord. Though I appear to have found something else entirely."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at her composure. Even now, she managed to maintain that delicate balance between honesty and propriety that made her so... intriguing.
For a long moment, Alice closed her eyes, and even Voldemort found himself unable to read what thoughts passed behind that serene expression. When she opened them again, her response was far from what he had expected. There was no stammering explanation, no anger at his deception, not even the fear he had grown accustomed to inspiring.
Instead, she offered him a warm, quiet smile that seemed to transform the very air between them. "My lord," she said softly, though there was a hint of playfulness in her tone that she couldn't quite suppress.
"I should have curtseyed properly, shouldn't I? Though I suppose that's the least of my social blunders today, considering I've been chatting away with the Dark Lord himself as if we were discussing the weather in the gardens." She did curtsey then, but there was something almost teasing in the perfect execution of it.
The guileless sincerity of her words caught him off guard. In all his years of power, no one had ever responded to his revelation quite like this – with such genuine, unaffected grace. It was refreshing, in a way that made him momentarily forget the tedium of the morning's political machinations.
"You continue to surprise me, Lady Waters," he found himself saying, studying her with renewed interest. "Most would be rather more... distressed by such a discovery."
Her smile remained warm, though she ducked her head slightly, a becoming flush coloring her cheeks. "You've been kind to me, my lord. That hasn't changed, has it?" She tilted her head slightly, a spark of daring in her green eyes. "Though I do wonder if this explains why you seemed to know so much about the castle's history. I thought you were simply an extraordinarily well-read visitor."
The sheer audacity of her words, delivered with such disarming sincerity, was more unexpected than any carefully crafted response could have been. He stared at her, a flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. Still smiling, even after discovering his true identity? Intriguing.
Voldemort felt the tension of the morning begin to dissipate. The tedious political maneuvering of the Sacred Twenty-Eight suddenly seemed even more absurd than usual. Her unfeigned reaction was… remarkably entertaining.
"Perhaps," he said, descending the last few steps, "we should consider this our proper first meeting, Lady Waters." His lips curved into a slight smile. "Though I trust you'll forgive the lack of formal introduction."
The gentle teasing in his tone surprised even him, but there was something about her unaffected grace that made such moments possible. Here was no groveling pure-blood scion or trembling political player, just a girl who somehow managed to face the most feared wizard in Britain with the same warm courtesy she'd shown him in the gardens.
"I would like that very much, my lord," she replied, and performed a perfect curtsy, as elegant as any he'd seen in court. When she rose, her green eyes held a touch of shy pleasure, as if this were truly just another introduction in a grand hall, rather than a revelation that would have sent most witches fleeing in terror.
As he watched her graceful movements, a thought struck him with sudden clarity – this was hardly what his council had promised when they proposed the arrangement. They had assured him she would be nothing more than a political token, tucked away in the east wing, so unremarkable that he would scarcely remember there was a muggle girl in his palace at all.
Yet here she stood, having wandered into his throne room of all places, responding to his true identity with such disarming warmth that he found himself... entertained. How peculiar that their carefully laid plans had resulted in something so unexpectedly diverting.
"Since you've managed to find your way here," he said, his voice carrying an edge of dark amusement, "perhaps we might as well make use of this... unexpected meeting." He gestured toward one of the corridors leading from the throne room. "The gardens you were seeking are this way."
It was a whim, really – a momentary indulgence born of boredom with the morning's tedious affairs. The girl had proven entertaining enough to warrant a brief diversion from his murderous contemplations of the Greengrass situation.
"Oh!" The pleased surprise in her voice was genuine, untainted by the calculating gratitude he had grown so weary of today. "Thank you, my lord."
As she fell into step beside him, he found himself wondering idly what his council would make of this – their carefully selected, supposedly forgettable ward, walking through his castle with the same unaffected grace she had shown when she thought him merely 'Tom.'
They walked in companionable silence for a moment, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
"The western gardens are rather different from the eastern ones you've seen," he remarked, his tone coolly instructive. "They house some of our more... interesting botanical specimens."
He watched her reaction from the corner of his eye, curious to see if this hint of danger might finally crack her composure. But Alice merely nodded, her face bright with genuine interest.
"Are they very dangerous, my lord?" she asked, and there was something in her tone that made him look at her more closely – not fear, but a sharp intelligence masked by that gentle demeanor.
"I've read about magical plants, though I expect books hardly do them justice. The most fascinating ones are usually the deadliest, aren't they? Rather like powerful wizards." She added the last part so innocently that for a moment he wasn't sure if she'd meant it, but for the coy glance she gave him.
