Orsino and the Bears
Voldemort opened the first letter in the small pile on his desk. He broke the dark blue seal on the back and pulled out a folded parchment from inside. He squinted at the minuscule writing and realised he needed his reading glasses, which he very rarely wore, and frustratedly pulled them out from their leather case on the side of his desk. He shoved them onto his face and sighed, reading,
Dear Sir,
I write to inform you of my friendship, and of my intention to be a part of the political movement you are organising. I wholeheartedly support your aims to keep wizarding society in its rightful place. Please accept a gift of five thousand Galleons, transferred from my Gringotts account to yours, as a token of our mutual trust and our shared goals. I look forward to working with you in future.
Sincerely,
Conleth Yaxley
Voldemort smirked, feeling quite pleased. He quickly penned a response to old Mr Yaxley, thanking him for his loyalty and his donation, choosing his words carefully. He bound up the letter and sealed it, addressing it to Yaxley Hall, where he knew Conleth rested in retirement. Voldemort went to the next letter and opened it, recognising the script at once. Her writing was messy and tight at the same time - Bellatrix Black.
Dear Lord Voldemort,
I write to ask most earnestly how you are doing. I wonder all the time what our meeting will be like when we see one another at Christmastime. I do so look forward to sitting down with you to discuss my future working for you, to talk about the things we enjoy and the things we despise. I want to know you better, sir, and I want you to know me. I wish so fervently for you to realise that I will be your most dedicated servant. Please write back. I await your letter most impatiently.
Yours… yours.
Bellatrix Black
Lord Voldemort curled up a lip. Perhaps in Hermione's lived experience, he had taken advantage of Bellatrix's loyalty because she'd been a fierce fighter. But her cloying nature here was almost too much to bear. She was just obnoxious, he thought. And she seemed a touch mad. She did not seem right in the head. There had been rumours about Bellatrix Black - she'd tortured a Puffskein as a little girl. She'd Hexed a classmate as a second-year and had earned herself months of detention. She'd deliberately blown up a potion to get out of lessons. Something was wrong with her. She was… off. Voldemort sighed and pulled out a parchment, his chest quivering a little as he wondered just how near he needed to keep Bellatrix this time around. He had Hermione. Did he need Bellatrix the way he'd needed her in Hermione's past life? Did he even want her?
Dear Bella, he found himself writing,
I am well. We shall talk at Christmas, though I shall be very busy. And you ought to know that I have engaged myself in a relationship with Hermione Granger. It would be inappropriate for me to meet with you privately given my personal circumstances, so Hermione will be present at our meeting. I know you'll understand. You, who will work most closely with me, will respect my boundaries.
Wishing you health, happiness, and success in your studies. Be well, Bella. We shall speak and see one another soon.
L.V.
He cleared his throat and blew on the ink to dry it. He folded the letter thrice and pushed it into an envelope, sealed it up with wax, and then wrote on the outside, Miss Bellatrix Black, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He huffed a breath and picked up the third letter from his stack of mail, and then he froze with it in his hands.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, it read on the outside. Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
He knew the script. He'd seen it on chalkboards for years. Dumbledore. He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside, and when he opened it, he felt his lips go cold. It was a long missive, and as he read, his anxiety grew.
Dear Tom,
When I saw you and your new compatriot in Diagon Alley, I confess I peered into her mind with Legilimency for the briefest moment, for I did not recognise her and she confused me. I know you'll understand the temptation to use this gift, Tom.
What I saw, even in that brief moment, amazed me.
I will not tell you what I saw in Hermione Granger's mind, because I do not wish to put her in any more danger than she may already be in. Suffice it to say that what I saw convinced me that she does not belong here. What I saw convinced me that she had no business walking through Diagon Alley with you of all people, Tom Riddle. I do not know if you had her under the Imperius Curse, or if you are simply unaware of her reality. But what I saw led me to believe that very Dark magic has transpired to bring Hermione Granger to a time and place where she simply ought not be.
