Happy birthday, Ginny, Harry! Sorry for the delay! Here is another chapter, I'm an attention seeker so if you can reviwe, follow, or favorite, I will love it!

My beta is Grifen345, thank you!

People say that fifteen years ago, the Royal Palace was nothing more than a pile of rocks. It was the ruins of what once had been a less-pompous and dark castle than the one Hope had seen. Calling the Royal Palace a palace or a castle was actually an imprecise definition – similar to calling a giant wolf a puppy. The Royal Palace was a citadel, with the highest dark towers one had ever seen and rock cliffs that ended into darkness. Several bridges connected the main body of the castle to the surrounding lands, and the heads of the enemies of the State were always exposed on stakes situated on the high walls, conserved by a charm. Within the past fifteen years, many of them had accumulated, and all of them were fully exposed in their bloody glory. At the center of the walls, was the heads of those in the Order of Phoenix, the greatest enemies of the Emperor. Everyone was taught to despise them at the schools – Albus Dumbledore, Edgar Bones, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, Dorcas Meadows, Sturgis Podmore, Benjy Fenwick, Elphias Dodge, Caradoc Dearborn, and James and Lily Potter. There were those still on the run – Sirius Black, Alastor Moody, Dedalus Diggle, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall and Aberforth Dumbledore.

Those in the higher classes never talked about the Traitors of Magic, neither did the populace, which was mostly kept in oblivious about such matters, but Hope knew some stories. You didn't spend your whole childhood in the Black Market without acquiring information, and neither did you spend your whole womanhood tangled in political parties without hearing the juicy gossips. And in this case, the juice was red and tasted like iron. The favorite targets of these gossips were Albus Dumbledore and his brother, who had had rather dark boyhoods; Gideon and Fabian Prewett whose sister was still alive with a very large family; Frank Longbottom, whose mother was Augusta Longbottom, a traditional pureblood grey witch who had raised their son, a boy called Neville if she remembered well and a Gryffindor duelist. There were still those people named Marauders, James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin – two of them dead and two currently on the run. Potter was an extinct pureblood family, while Evans had been a mudblood witch. Black had betrayed his family's beliefs and joined the Light Side on the war, while everyone knew that Lupin was a werewolf. Although everybody avoided the subject of the Order of Phoenix, everyone had their ears open whenever the subject arose in conversations.

Back to the castle, while the exterior was rather dark, the interior of it was still easily considered the darkest place in the world. The walls and floors were made of black marble, and the high domes of the ceiling seemed to steal all the rest of light that came weakly from the lancet windows with spiraled mullions. Jambs held moving sculptures of the Gods of Magic in the side-galleries. The black flag of the Empire - the symbol once known as Dark Mark - was on everything. And the same happened to the Slytherin crest – it was in the capitals of columns, in the moldings, in the finials, and in the baldachins.

Stone vipers danced in the gambles of the arches. Hope had heard that the Emperor had a tower that housed thousands snakes, and she couldn't stop wishing to see them. Since forever she had always had a fascination with those creatures. They were very sassy and quite lazy. She knew that Lord Voldemort was the master of several, and she was a bit curious about it. Before hearing about it, she had never thought a snake would follow the orders of another.

Hope followed the nobles of Malfoy through the palace. Her robes were an empire-waited ivory sleeveless gown and a heavy black cloak embroidered in black with a tail that had her constantly tripping over it, especially when she walked down the stairs. That had made Draco laugh, as it was the first time in years she walked without any display of grace. Because of that, he was wincing slightly as he walked beside her.

"Did you have to push so hard?" He whispered to her, his hand trying not to massage his back, which was obviously in pain because of his "fall". He wore a double breasted high neck black jacket that ended near his knees, a black over cape that flowed in the air as he walked, silk trousers, and lace-up boots. She grinned at him. "You dig your own grave. Maybe I can pay you later?"

"I'll much appreciate it." He whispered to her before looking to his parents. Seeing them nod, they left the older couple and walked to the antechamber where all teenagers were supposed to wait.

The adults would enter first in the ballroom, probably set the ground to their heirs and heiresses before they were presented. As an earl, Draco would be one of the first ones to enter, probably together with Arty and soon after Ronald Jugson-Lestrange's son, Reynold. As a dame, she was in the lowest rank of nobility – though she was socially elevated by her status as Black and Malfoy, but still – and hence, she would be one of the last to enter. Looking at the dresses, she could tell she was actually the only Dame in the room, as she was the only to wear white as a dress.