Her response drew a soft chuckle from him – how characteristic of her to meet potential danger with scholarly interest rather than fear.Watching her from the corner of his eye, Voldemort found himself almost amused by how easily she could be killed – this fragile creature who approached dangerous things with such trusting wonder, as if the world would naturally bend to accommodate her gentle nature.
"You know," he said conversationally, his voice carrying that same silky danger it had held in the throne room, "most of the plants in these gardens could kill you in rather creative ways. Yet you walk toward them as fearlessly as you did toward me." He paused, studying her profile. "One might think you have a death wish, Lady Waters."
To his surprise, Alice laughed – a soft, melodious sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Or perhaps, my lord," she replied, her eyes bright with genuine warmth, "I simply trust that if you meant me harm, you wouldn't bother with gardens or conversations about tapestries."
Her quiet confidence, neither challenging nor fearful, drew another dark chuckle from him. How amusing that this slip of a girl could read situations so clearly, yet still walk willingly into the dragon's lair. It was almost a shame she meant nothing more to him than a momentary distraction from his tedious morning.
They had reached a small clearing among the deadly plants, where Alice paused, turning to face him. The morning light filtered through the enchanted glass ceiling, casting dappled shadows across her face. Her eyes met his with that same gentle directness that seemed uniquely hers.
They had reached a small clearing among the deadly plants, where Alice paused, turning to face him. The morning light filtered through the enchanted glass ceiling, casting dappled shadows across her face. Her eyes met his with that same gentle directness that seemed uniquely hers.
"My lord," she began, a hint of mischief touching her eyes despite her careful tone, "might I ask something that's been puzzling me?" When he inclined his head slightly, she continued, "The Minister called me your bride, but Lord Dolohov insists on calling me your ward. I find myself..." she paused deliberately, her lips quirking upward, "rather curious which title I should be collecting ribbons for."
His gaze sharpened suddenly, the brief warmth of their garden walk vanishing like frost in sunlight. "You are," he said, his voice carrying a dangerous sort of softness, "whatever I desire you to be, Lady Waters."
The words hung in the air between them, a reminder of exactly who and what he was, regardless of their pleasant conversations about tapestries and transformations.
He expected her to recoil from the sharp edge in his words - he had meant to injure with them, after all. Instead, she met his gaze with an almost impish steadiness that both surprised and intrigued him. "I suppose that means I'll have to keep a whole wardrobe of different roles ready," she said, her voice carrying just enough lightness to soften the implied challenge in her words. "Though I do hope you'll provide me with some advance warning before any events.It would be terribly awkward to arrive prepared for a picnic when the occasion, in fact, calls for a wedding."
Something in her gentle audacity, the way she danced so carefully along the edge of propriety while maintaining perfect respect, stirred an unexpected memory.
For a moment, his carefully maintained hatred and disdain for muggles flickered, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he remembered another child trapped in circumstances beyond their control – the true boy named Tom, at Wool's Orphanage, before he had learned to master the tide of magic that set him apart. Before he knew what he was, small and helpless. This girl-child, however… she wore her grace like a second skin, a shield he hadn't possessed at her age. A chuckle almost escaped him.
The memory brought with it an unfamiliar sensation. Pity? Understanding? Amusement, perhaps, at the absurdity of it all? He wasn't sure, but a strange lightness touched him, and before he could stop himself, the words were already forming.
"For now," he said, his voice carrying an unexpected gentleness that surprised even him, "you are young. You need not concern yourself with the duties of a bride." He paused, studying her upturned face. "And I find I am in no particular rush for one."
A slight smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "After all, I believe you mentioned keeping a corner of your heart for yourself. It would be... ungracious of me to demand it too soon."
The words hung between them, more kindness than he knew he possessed, wrapped in that dangerous sort of teasing that seemed to come so naturally between them. Yet watching the relief soften her features, tinged with a becoming blush at the reminder of her own boldness, he found he didn't entirely regret this moment of mercy.
Alice's eyes sparkled at his teasing reference, and she offered him a small curtsy that somehow managed to be both perfectly proper and subtly impudent. "Thank you, my lord, for your... patience," she said, matching his earlier smirk with a demure one of her own.
"If you'll excuse me," he said stiffly, suddenly aware of how much time he had spent indulging this unexpectedly engaging creature, "there are matters requiring my attention."
As he strode toward his council chamber, Voldemort found himself wondering when the last time was that someone had dared to match his wit so delicately - not with fear or calculation or worship, but with such artful grace. Such... spirit.