Weighted Hearts & Gilded Feathers

 Severus was grading essays when he received a patronus from Evan telling him to check on Hermione. The further they progressed into the year the more he was convinced that Hermione was, in fact, Khalida Riddle. He watched them in class and could feel the static their magic created when they were near each other. Though there was a distance between them now that hadn’t been there before the holiday.  

He hustled through the castle, robes billowing behind him at his hurried pace. Once he reached the seventh floor he sent his magic out, looking for her signature through the corridors. It didn’t take long to find her, magic rolled off of her, violently crashing against the walls of the room like waves on the shore. The furniture in the room was strewn around, tables upended and chairs broken lying in heaps. Her magic lashed out at him, guarding her despite the witch’s unconscious state. 

He approached her slowly, she looked wild, her  hair a tangle of curls around her face. He wondered briefly if she ever combed it. Lying on the floor was the Gryffindor princess. Her skirt was higher than usual, and the milky tone of her thighs revealed to him. Severus tried to resist the stirring it caused in him, it was improper, more so if she was his Lord’s daughter. 

She infuriated him, her eagerness to be accepted grated on his nerves and chaffed his insecurities. Especially in her early years, so eager to prove her worth and place to those around her. However, he found himself caught between admiring her proud display of knowledge and disappointment in the regurgitative nature of her responses. As if she’d inhaled words and simply exhaled the same ones out, without actually breathing them in. 

He placed a stasis charm on her to stop her magic from inflicting more damage, levitated her, and made his way down to the infirmary. 

Mattheo was already there, lying on a bed at the other end of the room, Severus could tell he was awake but he had little more control of his magic than Hermione did. Pompfrey initially placed Hermione on a bed near the entrance but Severus quickly suggested she be placed closer to Mattheo. Once she was situated in a bed across the aisle from him their magics visibly reached for each other, a perfect match, molten strands arched across the room to each other. He quickly threw up a charm to hide it from view. No one needed to see this. It would only lead to more questions, questions that he was sure Dumbledore had the answer to. 

Once again, Pompfrey’s scans didn’t lead to a concrete answer in Hermione’s condition but Mattheo’s were interesting. It was as if half of his core was being siphoned off, Severus surmised it must be trying to heal Hermione. If she was, in fact, his sister they would have complementary cores and hers, if sealed, was probably deteriorating. 

He realized they would need to do something, and soon. After bringing nutrition and pepper-up potions from his stores, he sent a patronus to his Lord, requesting an urgent meeting. Evan would need to stay to watch over Mattheo. 

His arm began burning with summons moments later, he threw on his outer robe and left through the floo, arriving first at Malfoy Manor and floo’d again to Slytherin Castle. 

The Dark Lord was waiting by the floo when he arrived, Severus wouldn’t say he looked worried but he did seem irritated. He wondered briefly if it was the inconvenience of children or if something had happened. 

“Severus, what is so important that you’re calling on me?” 

“There was an incident at the school between the Granger girl and Mattheo.” 

“Well, are you going to explain or do I need to torture it out of you?” 

Severus swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat before continuing, “I do not know the cause, but they were both brought to the infirmary this evening. Their magics were wild, and Mattheo’s core was unstable. It seems as though it has a parasite. There was also the  phenomenon, of their magics reaching across the aisle to each other.” 

“Just spit it out Severus, what is the cause?” 

“I believe Mattheo’s magic is trying to heal Hermione. The seal placed on her would be attacking her at this point. Their magics, the colour was exactly the same…” 

His Lord, who had been looking directly at him, looked away at his last revelation. He walked slowly around the room and seemed to be pondering on the new information. 

Minutes passed and Severus got more worried the longer it took for a response, finally as he was about to beg for leave and escape the presence of this man who quite honestly terrified him, his Lord turned around, eyes blazing red. Instantly, he felt as if a battering ram was laying siege to his mental walls. So enraged his Lord was at this turn of events that he was ripping through him mindlessly. He would’ve happily provided access to avoid this very probability and could’ve provided a memory vial so that his lord could watch it whenever he pleased. 

After fortifying memories that he needed to keep hidden, he lowered his mental walls and felt the icy presence of Voldemort in his mind. No matter how many times or how often he’d had his memories and thoughts stripped bare in this way, the weight of the invasion never lessened. 

Severus didn’t follow through the potions room of his mind, or pay particular attention while vials were picked up off shelves and poured out to be viewed. They wouldn’t disappear, at least not yet. Not unless his Lord was in a particularly violent mood. 

