Revision and Rescript

18 December 1968

"The owls certainly had much for you this morning, sir," said Dobby a bit nervously, dropping an armload of envelopes and scrolls onto Lord Voldemort's desk. "Much news, much news. Can Dobby bring you any tea, sir?"

"No. I'll have some whisky. You may go." Voldemort sniffed and stared at the pile of mail. Dobby Disapparated with a crack, and Voldemort considered whether or not he ought to bring Hermione in to look over all of this. But she was with Sylvie Malfoy playing cards, he knew, and he didn't want to interrupt them. The two of them had begun to bond over the last days, and the very last thing on Earth Voldemort wished to do was to come between that.

He rose from his desk and went over to his drinks cart, and he poured himself a few fingers of firewhisky. He corked the bottle and carried his drink over to his desk, realising he was drinking at nine in the morning and not caring. Today, he knew, was a day for celebration. He would have his damned whisky.

Indeed, the first thing he opened was a copy of the Daily Prophet, and he smirked when he saw the headline. There, in blaring black letters, it announced,

EUGENIA JENKINS REPLACES AILING NOBBY LEACH AS MINISTER FOR MAGIC!

Yesterday afternoon, the Office of the Minister for Magic confirmed that Eugenia Jenkins has been officially sworn in as the new Minister after Nobby Leach formally resigned his post due to ongoing health concerns. Mr Leach has been inpatient at St Mungo's Hospital for some time with a mysterious illness whose origins and pathology have eluded even the most gifted Healers of the community. Though Leach was checked for Curses and poisons, Healers have confirmed that he is ill with some sort of Magical disease. They continue work to put him to rights, but in the meantime, Leach has permanently resigned from the office of Minister for Magic.

'I have every confidence that Madam Jenkins will serve wizarding Britain admirably in my place,' Leach said in a prepared statement from St Mungo's. 'She will confront ongoing issues, such as Squibs' Rights and the riots accompanying their marches. She will work well with wizarding America as they shape their post-Rappaport society. She will do brilliant work as the Minister for Magic.'

In response, Minister Jenkins issued a statement of her own. 'I am most grateful for all that Minister Nobby Leach has done for Magical Britain, and I wish him nothing but the best on his road to recovery. I do vow to serve our community with fervent dedication. All who count themselves as part of wizarding Britain can rely on me as your Minister to serve you.'

We at the Daily Prophet wish Minister Jenkins all success in her endeavour at the highest level of administrative work.

Voldemort set down the newspaper and picked up the first letter Dobby had brought. He broke the seal on the back and pulled out the letter inside. He opened it and read,

Dear Sir:

Rest assured that our deal stands firm. The Daily Prophet is your ally.

Sincerely, Cravian Yaxley

Voldemort tapped that letter and brought out a parchment, scratching a reply that he appreciated Yaxley's support and knew who his true friends were, that loyalty would be remembered. He sealed up the letter and addressed it to the Editor's Office at the newspaper, and he set it aside. He opened the next letter, a little card from Augustus Rookwood congratulating Voldemort on the 'change of scenery' at the Ministry of Magic. Voldemort curled up his lips and scribbled a reply, joking to Rookwood that he quite liked the new view. He opened another letter, and this one ought not to have surprised him, but it did.

Dear Tom,

If you think I don't know that you're behind all of this, you're wrong. Somehow, I will prove what is happening. Curses and spells and poisons can all be reversed, as I'm sure you're aware. I know that you've masterminded all of this, and I will not allow you to get away with it.

Albus Dumbledore

Voldemort's blood went cold. He gulped, and then a wild thought crossed through his mind. Albus Dumbledore was in the way. Albus Dumbledore needed to die. Somehow, he needed to kill Dumbledore. It wouldn't be easy. Even Grindelwald had not been able to defeat Dumbledore. Voldemort knew, intellectually, that Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards who had ever lived. It had taken a complex assassination plot in Hermione's lived existence for the man to wind up hurtling off the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. And Dumbledore had only let himself die because he'd already been Cursed by Voldemort's ring Horcrux. But here… here, Dumbledore would not give up so easily. He would not give up without a fight. Voldemort would need to work carefully if he planned on eliminating the man. But Dumbledore was nothing if not meddlesome; he'd always been meddlesome. Always. When Tom Riddle had been a boy, Dumbledore had tangled in his plots. In Hermione's world, Dumbledore had always interfered. Hovering, snooping, butting in where he didn't belong. He was an unwanted creature, Voldemort thought, and he needed to go. He was making it very difficult for Voldemort to control the situation at the Ministry, for Voldemort to keep Hermione safe.

