Bravo
"Sylvie, are you very certain?" Hermione studied her reflection in the full-length mirror in the black and white suite. She dragged her palms over the raw silk gown she'd put on, and she noticed that hers and Sylvie's tailoring spells had made it fit just so. "Are you certain you don't mind me borrowing it?"
"I don't mind one bit," Sylvie Malfoy insisted. She stood beside Hermione in a deep magenta dress of her own, a satin creation with black buttons and black lace trim. She adjusted her ringlets and asked, "Do I look all right?"
"You're a paragon of French elegance," Hermione huffed. "Even with your clothes, I still look frumpy."
"Your hair and makeup could use a little work." Sylvie flashed Hermione a little smile, and she pulled her wrist. Hermione glanced down at the emerald green silk gown she'd borrowed, with its metallic gold trim and its pearl accents. Coupled with Hermione's ruby ring, she looked positively festive for the Christmas season. Good thing, then, that she and Sylvie were about to head downstairs to the ballroom for a party.
"Now," Sylvie said, pulling Hermione into the black and white tiled bathroom, "Let's fix your hair. May I?"
"Please." Hermione watched as Sylvie opened Hermione bottle of Sleekeazy's. Sylvie gently combed some of the stuff through Hermione's ratty mane, and then she began to pull it back and pushed in pins that she Conjured with her twisting, feminine-looking wand. She kept pulling and pushing at Hermione's hair, and Hermione had no idea what was happening to her head. Finally, Sylvie said,
"There."
Hermione turned her face and looked in the mirror, and she was very pleasantly surprised. Sylvie had drawn Hermione's hair back in a series of artistic swirls, and when Hermione touched at the back, she felt a ballerina bun. Her hair was neat and pretty, she thought. She grinned at Sylvie and said,
"Thank you, Madame Malfoy."
"Now your makeup." Sylvie opened Hermione's cosmetics bag and rifled through the objects inside. She seemed confused by the mostly Muggle products from the year 2004, but eventually she figured out how to work everything. She dabbed scarlet lipstick onto Hermione's lips, lined her eyes with black and shadowed them with a brush of dark green, applied quite a bit of mascara, and brushed powder over Hermione's skin. Finally, she blushed Hermione's cheekbones. Then she cast a charm upon Hermione's face so that the makeup would stay all night. Hermione admired her reflection in the mirror and said,
"You French witches really do have a way with beauty. When I met all those witches from Beauxbatons…"
She trailed off, her cheeks going hot. She'd said far too much. She looked at Sylvie, her eyes going wide. Sylvie gave her a curious look and asked,
"When did you meet witches from Beauxbatons?"
"Erm… on the Continent, with the Dark Lord," Hermione lied. "It was… I was… erm. Traveling with him."
"Oh, I see." Sylvie seemed very suspicious all of a sudden. She pinched her lips and tipped her chin up, and most of the camaraderie that had developed between Hermione and Sylvie seemed to have dissolved into thin air. Hermione gulped and suggested,
"You should get downstairs, don't you think? You're the hostess; people will be here soon."
"Yes. Quite so." Sylvie and Hermione left the suite, and they were almost to the staircase when a figure emerged from the arched opening. Tom Riddle had come up the stairs, and he was clad in a white-tie set of tuxedo robes. He held out his hand to Hermione and said,
"Sylvie, I'd like to walk her down myself, if you don't mind."
"Of course not, sir." Sylvie stared intently at Tom, and Hermione knew why. He was so intensely handsome now, ever since he'd told her that he loved her. His features were chiseled and angular. His eyes were dark and shining. His lips were perfectly formed, full and rosy against his unmarred skin. His hair seemed far less grey than it had before, and it appeared to have grown in substantially upon his hairline. He looked, rightly and truly, like a profoundly handsome man of very nearly forty-two. He did not seem broken or warped by the magic he'd performed. He did not seem like his Horcruxes had destroyed him. He seemed healed, reborn.
He stepped toward Hermione with a vivaciousness she'd never seen in him, energy filling his movements as a little smile crossed his face. She took his hand, and Sylvie Malfoy wisely moved down the stairs. Tom pressed his hand to the small of Hermione's back and growled into her ear,
"Let's go back into your suite before the party. I'm hungry."
"Tom," she whispered. "Sylvie's just done my hair. I couldn't have you mussing it."
He let out a low rumble of a laugh and kissed her cheek. "I'd be careful with your hair. I'd be quick. So very, very quick, Hermione. Give me two minutes."
