Empty.
Your flat was empty again. Empty like your heart, your womb. Empty like the promises from your husband, promises of a gentle life with some sense of normalcy. A better life in a warm, cozy house lively with magical, innocent children with Tom’s hair and your eyes. Tom’s hair before the midnight-black was streaked with moonlight-silver and the perfect, bouncy curls fell out into dead, flat locks. Your eyes before the colors dulled and the sparkle left them, turning them slightly bloodshot with purple, bruise-like crescents beneath them. You often daydreamed of those magical, innocent children — untouched by the fatiguing disillusionment of quiet murders and secret societies. They were as faraway as a dream, and they were fading away like a dream the morning after waking. Would the dream vanish completely, or would they always be just barely out of reach, forever faintly imprinted in your memory?
The unspoken truth poisoned your veins like venom: years of forbidden magic had cursed Tom with infertility. You both had tried many potions, some dangerous, in attempts to revive Tom’s failing reproductive organs and increase your body’s chances of conception. While Tom didn’t regret his horcruxes, you resented them every time your monthly cycle came.
A single tear streaked your cheek, uncomfortably hot in the frigid flat. It was so cold, far too cold. You were frozen, a statue among the clusters of cardboard boxes, leather suitcases, and wrapped furniture in the sterile great room. Another belonging of Tom’s ready for shipment to the next flat, packaged prettily in a classy dress and shiny heels.
Two strong arms suddenly snaked around your middle, embracing you, and full lips pressed against your neck in a slow, lazy kiss. They were chilly, just like the room, and goosebumps of unease prickled down your spine.
“Do we have to go?” Your voice was a broken whisper, cracking midway.
Tom’s hands wandered to your breasts, soothingly massaging them with the gentle touch he reserved for when you desperately needed a ration of his very scarce affection. He hummed into your ear, peppering your neck in kisses and leisurely sucking here and there. A distraction that once worked on you, but now only produced a sad, sinking feeling in your stomach.
“We just moved here three months ago,” you reminded him softly.
“Mm,” he dismissed, pressing firmer against your backside and resting his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. His strained, uneven breath was barely warm against your sickly, sun-deprived skin. It made you feel ill.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you murmured.
“Don’t be an ungrateful bitch,” he breathed irritably, inhaling your enchanted perfume and squeezing your torso in warning. “You know very well why we do this.”
“But I have Nagini here to protect me,” you said, looking off to where the lengthy green snake was curled up in the corner in silent vigilance. “Nobody will find me, anyways.”
There was hardly a soul in the wizarding world who still remembered your name. Shortly after your honeymoon, your parents died tragically in a freak dragon accident on a vacation to Romania. Since your private but opulent wedding, Tom had taken special care in erasing your existence. You were rarely permitted to leave home, and never alone. Only his most trustworthy Death Eaters knew of you, in case any of his followers were foolish enough to betray him. You were stripped of every identity except one: the Dark Lord’s whore.
Albus Dumbledore still managed to send you a birthday card every year. Odd, considering his standing with your husband, but he had been a supportive professor during your education at Hogwarts. You burned them before Tom could see and make hasty assumptions that would prove devastating to your relationship. This year, Dumbledore had the audacity to write your address as “The Latest Cage” — it left a sour taste in your mouth, but only because of the painful truth behind the flamboyant calligraphy.
“Until you have a horcrux of your own,” he murmured, sliding his hands down your curves to rest securely on your hips, “I’m not taking any chances.”
“A compromise, then,” you said, turning around in his arms and gazing longingly into his burgundy irises. “I want to see you more.”
He grimaced, cupping your ass and squeezing as his eyes flicked over to the empty walls in avoidance. “Once I’ve taken over the Ministry, you’ll have me all to yourself.” His wandering eyes settled back on your face and a sly smile crept onto his pale, sunken face that once bewitched you with beauty. “I’m doing all of this for us. I want to give you the world.”
Beautiful lies. You wished you could believe him, as you did when you were young and naive and happy. In spite of everything, you still loved him. You would always love him. He may have desired the world for himself, but he was your whole planet and you were the moon forever revolving around him.
“You’re everything I want,” you confessed sadly, hugging him and resting your cheek against his chest.
He returned the embrace, stroking your hair like he stroked Nagini’s scales and kissing the top of your head. “I know. Just hold on a bit longer for me. After I take care of old Dumbledore, nothing will stand in my way.”
Tears streamed soundlessly down your face, soaking into his half-unbuttoned silk dress shirt. You nodded slightly against his chest, closing your eyes and shivering. The empty home was freezing now as the grandfather clock in the corner ticked deeper into the sleepless night, plunging you further into lonely darkness, and sunrise seemed to be an eternity away.
“I love you.” Tom grabbed your chin and tilted your head back up, brushing away a tear with his bony thumb. “I am never letting you go.”
“I know,” you said as you opened your eyes, mirroring his own words moments before in reply to your heartbroken confession.
Tom’s expression was unreadable, but you could’ve sworn he almost looked mournful as he pressed his palm flat against your low abdomen over your uterus. He was thoughtful for a short time. “I’ll tell you what…once you’re settled in, we’ll try again. I’ve brewed new potions for us. Is that enough of a compromise for you?”
You beamed brightly with renewed hope, a spark of life restoring vitality to your tired body, and you threw your arms up around his neck. With an exclaimed “yes,” you kissed him passionately and pressed your chest into him. Your tongues intertwined and your warmth dissipated some of the coldness from Tom’s lips.
Maybe — just maybe — those magical, innocent children wouldn’t remain a wishful fantasy after all…