And, much more deeply than he ever would have anticipated doing, Voldemort did care about keeping Hermione Granger safe.

He jolted as he considered that he was going to kill Albus Dumbledore, for there was knocking on his office door. He frowned, for the knocking was quick and urgent. He pushed out with Legilimency, expecting to find Hermione's wall of defence. Instead, he encountered a manic swirl of nerves.

Bellatrix.

"One moment," Voldemort called. He quickly packed up all the letters on his desk, bundling them with the newspaper and shoving them into one of his drawers. He contemplated Vanishing his firewhisky so that he didn't look like an alcoholic drinking in the morning, but then he realised he didn't care what anybody thought about his habits. He cleared his throat and called, "Enter."

The door to the office opened, and Bellatrix Black appeared. She walked into the office slowly, shutting the door behind her. She'd tried to make herself look pretty today, Voldemort thought at once. She'd worn a long dress of black velvet, cut low to reveal the gentle swell of her small breasts. Her boot heels clacked on his wooden floor as she stepped forward, and she gently pushed her wild mane of dark curls from her face. She stared at Voldemort, her eyes rimmed heavily with liner and her lips painted plum. She'd certainly tried, he thought. He sighed and said,

"Morning, Bella."

"Good morning… My Lord." She'd heard Hermione say that, Voldemort sensed from her, and she thought she ought to use the term, too. She folded her hands before her and said quietly, "Quite the stir. New Minister for Magic and all."

"Yes. It's all keeping me rather occupied." Voldemort dragged a finger around the rim of his whisky tumbler. "I see you're home from school."

"Just yesterday," Bellatrix affirmed. She shifted on her feet and complained, "I'd much prefer to enter your service full-time and to leave school."

"There isn't much to do in my service yet," Voldemort said, bringing his glass to his lips. "Battles and all of that goodness will come later, Bella."

I am so hungry for him that I am like a starving woman facing a steak, she thought abruptly, and Voldemort furrowed his brows as he set down his glass on his desk. She was studying his face closely. He's not as scarred. Some of his scars are gone. His eye isn't drooping. He looks more handsome than ever. When did he get that pink flush in his skin? Are his eyes glinting? He seems younger.

"I was actually in the middle of quite a lot of correspondence when you arrived," Voldemort said lightly. "I'm more than happy to assist you if there's something specific you need."

"I just wanted to talk, My Lord," Bellatrix told him. She stepped closer to her desk and licked her lips. "I just wanted to… offer myself to you."

He sputtered a little, clearing his throat roughly. "I'm sorry?"

"I wanted to offer to not return to Hogwarts," Bellatrix said in a firm, harsh voice. "Hermione Granger is in your service full-time, and I thought that I -"

"You are a seventeen-year-old girl," Voldemort hissed back, "and she is with me, you understand. It's very different. I'll be more than happy to accept you as an ally once you've finished your education, Bellatrix, but for now, you're a sixth-year Slytherin and I am a wizard possessed by a witch. Are we quite clear about all that?"

Bellatrix gnawed her lip but nodded. "Yes, My Lord. Very clear."

I hate that Granger bitch so much that I can't think. What if I just… what if she were to…

Suddenly Voldemort had flown to his feet, snatched his wand out of his robes, and aimed it at Bellatrix. She shrank back, terrified of him, and the tip of his wand quivered. Her black eyes went very round, and she seemed to realise her mind had wandered off without her knowing it. Voldemort snarled in a low breath,

"Legilimens."

He pawed through Bellatrix's thoughts. He saw her cleaning her teeth in the Slytherin girls' dormitory, her hair tied in a messy braid as the other girls chatted at sinks beside her. He saw her half-heartedly raise her hand in Potions and answer a question correctly, earning Slytherin five points. He saw her shove at the shoulder of a Gryffindor enemy as they descended the staircase, causing the girl to stumble and swear. And then he yanked forth an idea, a pervasive thought that had plagued Bellatrix's mind ever since she'd first met Hermione Granger at Irma Black's funeral.