There were the two Macmillian boys, sons of the late Macmillian lord, a baronet, in the same deep red of Vincent and Gregory; Isobel and Morag MacDougal that wore the green colors of a vidame together with Matthew Rosier and his cousin, Leanna. Blaise, Daphne, Theo, Rey, Isadore and Millicent were in the blue colors of the heir of a Marquis. As countess, Pansy and Eyra Selwyn wore the black gowns, as did their male counterparts, Draco, Arty and Ivan Dolohov. Near them stood Damon, in the light grey robes of foreign royalty – his tanned skin contrasting against the fabric, his blue eyes shining with mirth.

"Is it just me that has the sensation of being the black sheep?" She questioned him, pointing to her own gown, that clearly stated that she wasn't a real noble, but someone who had received the title. It was all conceited crap, evidently, as they weren't born nobles too – Voldemort still hadn't won the war when they were born, so during that time they had just been part of the rich, old, pureblood families, but that's all. Damon snickered beside her. "Black. You did notice that you are wearing white, yes? You look great by the way."

"Thanks. When are you going to enter?"

"After you."

"Oh...you are going to keep me company? Thanks, I was going to get so lonely without you." She grinned to the wizard, leaving him looking to her swinging hips as she trailed after Draco, beaming at the others nobles. Daphne was telling them about a prank Blaise had played on Theo. The two Nott siblings were pleased to narrate the reactions of their parents when the Heir of Nott arrived at home with his hair shocking pink and his robes in an outrageous orange color.

She just leaned her head in Draco's shoulders and he tangled his fingers in hers, brushing his lips against her hand back - action that didn't go unnoticed by his housemates. Draco shrugged and captured her lips in a chaste kiss. Hope smirked against the soft surface and obliged the action, ignoring the catcalls.

Then Draco left, accompanied by Arty - with whom Hope had barely had time to trade smiles with - Ivan, Eyra and Pansy – the last mentioned seeming a bit hurt with her actions, Hope could only hope she didn't resent her. Gradually, the young nobles left the antechamber, putting on their cold and unaffected masks before walking through the doors. They were all instructed to descend the staircase, and following that, they were supposed to walk to the throne and greet the Emperor. After that, they were to walk to their left and then mingle in the crowd.

Soon, only she and Damon remained. They sat in front of each other, he with a closed off expression, and she playing with the cloak catch absent-mindedly. She was a bit nervous about meeting the person who had condemned all muggleborn to disgrace, killed over a million of muggles, was one of the only people in the empire who knew her true identity - the only one outside her family, and the most powerful person of the whole empire and, possibly, the world.

"So, you and Malfoy are together." He trailed off. Hope eyed him carefully, he seemed a bit angered, but she couldn't tell if it was an anger directed to her or not. His Heir Ring, with which he had been toying, fell from his hand, rolling on the floor to a corner. He swore and Hope summoned the jewelry without her wand.

It was pretty, if not a little flashy. The ring was made of white gold and had a huge onyx on its center, with a smaller dark diamonds around it. It was feminine-looking, but she had heard that all rings of French families were. The English rings were very plain, normally just a band of gold, silver or bronze - depending on the Hogwartian the family claimed alliance to - with their House's crest engraved on it. Hope gave the ring to him. "Yeah…Draco sort of confessed everything yesterday."

"How to feel about him? Are you going to marry him?"

"He is my best friend and confident, and both of us are attracted to each other. I love him." Hope had never really understood the meaning of love. She knew many people drew a difference between being in love and loving; she couldn't see it. She knew the idea of being in love with Draco didn't work for her. She could survive without him, but his presence kept her living like she did. The perfect love, wasn't it just a great friendship and the feeling of companionship that brought the benefits of having a family and sex? "Marrying him…that is an uncertainty. I don't think Duke And Duchess Malfoy would agree with the idea at the moment. No, probably not."

Oh, she knew that both Narcissa and Lucius liked her and, most importantly, trusted her. But while they called her promising and great, there were no benefits in Draco marrying her. Everything she owned was given to her by them. Well, she had acquired her own money, but the Malfoys had more money than all the light families in Britain together. They didn't need money, but they could work with more prestige. Not that they lacked it, but prestige wasn't something you could ever get enough of.

"You could be with me. I can assure that we could get married."

"I won't leave someone just because I cannot get married with him. Many relationships don't end in a weeding, but that doesn't mean that they aren't precious. I love him in my own way, and I love him very much." She explained to him with harsh words, but a soft voice.