"Very tempting," she hummed, "but you're all arranged in your tuxedo robes, and I'm all dolled up in a borrowed gown, and we -"
"Two minutes, Hermione." He kissed her cheek again. "I'll make it worth your while."
"Tom!" She finally pulled back and pressed her mouth against his. She whispered desperately onto his lips, "After the party. Hmm?"
"I am going to be aching for you by then," he whined. He snatched her hand in his and pulled her toward the stairs as he complained, "I'm not pleased about your decision to rebuff me now. I've been craving you all day."
She laughed a little and said again, "After the party. I promise."
"You'd best be prepared," he said as they descended the stairs. "I'm sleeping in your suite, and it's going to be a long night."
She tingled then, as they neared the bottom of the stairs. She pulled him back before he stepped out of the stairwell, and he whirled toward her. She drew herself flush against him and whispered,
"Do that again. Threaten me again."
"Oh, you like that, hmm?" He smirked and bent down, touching his forehead to hers. He let his lips brush against hers as he whispered, "When this party is over, I am going to make you come until you can't breathe."
"Tom." She tried to kiss him, but he pulled away just enough to prevent that. Their breath still mingled as he promised her,
"You're going to moan that name, cry it into the darkness until your voice is hoarse."
"Tom." Hermione pressed her hands to his chest and squeezed at his tuxedo robe. She was so alive for him then, so alive she couldn't think straight, and she mumbled, "All right. Let's go back upstairs."
"Oh, no. It's too late now." He kissed her cheekbone. "Now you have to wait, and dance with me, and then when it's all over at the party, I will take you upstairs and I will -"
"I get the picture." Hermione grinned. She sighed and let him step away, and then she finally found a breath. He linked his hand with hers, and he took a few steps before stopping. He cleared his throat and glanced down to the hand he was holding. He stared at her ring for a moment and asked,
"Would you mind wearing it on the other hand?"
"The… the ruby ring?" Hermione toyed with it for a moment. She blinked. It wasn't an engagement ring, was it? She took down her Occlumency shields and thrust forth her confusion. He hadn't proposed marriage. This wasn't an engagement ring; it was a ring of possession. He was just claiming her with this ring.
"I think that message would be more obvious if it were on your left hand." Tom brushed his thumb over his lip. "Right now it just looks like a trinket."
Hermione let out a shaking breath but nodded. She slid the ruby ring from her right fourth finger and moved it to her left hand, gliding it onto the finger that had once held her wedding rings from Ron. He was gone now, Hermione thought. She would probably never, ever see him again. But Tom was here, and she was with him. She belonged to the Dark Lord, so much more completely than she'd ever intended to do. She put her Occlumency shields back up and stared at the ring on her left hand, and she heard Tom say quietly,
"Thank you."
He took her right hand again and led her to the ballroom.
For the first twenty minutes of the party, Hermione held Tom's hand as he used the other to slowly sip firewhisky with a sprig of rosemary and some cranberries. She drank mulled wine and listened as Tom chatted with an elderly member of the Rowle family who was very interested in hearing about Lord Voldemort's aspirations for a wizarding society that was hierarchical but inclusive. Hermione paid close attention as Tom explained that in his vision, blood purity would be a goal but not a puritanical endgame, whilst Beings and Beasts would be accommodated and treated according to their intelligence and contributions to the wizarding world. Meanwhile, he said patiently, the Muggle world would be kept at bay, as its technology and societal structure had no ability to integrate fully with magic. He was willing to work within the framework of a Ministry to achieve this goal, he told Mr Rowle, so long as he was given a Minister willing to work with him. Would Mr Rowle be able to contribute funds to the political movement, Tom asked delicately, so that meetings could be held, bribes could be made, appointments could be arranged, and spies could be organised? Mr Rowle gladly promised a monthly stipend of five hundred Galleons to Lord Voldemort, to be transferred regularly from his Gringotts vault to Tom Riddle's. Tom clinked his whisky tumbler against Mr Rowle's and thanked him for his generosity, and then he said,
"You know, Mr Rowle, it's witches like Hermione Granger who are proof that the society I seek to build is the best way forward. You see, Hermione was born into Muggle society, just as I was, gifted with magic. Unlike me, she had two Muggle parents. And unlike anyone else in this room, she went undetected by the Ministry and is self-educated. But she is an immensely powerful witch. It is most suitable that she share her gifts with the wizarding community that has accepted her, and that she never return to the Muggle world. It is also most suitable that she be paired with a Half-Blood. Don't you agree?"