The problem, of course, is returning her home. I think you know as well as I do that there is no way to put her back where she came from. I also think that you do not wish to return her. I think you wish to keep her, or to use her and then destroy her. Rest assured, Tom, that my friends and I will not allow you to carry on unfettered. We will not permit you to have a time traveller possessing a treasure trove of dangerous information at your disposal, for use as a personal weapon.
Bring Madam Granger to the Ministry of Magic this Saturday at five o'clock. I will meet you in the Minister's office for a safe handing over. She will be properly attended to and taken care of as a traveller. Efforts to make amends for the egregious breaches of time travel protocol will be made. We will keep her safe, and we will leave you be. Otherwise, Tom, the Ministry will be forced to act. Rest assured that this incident has been fully reported and that the Minister for Magic is very well aware that there is a time traveller in wizarding Britain.
We will not let this matter rest.
Make the right choice. I shall see you this Saturday.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
"So, are you going to take me to the Ministry of Magic?" Hermione asked, poking at her mashed potato. Voldemort gave her a withering look across the little table in the violet parlour and shook his head.
"No, I am not going to take you to the Ministry of Magic, Hermione. If Albus Dumbledore has managed to convince the Minister that you're a time traveller, I shall simply convince the Minister that you are not. It's his word against mine."
"But I've no documentation," Hermione argued.
"That's because you're a Muggle-born who went undetected by the Ministry," Voldemort snapped. Hermione sighed and argued,
"Isn't that something a time traveller would make up as a cover story?"
"Well, for the time being, we're keeping you here at Malfoy Manor. Abraxas and I have agreed to ward the place up tighter than a… well. Anyway. You're going to stay here until Dumbledore calms himself down. He always does this; he gets himself worked up and then he settles down."
Hermione smirked a bit, taking a bite of mashed potato. "Not the Dumbledore I knew. Once he set his mind to something, it was over."
"Well, we're not going to let him take you," Voldemort snarled. He was in a particularly foul mood today after opening Dumbledore's letter and then reading in Abraxas' thoughts that keeping Hermione about would be a particularly marvelous course of events. He'd had more than enough of Abraxas' lustful pining. Voldemort pinched his lips and stared at Hermione's wedding rings. She was still a married witch, wasn't she? She was his, but she was also Ron Weasley's.
"My Lord?"
He raised his eyes to hers, and she covered her wedding rings with her fingers. She'd seen him staring. She sighed slowly, and he wished all of a sudden that she had not become such a skilled Occlumens. But then she asked,
"Would you prefer it if I did not wear them? The rings?"
"You left behind a husband," Voldemort shrugged. "I won't tell you to take them off."
"But my husband is gone," Hermione said, "and I am here with you, and you've taken me now."
Voldemort sucked on his bottom lip and was about to speak. He watched as Hermione reached with her right hand to her left and slid off her little diamond engagement ring and her simple wedding band. She tucked them into the pocket of her skirt and rubbed at her fourth left finger as she whispered,
"It doesn't make sense to wear them here."
He found her eyes, and he nodded. Yes, he thought. She was his. And he quite liked that.
On Saturday night, Lord Voldemort stood in a cold rain outside the Potter estate in Kent. He gulped and cast a few more Transfiguration Charms upon his face. He was young and blond now, he knew. He couldn't completely rid himself of the scarring, but he had radically altered his features. He looked nothing like himself. He wouldn't be recognised. He strode up toward the front door of the mansion and rammed the knocker a few times. After awhile, the door swung open, and a little House-Elf stood before him. She looked abjectly feminine, and young for an elf, and her voice was a squeak as she asked,
"May Fally help you, sir?"
"I need to see the Master and Mistress of the house," Voldemort snapped. "It's a Ministry matter. You can tell them."
"Straight away, sir." Fally the House-Elf went tottering off as Voldemort stepped slowly into the grand foyer of the Potter mansion. The door shut behind him, and he coughed quietly. It echoed through the marble hall, and his boots squeaked a little on the floor. He sniffed, glancing around. A boy appeared at the top of the winding, broad staircase, and Voldemort felt his eyes go wide.