"You could learn to love me." He mumbled and she nodded. She liked him, but she wasn't going to invest in a relationship with him. Hope could learn to love him, but she wasn't going to and as a gentleman he was obligated to accept her will; he didn't have the power to intervene. If he was Lucius, on the other hand, he could declare her as a crazy woman and intern her in an asylum. And if he convinced Lucius that her marriage in the Moreau family was a benefit to the Malfoys…their conversation would be meaningless. "You should go. Circe knowns that after Lord Crabbe you will be an oasis in the desert."

She grinned to him, while walking to the doors. "And you will be a great disappointment after me?"

Behind her back, he nodded. "I got unlucky."

Somehow, she didn't feel he was talking about the ball at all.


The ballroom was lighter than the rest of the palace, she supposed, but that wasn't saying much. With a glass dome as ceiling, Hope presumed that the structure which looked like a spider's cobweb allowed a great amount of light in during the day. Aside that, the room was fairly dark, the arches and columns ended at the dome, creating rib vaults. Everything was a polished shade of black, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling. A large double staircase followed part of the wall. The lights from the enormous chandelier reflected off of the dark shades of green of the dome and the silk samples that followed columns to the dome. Around the chamber, there were several floor chandeliers. Sitting at the center of everything, was him.

It was a known fact that the Emperor didn't have to worry about heirs; he was immortal. How he had done it, nobody knew, but people knew he couldn't die. When she had first heard about it, Hope had doubted. Even at that time she had known of the existence of things such as the Philosopher Stone, but not about something that could really prevent your death indefinitely. It was unheard of. But now she looked to the Emperor, she couldn't help but consider that maybe her grandchildren would actually wander in the lands governed by the same lord in front of her.

Voldemort looked…young. Well, not truly young as the day he had been born; but no more than thirty. And while his age wasn't a known fact, people would say he should be at least fifty. Someone younger than twenty couldn't have possibly arranged his followers into such an organized group all those years ago – that was a clear fact to the foreigners that discussed about it. The Death Eaters had been around since 1970s, and if you associated the group called Knights of Walpurgis with them (as most did), then they existed since the 50s. Rabastan had once let slip that his father had been one of his first followers since a very young age. Hope knew that Reginald Lestrange had died in 1969 at the age of forty-one. He would be sixty-eight that year, which lead Hope to believe Voldemort had a similar age, or maybe even older.

But the man in the mean-looking throne had a shiny, silky and ink-black hair, his body was ghostly-pale, slender, and his face was sharp, with full lips, high cheekbones, long face, thin almond eyes with crimson orbs, and a slightly aquiline nose. He wore royal robes with extravagant furs that she couldn't quite tell if they matched very well with him or not. It was strange, his clothing didn't look like those that might befit his particular personality, but she also couldn't point out anything wrong with it. The same to his whole appearance; he wasn't ugly, no she supposed he was rather handsome, but the adjective didn't fit him. The Emperor felt empty, as if he was just an image she had to judge as beautiful or ugly.

As she bowed deeply to him, she could feel him his eyes leering on her. But the eyes of a painting would have more alive than his. There were no words to be said. They were supposed to just let their occlumnecy walls down and, if the Emperor felt like invading their minds, he would do so. If he wanted them to talk, he would ask a question. Everything else was superfluous.

She felt something outside her mind walls, and she lowered them. Voldemort wandered for a while in her superficial thoughts, trying to catch her thoughts of him. As soon as he entered on her mind, the Emperor noticed that there weren't any ill intentions, or any good thoughts about him either. There weren't any impressions about him at all.

Feeling he retreat and dismiss her, Hope rose up and walked to the side, where Draco had settled himself near his parents. As soon as Damon finished his presentation, they'd all be free to walk around the ballroom, engage some small talks and dance. They had their arms crossed on their backs, but Draco grabbed her hand with a graceful movement and smirked to her. They watched as Damon bowed to the Emperor and the Dark Lord declared that it was an honor to have a foreign prince in his empire.

They were soon free to sugarcoat all the others nobles, swirling around the chamber, greeting and talking about nothing. Hope was talking with Duke Rabastan and Viscount Bartemius, two of the most eligible bachelors of the empire. Stan, as she had taken to calling Rabastan since she was twelve, hadn't changed anything in those six years. He still had that wild, long hair and wore the leather clothing. Barty had a classic look, with slim features and elegant robes. Both of them were in their early thirties.

"And how is Lady Rosier, my lord? I heard she is quite lovely. Pity her fragile state prevents her of attending these balls." She asked, remembering his recent engagement with Charis Rosier, goddaughter of Duke Maurus's Rosier.