I want that awful bitch dead. I want her gone. Mudblood scum. She's nowhere near good enough for him. I'd show him real pleasure. There's nothing she could ever do for him that could match what I'd give him. He's better off without her. I will eradicate her, and I will -

"CRUCIO!"

A scarlet web of light blasted forth from Voldemort's wand and snapped through the air, enveloping Bellatrix in a glowing net. She immediately fell to the ground and began shrieking in terror, writhing around, her back arching. She clawed at the wooden floor and slammed her head against the ground, teeth gnashing, eyes wrenched shut. She let out an almighty, blood-curdling scream so loud that Voldemort knew everyone would hear, but he didn't care. She rolled to her left and vomited on the floor, but still he held the spell.

It felt good, he thought, to do this. Torturing someone because they wanted to hurt the person he adored felt good. Pleasure flushed through his veins, and he actually went a bit hard in his trousers. He stalked around Bellatrix's body and watched as she convulsed and went white as a sheet. Still he held the spell. She screamed again, a chilling, nightmarish noise erupting from her as she clawed viciously at the ground. Finally, finally, Voldemort snapped his wand back, and then there was banging on his office door.

"My Lord?" cried Hermione's voice from the corridor. "My Lord, are you all right? May I come in?"

He stayed silent and stared at Bellatrix, who lay on her side facing a puddle of sick. He sniffed and used a jerk of his wand to open the door. Hermione came rushing inside, and then she froze when she saw Bellatrix lying on the ground. She stared for a moment, and then she raised her eyes to Voldemort. She shook her head and whispered,

"Why?"

"Because she wanted you dead," he said simply. He twirled his wand in his hand, spinning it expertly between his fingers, and tipped his chin up. He sniffed again and shrugged. "The wretched, jealous child wanted to replace you."

Hermione walked slowly toward Bellatrix and pulled out her own wand. For a brief, rather confusing moment, Voldemort thought that Hermione was going to murder Bellatrix Black. But then Hermione crouched down and aimed her wand at the puddle of vomit, murmuring,

"Tergeo."

The mess was Siphoned up, and then Hermione used her wand to Scour Bellatrix's face of sick and spittle. Bellatrix moaned and panted, clutching at the hem of Hermione's skirt. She shook her head and whimpered,

"N-No more."

"Hush now," Hermione pulled at Bellatrix's elbow and began hauling Bellatrix up to stand. Bellatrix moved with great difficulty, and when at last she stood, she wobbled and nearly careened over. Hermione let her lean upon her, and she said over her shoulder to Voldemort,

"Just going to take Miss Black to the violet parlour to get her some tea before she goes home, My Lord."

"Quite so." Voldemort felt numb as Hermione led Bellatrix out of the office. He quietly shut the door behind them, and then he went back to his desk and knocked back the entire glass of firewhisky in two big gulps. He slammed down the empty tumbler and sat, wrenching open his drawer and pulling out the letter from Albus Dumbledore. He read it again and shut his eyes. Enemies everywhere, he thought, and allies, too.

"Enter," he said, when he heard gentle knocking on his door. Hermione came walking with her face tipped up, looking oddly serene as she approached his desk. She pulled out the chair opposite him and said,

"Abraxas Malfoy took her back to Cygnus and Druella. She was too weak to go by herself. I… very obliquely… explained to Abraxas that she'd been punished for displeasing you."

"Hmm." Voldemort pinched his lips. "And why didn't you just insist that I kill her?"

"Because, My Lord, executing a young witch known to be catastrophically loyal to you? A member of the House of Black? What would do to your movement?" Hermione gave him a sad little smile and toyed with the ring on her right finger. "I know where I stand. Now Bellatrix knows everyone's place, too."

Voldemort licked his lips and said coolly, "Dumbledore is a liability."

"I was wondering when you would say that," Hermione sighed. "The moment I realised he'd been in my head, I knew he'd signed his own death warrant."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "So you've no objection…?"