"Are you James?" he asked. "James Potter?"
"Yes, sir," said the little boy. "Who're you?"
"I'm from the Ministry of Magic. I've come on an official matter," Voldemort said simply. "Just need to speak with your mother and father."
He stared at the boy then and nonverbally, wandlessly incanted, Confundo. James vibrated where he stood, and Voldemort made him think that going back upstairs to his bedroom was a good idea. He should shut the door, James would think, and put on his record player rather loudly. James shrugged and said,
"Dull adult stuff, then. Bye."
"Goodbye." Voldemort quirked up half his mouth and decided he was going to do this in a way that wouldn't wound Hermione too badly. If he took out the entire family, it would be easier. So much cleaner, so much quicker and simpler. But she would be heartbroken, he thought, if she read in the newspaper that Fleamont and Euphemia Potter and their House-Elf had been killed. And, for some reason, he cared what Hermione read in the newspaper. It mattered to him, for some reason, that Hermione was affected by collateral damage.
"Hello, sir," called a voice. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter came walking into the foyer. Voldemort startled. They seemed entirely too old to have a boy of only eight. They were grey-haired and walked slowly. He frowned and cleared his throat, pulling a forged document out of his robes.
"Mr and Mrs Potter. My name is Graham Hobbles. I'm here from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm sure it's just a mix-up, but there's been a family heirloom found in Borgin and Burkes that we believe may rightfully belong to you, and we'd like to see if you can identify it."
"Borgin and Burkes!" Fleamont Potter scowled. He took the document from Voldemort, who pulled out his wand and immediately aimed it at Fleamont, then Euphemia, then Fally the House-Elf.
"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
One by one, the figures careened backward, soaring against walls and collapsing onto the floor. Knocked unconscious, Fleamont Potter released the Ministry paper Voldemort had handed him. Voldemort picked up the parchment and Vanished it, and then he walked over to Euphemia and aimed his wand at her. He twisted his wand and murmured,
"Obliviate."
He thought of everything that had transpired so far since he'd arrived, all the way back through the elf coming to fetch them. Fleamont and Euphemia would not remember a Ministry official coming to their home. They wouldn't remember anything. They would just remember being in their parlour, sitting with tea and books. Voldemort Obliviated Fleamont, then the House-Elf. He dashed up the carpeted stairs, careful not to touch anything, and used his wand to fling open the door from which recorded music was blaring.
"Gah!" James Potter, the little boy, flew off of his four-poster bed and staggered away from Voldemort, obviously frightened by the intrusion. His record player kept spinning, playing wizarding rock music by Orsino and the Bears. Voldemort knew he was running out of time; Fleamont and Euphemia and the House-Elf would rouse soon enough downstairs, confused but awake. Voldemort aimed his wand straight at James Potter and incanted without hesitation,
"Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of jade green light flew from Voldemort's wand and blared right at James Potter, engulfing the small boy in emerald light. As he collapsed in silent death, Voldemort stalked toward him, checking to be sure the boy did not move or breathe. Still, the record player went on. Voldemort let out a hard huff of breath and jabbed the tip of his wand down at James, snapping firmly,
"Corpus Evanesco."
The body dissolved into thin air, Vanishing into Non-Being like James Potter had never, ever existed. There would be no Harry Potter now, Voldemort thought. Neither could live while the other survived. James Potter was gone.
Voldemort Disapparated from the boy's bedroom with an uncharacteristic crack and came to inside his office, breathing heavily and going straight for his drinks cart, determined to make good use of his firewhisky tonight.
Author's Note: A bleak chapter! Sorry about that! So, Dumbledore's after Hermione! Hermione's not wearing her wedding rings anymore! And James Potter is dead! Oh, and Voldemort has had it up to here with Abraxas lusting over Hermione. Hmm. What next?
Thank you so very much for your patience with me this weekend and for reading and reviewing.