Hermione felt her cheeks go warm. That felt awfully personal, she thought. But then she considered that Tom was a Legilimens, that he probably knew what Mr Rowle was thinking about all of this, about the Muggle-born witch holding Lord Voldemort's hand. She squeezed a little at Tom's fingers, and Mr Rowle nodded, seeming quite convinced.
"I think you are quite on the right track, sir," said Mr Rowle. "My nephew, Thorfinn, will want to hear so much more about all of this. Have you spoken with him?"
"I have. Thorfinn and I are old friends." Tom curled up his lips. "I shall say hello to him again tonight. Thank you again, Mr Rowle."
He bowed a little, and Hermione raised her glass a little. "So nice to meet you."
"And you, Miss Granger." Mr Rowle nodded. Hermione resisted the urge to correct him about her title. It was Madam Granger, wasn't it? She was a married witch, wasn't she?
"May I have your attention, please?"
The string instruments, enchanted to play themselves in the corner by the towering, twinkling Christmas tree, quieted down, and the conversational din in the ballroom mellowed. The Amplified voice of Abraxas Malfoy called out,
"We shall now have the first dance to open the ballroom for proper festivities. I present to you Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy, Andromeda Black and Cypress Avery, and Bellatrix Black with Rodolphus Lestrange. Kindly also welcome our guest of honour, Lord Voldemort, with Miss Hermione Granger. Your host and hostess will also be dancing."
"Oh, help." Hermione let Tom lead her toward the dance floor, and she flicked him a nervous little smile. She stepped out onto the wooden parquet floor with him and felt his hand go to her back. His fingers wrapped around hers, and they waited for the music to start. Hermione looked about at the other couples. Sylvie Malfoy looked beautiful wrapped up in Abraxas' arms, and Abraxas' blue eyes were locked onto his wife. Lucius and Narcissa looked like nervous little children. Andromeda seemed like she wanted to be anywhere else other than dancing with the Avery boy. And Bellatrix looked sorrowful and utterly glum with her future husband's arms around her. She stared over Rodolphus' shoulder at Tom and Hermione, her sunken eyes heavy with something Hermione couldn't read.
"What is she thinking?" Hermione whispered. Tom shut his eyes and curled up half his mouth.
"Lost cause," he parroted. "He doesn't want me. I've never seen a man look at a witch the way he looks at her."
"You're making things up," Hermione complained, but Tom shook his head.
"I am not."
The music started then, and Hermione was swept into a rather brisk waltz. She struggled to keep the beat, to keep her feet moving just so, but Tom led her expertly. She stared up at him and said,
"The last time you and I danced, we both had masks on."
"I seem to recall almost killing you that night," Tom said. "It was a bit of a shock, discovering that you'd come back in time to destroy me."
Hermione scowled. "That isn't why I came back in time."
Tom tipped his head and sighed. "I'm no fool, Hermione. I am a great many things. Blazes, I'm a murderer, but I'm not a fool."
Hermione's mouth fell open as they danced. She shook her head. "No. Odysseus sent me a letter telling me to come back and find you and make myself your friend. He told me to change the past to save people, reduce suffering, to -"
"But when you stood in that bathroom, rotating that Time-Turner, did you think to yourself, I am going back in time to make certain that Lord Voldemort wins? Or did you just think that you were coming back to change things?" He narrowed his eyes at her. She swallowed hard, feeling dizzy.
"I didn't… I never meant…" Hermione wrenched her eyes shut and stumbled a little. He tightened his hands around her and whispered,
"It's all right; I didn't mean to fall in love with you, either. But here we are."
"How did you find out?" Hermione asked. Her eyes welled heavily. She shook her head and whispered, "You and I… we…"
"Two nights ago, when you were sleeping in my bed, I pulled out a memory of you talking about your mother's memory problems with Ron Weasley. Then you asked him if he would change history if he could. Suddenly you were coming back in time. Then you were in the Leaky Cauldron and you were plotting ways to ingratiate yourself to me. Part of your plan involved winning my trust. Telling me that it would have been better if I'd won."
Hermione gasped. She started to cry now, to really cry, not caring that people were watching. She couldn't care that people saw tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled through a waltz with Lord Voldemort. He said softly,
"I started searching your more recent thoughts. Eventually, it wasn't a game anymore. Eventually, you weren't tricking me. You weren't pretending about resenting your old life. You weren't lying when you said you wanted me to be successful. Your real thoughts these days are love for me. You've turned to the Darkness, Hermione Granger, and it's my fault, isn't it?"