His gut churned at the unwanted presence. Voldemort’s seething anger at the turn of today’s events was evident as he carelessly threw vials he didn’t need aside as if Severus’ memories didn’t matter. 

Once he viewed the scene in the infirmary multiple times he finally withdrew, Severus took a few steadying breaths, calming himself to seem collected and unruffled. 

He had spent years behind his occlumency shields, another moment wouldn’t hurt. 

“The girl, Severus, we must come up with a way to test this theory of yours. I’ll continue searching for rituals in the library.” 

“My Lord, perhaps it would be better to search the Shafiq manor?” Severus knew it was dangerous to mention that name, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he eventually placed a taboo on it, if he hadn’t already. 

His Lord turned to exit the room, biting out words as if it pained him, “Leave. Now.” 

___________________________________Tom POV 

Tom stalked through the castle, his command over his power was slipping and he didn’t want to run into any of the recently released followers before he lost his hold. 

He’d passed by Antonin and his Azkaban pet, Thorfinn and promptly threw them back into walls with a wave of wandless magic. Tom wondered briefly if he might’ve caused any brain damage when they slammed, and slumped against the wall. Not that he particularly cared. However, the mind healers would be useless if he were going to continue to damage them with brain bleeds. 

Once he made it to his quarters, the tether he held on his magic slipped from his hold, unravelled and frayed like a sailor’s rope. It was only a moment, but a moment was all he needed to decimate his rooms. The scent of his rage permeated the air, sickly sweet like fresh blood. 

He wished for a moment he’d never met Nadine. Loving her had weakened him more than his attempt to kill the Potter boy had. He’d known too, tried to keep his distance from her, but she’d entranced him, like a siren calling Odysseus from the cliffs. 

While she was beautiful, it wasn’t what had drawn him in.

He could have beautiful women whenever he wanted. Tom put no stock in physicality but he’d brandished his comeliness like a weapon in his younger years. It never failed to baffle him how his appearance could seduce even those who suspected him. Sexual advances had always helped him when recruiting the help of women in his endeavours, he thought briefly of the strumpet Minister Tuft. She had been a useful tool until she wasn’t.  

The only exception he’d known was Dumbledore and Nadine. 

Nadine. The bringer of his blessings and his ruination.

She wasn’t beguiled by him in the least, had told him as much the first time he tried to bring her to his bed.

But Nadine, she was as close to muggle heaven as he’d ever get, it was as if the gods had placed her in his path to distract him from his purpose, his one chance to live, die, and love as a mortal would. 

But he was not mortal and he was not a mere man. 

Despite their love, he pursued his goal and she had supported him, for a time. She’d questioned him, his methods, his idealogy. Her Ravenclaw mind did not sleep and did not stop challenging him. They’d get into great academic debates, books strewn across the floor of her ancestral library. Occasionally throwing scrolls at him in annoyance. 

It was her intelligence that had enraptured him. She didn’t fear him or his temper. She stood tall despite his magic lashing out at her. She’d stand there and withstand the torrent. She was the eye of his hurricane. His peace in the storm. 

He’d learned about the prophecy of her family and knew that he’d need to collect her, harness that possibility and shape it into his reality. He thought himself successful when she’d told him they were expecting, but was overcome with triumph when it was revealed to be twins.

A month prior to her news that they were expecting, they had laid together, bathed in the blood of innocents amid a runic circle with his closest followers chanting around them and feeding magic through them. It was delightfully hedonistic, second only to the pure rush and overwhelming power he felt after he’d created his first Horcrux with the death of the Warren girl. 

Then it all fell apart, his joy at the news of the birth of his children had rotted in his mouth, decayed and twisted him into more of a monster than he ever was before. 

It wasn’t out of pure malice and unquenched desire to be all-powerful that led him to the Potter’s house that October night. 

It wasn’t a prophecy that named him as a possible roadblock to his unyielding desire to mark his place in the world, that led to the death of Lily and James Potter. 

No, it was depthless grief, and firey rage that found him in Godric’s Hollow. 

It was divine retribution. 

How dare they preach the greater good?

 How dare they reproach him when they’ve torn away the only person that made him human in the first place? 

How dare they vilify him after tearing away the last bit of humanity that resided in his already fractured soul? 

The little bit of happiness he had finally secured for himself was gone. 

All his life had been akin to a Shakespearian tragedy. As if God, Circe or Merlin above were pulling the strings to leave him surrounded by nothing but darkness and despair. 

What other path could he have possibly taken? 

It was by predestination that he became what he was now and just as he had finally carved out a piece of true happiness for himself it was snuffed out. 