Hermione pursed her lips and shut her eyes. "I came back here to change the course of history. To make things better. To ease suffering. To ensure your victory. Dumbledore died in my time, too. This is just like James Potter. Earlier than expected, but… only, I want you to be very careful, Master, because -"

"Don't call me that." He cleared his throat a little and shook his head. Hermione looked surprised.

"Surely you don't want me to call you Tom?"

"I… I don't have a good idea yet," Voldemort said, drumming his fingers on his desk. "I'm open to ideas. My Lord in public, certainly, to denote deference. But in private, when you're with me in bed… I put a ring on your hand, Hermione. You're not a damned House-Elf."

His cheeks went very hot then, and he realised there was something itching inside of his throat, inside of his mind. Something was roaring in his brain, insisting upon being spoken, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He coughed into his fist and whispered,

"Come up with something else."

"You were Tom Riddle for nearly your entire life," Hermione said softly. "Perhaps to everyone else, you could be Lord Voldemort, but to me, you could be Tom. You've never been Tom to me. Not really. I never knew the handsome boy at Hogwarts. To me, Lord Voldemort was a terrifying villain. I've come round on that, obviously. But perhaps…"

He shut his eyes and tried to imagine it, to picture her moving with him beneath the sheets, rasping his name into the darkness. Tom. He tried to see himself shaving at his sink in the morning, with her leaning against the doorjamb in nothing but her knickers. Morning, Tom. He tried to see himself playing piano for her, her arms snaring around her from behind as she kissed his cheek and whispered into his ear, I'm yours, Tom.

He'd always hated the name. It had always felt dirty and Muggle and unworthy. But for some reason, it seemed like the right syllable for her to say to him. Master, in those moments, did not feel right. Not from her. Not anymore. Tom.

"Tom." He opened his eyes and nodded. "But only in private. And only you."

She smiled a little, her eyes fluttering. She played with her ruby ring again and let out a shaking breath. She pushed back her chair and rose, walking around the desk and approaching him. He turned his chair and let her straddle him, let her climb onto his lap and wrap her arms around his shoulders. She kissed him lightly and then giggled against his lips,

"You smell like you've been drinking already."

"I have. I was celebrating Eugenia Jenkins' new tenure," Voldemort shrugged. "Then Bellatrix showed up, so… she rather ruined everything."

"I'm only sorry that she had to feel that much pain to get clarification," Hermione said, her voice low. "I don't wish that sort of pain on anybody. Truly."

"That is because you are a genuinely good person," Voldemort huffed, "and there aren't many of those about."

He kissed her again, and she murmured onto her mouth, "Please don't get hurt trying to kill Albus Dumbledore."

"I won't be reckless," he promised. "I'll take as much time as I can. And you're going to help me, because I require your mind."

She pulled back and shook her head. "I can't help you plan the assassination of Albus Dumbledore."

"Are you with me, or aren't you?" he growled, pushing his fingers into her hair. She seemed to steady herself then, and she mumbled at last,

"Of course I am. I'll help you. I'm with you all the way, Tom."

Fire blazed through Voldemort's veins at that, and he crushed her mouth onto his for a moment before he hissed impulsively,

"Ysssathanosss amathasssa. Say it again."

"Tom," she whispered, her breath warm on his lips. She kissed him delicately, slowly. "I'm with you, Tom."

Finally, the drumbeat in his head grew so loud that he couldn't ignore it any longer, and he finally touched his forehead to hers and said softly,

"I love you."

They just breathed, for a very long while, and when at last Hermione pulled back, her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips parted, she blinked a few times. Then her eyes widened slowly, and a look of shock crossed her face. She touched her fingers to her lips, and she whispered,

"Oh, my…"

"What?" Voldemort scowled. "What is it?"

"Tom," Hermione said with shaking breath, a broad smile crossing her face, "I think you ought to look in a mirror."

Author's Note: Well, Bellatrix kind of had that coming, huh? But leave it to Hermione to be super diplomatic about it. And Dumbledore… well, he's got something coming, too. And Voldemort's officially in love - if you've ever read any of my Bellamort stories, you'll know that I believe Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort is capable of feeling love, just not in the same way that most people experience love (i.e. he would perceive feelings and emotions in a warped way).

As always, thank you so much for reading and a massive, massive thanks for feedback.