"I am in love with you, Tom." She was desperate now. She stared at her ring on her left fourth finger and she mumbled, "I can't imagine ever going back. I can't imagine fighting against you now."
"Don't you think I know that?"
The song ended, and Tom pulled back to bow to Hermione, who curtsied. He strode right up to her and seized her face in his hands, and he bent to put his lips beside her ear.
"I like threatening to kiss you. I don't want to threaten to hurt you. But don't you betray me, because nothing would break me into a thousand pieces the way that destroying you as an enemy would do. I love you, Hermione Granger. Dance with me again."
They danced in silence for another twenty minutes. Finally Tom said he wanted to go speak with Raddox Lestrange about his son's treatment of Bellatrix and about the man's friendship, and he needed to do so alone. Hermione didn't think it was a good idea to argue, so she made her way over to the food table. She was shaken and felt weak from the realisation of what Tom had seen in her mind. She put a few truffles and some cheese on a little plate and began to munch in a corner, staring down at her food.
"I wanted to thank you. And to… apologise."
Hermione looked up to see Bellatrix standing before her. The young witch had come to the party in an elegant gown of black satin, velvet, and silk. Her usually wild curls had been tamed into a low chignon, and she wore a black pearl pendant. She looked quite pretty, Hermione thought. She did seem to have quite recovered from her Cruciatus Curse. Hermione cleared her throat and swallowed her bite of cheese.
"You must watch your thoughts around him," Hermione said. "It's almost impossible to hide anything."
"Perhaps I shall learn Occlumency, like you," Bellatrix smirked. Hermione remembered the way that Draco Malfoy had learnt Occlumency from Bellatrix. Had it been Lord Voldemort to teach Bellatrix? She sighed and said,
"He's looking forward to you serving him once you've finished with school."
"Serving him. As a soldier." Bellatrix huffed a breath and fingered her skirts. "I had meant to pursue him, before you appeared out of nowhere."
"I didn't come from as nowhere as everyone seems to think," Hermione said cryptically. "I've known him for a long time."
"Have you?" Bellatrix sucked a lip. "Right. Well. Here I am, informing you that I'm very sorry and it won't happen again."
"What, you wishing death on me? Thinking about killing me yourself?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. Bellatrix's cheeks coloured, and she whispered,
"I won't… I wouldn't…"
"You're afraid of him," Hermione nodded, "as well you should be. He wouldn't hesitate. Not for a moment. You'd see a flash of green and nothing else. Just finish school and then accept whatever assignment he gives you, Bellatrix."
"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix let out a little sigh and asked carefully, "Has he used… erm… that is… he looks different."
Hermione curled up half her mouth and gave the diplomatic answer upon which she and Tom had agreed. "His study of Dark magic wore immensely upon his body, but through his powers, he's regained his health and looks. It is marvelous, isn't it?"
"So it is." Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder to where Raddox Lestrange was talking with Tom. She looked back to Hermione and said, "I don't think you want to talk to me anymore."
"Erm…" Hermione thought back to the time Bellatrix had had her pinned on the floor of this very ballroom, dragging her wand across Hermione's flesh. Mudblood. She licked her lips and whispered, "Not really, no."
"All right, then. See you." Bellatrix whirled on a heel and marched off. She strode straight toward Rodolphus Lestrange, a tall and lanky boy with stringy brown hair. They talked for a moment, and then Rodolphus led Bellatrix to a table filled with wine glasses.
Hermione watched then as Abraxas Malfoy walked up to Tom and clapped him on the back, gesturing grandly to the piano along one of the ballroom walls. Tom held his hands up and shook his head, but Abraxas nodded and clasped his hands together. Hermione's stomach fluttered, and she saw Tom half-heartedly follow Abraxas across the ballroom. He went to the piano, and the strings went quiet. People began to crowd around the piano, but Hermione held back. She clutched her plate of truffles and cheese, and she watched as Tom opened the instrument and put his fingers to the keys.
He began to play a scherzo by a wizarding composer, a piece Hermione had learnt about at Hogwarts. This, The Victorious Duelling Witch, was a thundering, towering challenge. His right hand cascaded all over the high notes as his left hand pounded out chords. Then his right fingers began flitting around like a waterfall, tinkling around whilst his right hand played arpeggios beneath. More thudding chords, building and growing, a percussive and drumming accent at the end of the beautiful middle section.