He was meant to be the villain of someone else’s story and that couldn’t happen if he wasn’t anything other than an empty vessel of enmity and greed.

____________________ 

He’d returned to the Shafiq manor after the raid of an Order hideout but it had been a trap, a diversion, to get him away from the house, to leave his Nadine unprotected. 

He didn’t realize that until much later. 

Nott and Mulciber were lying on the floor of the entrance hall, debris strewn around them. He’d left them to protect her, to watch over her while he was gone, along with Bella and Rabastan. He’d never felt such anxiety in his life before, at least not since his days at Wool’s orphanage.

 It was a living thing, curled in his belly like an ouroboros, a swirling vortex ready to swallow him whole. 

His body felt like a livewire, vibrating through his bones, shaking the marrow. 

He made his way through the manor, barely noticing the ruin around him or Rabastan lay in a puddle of blood. 

He’d thought him dead and didn’t bat an eyelash. 

It wouldn’t matter. 

Nothing would matter, no sacrifice would matter as long as she was alive. 

As long as their children were safe. 

Then he reached the wing of their rooms, and passed by the nursery they’d already decorated. Though Nadine had admittedly done most of it. 

He bypassed it and there, lying in the broken remains of the door was Bella. Curled up like a fist, twitching violently in the aftershocks of a powerful crucio. Blood was running from her ears and bloody tears running down her face. 

It was then that a voice in the back of his head told him all was lost, she had been the last line of defence. 

The Sentinel he left at the gates had fallen under the attack. 

He stepped over her broken body, then again over the body of the mediwitch that was there to help his Nadine deliver their children. 

He hoped against all reason that he’d find her there, holding their children, smiling up at him. Her eyes would glint in the candlelight and she’d beckon him over, introducing him to the twins. To his family. 

He’d never given much thought to it before, any family he had was dead or killed by his hand. He never presumed he’d find someone that made him crave the intimacy of family. Of belonging. He’d been on his own for so long. Kept his own council and company. He was resolute in the belief that he didn’t need anyone. Family was a great tool for your enemies. 

Love was a weakness he’d never imbibed in. 

Until her. 

She was meant to be a stepping stone on his way to power, a task for him to overcome so he could surpass another glass ceiling in his quest to be the most powerful wizard in living memory. 

But she’d torn down his walls as if they were simple parchment. Crashed through his life as if it had always been hers, to begin with. 

His steps faltered the closer he got to the bed, so afraid he was that she was gone. That Nadine and his children would be at rest, lifeless because he hadn’t been able to see through a ruse. 

His Nadine was lying in the four-postered bed they shared, drapes of silk and damask parted and tied to the post, giving him an unhindered view. 

Her brow was still dotted with the sweat of her labour, her curls surrounded her like a shroud, vacant eyes stared back at him. 

If it wasn’t for her open eyes and the pool of blood he’d think her sleeping, taking a much-needed rest after an arduous labour. 

But they weren’t closed.  

Those eyes he’d lost himself in, eyes that had stripped him bare of all titles and all pretence. 

Those eyes that saw him as a man, fallible. It had taken time but she’d seen him, he’d always felt vulnerable under her stare, like the child he used to be as war raged around him during summers at Wool’s. 

Those chestnut orbs with starburst gold were lifeless, devoid of the light that had danced with his darkness. 

He thought of how he’d seen her hours ago. She’d hugged him and told him to return to her. He’d always return to her. There wasn't anywhere else he wanted to be. 

He wanted to fall into the warmth of her embrace and languish. To watch as the corner of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. To smirk at the way her lip would twitch in an effort to hold back a smile or laugh when he annoyed her. 

He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin against his, the smell of her hair, and the sound of her breathy pleas when he showed her just how much he cared for her. 

He wasn't sure now if he’d ever told her he loved her, that she’d captured his heart, stolen it away and worn it in her chest. He prayed now that she’d known. She must’ve known. 

Though she’d never asked it of him, he’d have given it all up for her, his quest for power. It mattered not if he was in power as long as he was still the most powerful. But she’d have made the most beautiful consort to him, a queen in her own right. Elevated among wixen, an embodiment of Sekhmet in the flesh. 

He’d approached her slowly, her arms were splayed out like the portraits of the muggle saviour Jesus Christ he’d seen when they forced him to attend mass as a child. There lying in the crook of one arm was his child, wrapped in the swaddle he’d picked out. 

The room was still but the silence beat against his eardrums, threatening rupture. 

The baby didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, he tentatively stepped forward. There should be two, why weren't there two of them? He scanned the room frantically, praying he’d find the other child. At least he’d have a piece of her. Though he knew it would never be enough. 