Hermione stood staring at the crowd, at the way they admired Tom. They were whispering to one another. A few witches had fingers to their lips. They hadn't known he possessed this talent. They hadn't known that he was a musical genius on top of being a powerful wizard. And here he was, physically handsome, talking politics with the most elite Purebloods, gathering funds and allies, performing piano perfectly. Here was Lord Voldemort, swaying as his fingers moved in perfect harmony on the keys of the Malfoys' piano, trilling around and then scouring the lower keys with drilling chords. Hermione's eyes flicked to Bellatrix, who was leaning on Rodolphus for support and looked like she was going to faint. Even Sylvie Malfoy looked awed, clutching Abraxas' hand and gazing at Tom as he swept into the final act of the scherzo.
His hands were flying now, up and down and back again. He caressed the high notes, kissing them with his little finger whilst his left hand plunked out the deepest chords on the bottom register of the instrument. He began to rock forward and back rhythmically, his face contorting a little as he finished the piece. He yanked his hands triumphantly from the piano, and the crowd erupted into wild applause. People hooted and hollered, and witches gasped. Tom looked up from the piano and met Hermione's eyes. She let down her Occlumency shields and thought right at him,
I did not know when I came back in time that I was going to fall in love with you. I did not realise that I was going to think your way was the right way. I did not know that Odysseus was right all along. I did not know… any of it. I know now. It's you. I belong to the Dark Lord. I'm yours, Tom.
He blinked a few times and shut the piano, and Hermione sealed up her mind again. He was swamped then; people rushed toward him and swarmed around him. Bellatrix was trying to get closer; she was shouting at him that he'd performed beautifully. Druella Black was touching at his robe and insisting that it was the most beautiful music she'd ever heard. Tom smiled and nodded at everyone, thanking them and trying to move through the crowd. He was making his way to Hermione, she realised. He was coming to her.
Finally he broke free, and people seemed to realise that he wanted to be left alone. They scattered slowly, still humming with conversation about Lord Voldemort's piano performance, and Abraxas dashed up and put a hand on Tom's shoulder.
"That will certainly have them talking all night, sir," Abraxas said enthusiastically.
"My Lord," Hermione corrected Abraxas. The pale, blond man looked at her and frowned a little, but then his throat bobbed and he nodded.
"You're right, of course. It was a phenomenal performance, My Lord."
Tom's lips curled up. He nodded once to Abraxas and said, "Thank you for the use of the instrument. I'm going to retire on that high note. No pun intended. Hermione… come with me."
She shivered and nodded as he held his hand out. She put her fingers in his palm and let him lead her toward the door of the ballroom. Once they were out in the corridor, he paused and took her face in his hands.
"I saw your true thoughts," he confirmed. "All of them."
Her eyes watered again. "I love you."
"I know that." He nodded. "I know it because after I saw you scheming to trick me, I panicked and searched for any indication that you were not my enemy. I had my wand aimed at you, Hermione; I needed to know whether I had to execute you in your sleep."
She shrank back from him, feeling fear all of a sudden. But he pulled her close and descended, brushing his lips against hers.
"Your thoughts showed me that you were deeply unhappy in the life you left behind, that you felt disgust toward Dumbledore after the war, that you had so many thoughts about what I could have accomplished if I'd chosen differently. Your thoughts showed me that you have fallen thoroughly in love with me here, though it was never your intention to do so. Love. I felt it so strongly from your mind, from your soul, when I went looking for myself in your head, Hermione, and I…"
He reached down for her left hand and brushed his thumb over her fourth finger. He whispered carefully,
"Don't take this off. Do not betray me."
"I promise you that I am yours, Tom," Hermione said, reaching up for the face that had become so perfect. She remembered the awful thought she'd had about him once. Almost handsome. He was very handsome now, she thought, not that that mattered to her one lick. It was his power and his talent and his intelligence that drove her into a frenzy.
"I'm going to take you upstairs now," Tom murmured against Hermione's cheekbone. He kissed her there, then put his lips beside her ear, "and they'll hear you at this party."
She giggled a little and insisted, "No. I'll be quiet as a mouse."
He seized her left hand and dragged her towards the staircase as he growled, "I'll take that as a challenge."
Author's Note: Choo choo! All aboard the Lemon Express! Who's looking forward to that? Mwah hahaha. So, Tom got to show off his piano skills in public and wow everybody. Abraxas is finally using My Lord. Sylvie and Hermione bonded… kinda. Bellatrix and Hermione… well, it's complicated. And we discovered that Voldemort knows the truth about Hermione's thoughts, maybe even more deeply than she does. But they're still in love. So what does that mean?
Would love your thoughts on this chapter, as always.