Nothing would ever be enough to fill the hollow feeling that spread through his limbs. 

He was frightened he’d roll the child and find another set of lifeless eyes staring back at him. Tom took a fortifying breath and reached his hand out, gently pulling back the blanket. There in the arms of their dead mother laid a babe, silent and watching with amber eyes.  Her eyes though they looked just like him. 

He took the baby into the crook of his arm, holding it in his arms gently like Nadine had made him practice with bundled blankets to prepare him for fatherhood, he unwrapped the child, finding a son. 

His eyes filled with unshed tears, and the lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him. He managed one shaky breath before the weight of his revelation crushed him like potion ingredients in a mortar and pestle. 

There would be no celebration, no revel at the birth of his heir. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his son still cradled in his arm and reached out with his right hand, grasping Nadine’s cooling hands. Hands that had held his in the water gardens outside. Hands that they’d fastened on a full moon with only the Malfoys as witnesses. Hands that had cradled his face once their bond had shined around them and kissed him as if it was the first and last time. 

She had always been his beginning and end. 

He manoeuvred her so that she could hold their son one last time. She deserved one last moment with him. What should’ve been a lifetime, shortened. 

Staring at her his mind screamed, she can't be dead, she's not dead. They wouldn't do this. There's no way they did this. Oh Merlin, who did this? 

He brushed her hair out of her face, cradling her jaw and running his thumbs over the swells of her cheeks. She was still just as beautiful as the day he met her. 

Leaning his head against her forehead he’d kissed her one last time. 

His Nadine, a sacrifice in a war he’d started. 

The anger had set in then. He wasn’t sure if he had been mad at himself. He’d pursued her. Collected her like a trinket to add to his collection. He was a hoarder of people, talent, knowledge, and souls. 

Like Anubis, he demanded payment and hers had been her life. For loving him. For giving him happiness. 

He looked down at the child and felt conflicted by his emotions. This child he’d wanted so badly. He needed the power these twins were to give him. That was the reason for all of this in the first place. But Nadine, she’d forced him to love and now all he had was one twin. He’d exchanged the broken remains of his heart for one of the two. They would only ever reach their potential together. It seemed like a terrible deal. He’d rather have his Nadine back. What good was one when he needed two? 

He picked up the child, his resentment growing every second as he held the child in his arms and walked to the bathroom, cleansing the child before dressing him. 

Bella was still lying on the floor when he finished. He looked at her crumpled and bleeding, summoning the others to the house. 

He stalked through the estate his anger multiplying with every step. Her ancestral house. They’d desecrated it. It had been so full of love and contentment. But that had melted away in the wake of today. 

It was a vacancy, an emptiness he’d never felt before. 

So he’d grabbed onto the anger. Amplifying it until he couldn’t hear his footsteps as he made his way down the stairs. The weight of his anger must’ve been stifling. 

Lucius and Rodolphus kneeled before him, both quaking slightly in effort as his magic drove them closer to the floor. They had seen Mulciber and Nott as they’d entered, no doubt they’d deduced what had happened. They didn't ask, but the looks on their faces displayed it quite clearly. They were worried for their family members and their safety after they’d failed to protect her. Failed to protect his Nadine. He didn’t punish them, he’d reserve his ire for those who’d done this to his family. 

The only one that mattered. 

His anger rose to a fever pitch then, Lucius and Rodolphus lost their battle and laid prostrate on the floor futilely attempting to lift their heads. He could see their mouths moving but he heard no sound. 

All he heard was Nadine’s last words to him, “Come back to me.” Over and over again, they spun through his head like a record. 

A hand reached out to him and he was surprised to see Bellatrix coming to grab the boy from his arms, her face still streaked with blood. He looked down at the bundle in his arms and noticed he was crying. Why was he crying? He hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t heard anything besides Nadine. He handed the babe to Bella. Reluctant to hand the last piece of Nadine away, but revolted by his presence in the same breath. 

The interruption had brought him out of his spiral. It was then that he composed himself and addressed those in the room. 

The tone of his voice betrayed him, steeped in hatred he spoke, “They have my daughter and killed my wife. Prepare yourselves. The streets will run red with magical blood until every order member, every man woman and child, and every distant cousin has been wiped from the face of this earth.”

They thought he was bad before, they were about to learn a whole new brand of evil and see a depth of human depravity that was only read through ancient tomes. His rage was a tsunami threatening to swallow Britain whole. Leaving nothing but the ash of skeletons he’d pile high and burn in an offering to his Nadine.