"Charis is very fragile, indeed. She has taken a liking in drawing. Do you have any hobbies, Dame Black? I heard you have superb skills in magic, something specific?"

"I find Transfiguration very useful, I must say. Aside that, I afraid I can only point hunting as my favorite activity." Actually, she could also point flying, playing Quidditch, fighting, training and runes, but none of those were activities reserved to ladies. While hunting was usually associated with bloodshed, it was still an acceptable pastime for ladies because of the social events centered around it. Horse racing was also acceptable to watch, but not to physically partake in the race.

"You should visit my dukedom. There are many animals that you can only find in Scottish woods. I found a Phoenix feather on a tree recently. Amazing animals, the phoenixes. If they weren't so vicious they would be rather useful." Rabastan told them.

"Are you going to the Creatugicarel Auction? I heard Mister Rabior found a nundu. Those are truly fine creatures…impossible to tame, but every creature enthusiast is going to try to." Barty exclaimed. "I heard a ship carrying runespoors has vanished in the Mediterranean. Frankly, I told Castor that he should try using portkeys, but he insists in using ships. Anyone with a flying rug or a broomstick could rob it."

Hope laughed. "Oh, Barty, but you don't want to share your flying rug with runespoors, do you?" Rabastan joined in to her laughing fit as Bartemius denied such a statement immediately. A lady with golden skin and brunette waves approached them. A seductive smile playing on her lips, her cleavage showing just enough to attract interest, and on her curvy body an aqua green gown that spoke of an innocence she didn't have. Belinda Zabini.

"Oh Hope, are you keeping all the handsome boys to yourself? Have you ever heard of sharing?" She asked, kissing Hope's two cheeks before pulling away. "Or is the truth that the boys are keeping the bloomed flower to themselves?"

"Lady Belinda, have you come to grace us with your presence? I'm afraid that I and Viscount Crouch are the ones that stole the flower."

"This flower is very pleased to have been stolen. How are you, Lady Zabini? I heard about your wedding in Santorini, sublime they say. Young Lord Blaise said you were a vision. I must agree, though I'm sure the photos don't make value to reality."

"Oh, Dame Black, you have become such a charmer…I would marry you myself if that was allowed." She winked at her. "While same-gender marriages are still outrageous I will content myself with Colum." They laughed. "He had to stay at Wales, sadly. He has been feeling a bit unwell since yesterday."

They all snorted, without wishing for his health. At the court, it was a common knowledge that nobody survived a marriage with Belinda Zabini for more than one year. And take survive to the literal meaning - Belinda had the deadly hobby of poisoning her lovers. If Colum Faster was already feeling unwell after two months of marriage, he couldn't be that good in bed. The fact was, Hope and everyone else knew Colum would be dead, even he probably knew. Sometimes she had to wonder how people could still propose Belinda Zabini, but the bride must be worth the deadly end of the union Hope supposed.

Zabini - the name of her first husband, Blaise's father. A sixty year old man when he died years ago, he was rumored to be the only man Belinda Zabini had ever loved (the fact she still used his surname even after her other marriages was a sign), but even the fact that she had loved him hadn't made her think twice before finding a lover and then killing her new husband in a fit of jealously. She had never dealt an affair while married after that.

While Bartemius told them about his engagement - apparently, Charis had a large dowry and Lady Rosier had been gifted with unicorns, winged-horses, ancient artifacts, centenary jewels; all by her lovingly fiancée - Severus Snape approached them and asked to dance with her and, as a newcomer, she was obliged to accept.

Baron Snape wasn't a bad dancer - if not a bit stiff. They waltzed two songs, their eyes staring into each other. He didn't bring any conversation to their interaction and Hope didn't try to. Severus Snape was a man of few words; the renowned Royal Potions Master, undefeated bachelor, and recognized misanthrope. It was self-explanatory that he wasn't someone to bother. Actually, this might be the first time someone ever heard of Severus Snape inviting a person to dance.

The story of the life of that man was unheard of. While Snape wasn't a Wizarding surname, Severus certainly wasn't muggleborn. A half-blood, most people called him. He had never married, or been in any kind of relationship. He would often write public articles about potions or dark arts in the continent, but he wasn't part of any guild. While he was excellent in potions, everyone knew his true love was for the dark arts.

Severus had the potential to be a sexy man, if not pretty. With his slightly crooked nose and charming lips, Hope could bet his smile was handsome…but she had doubts that someone had ever even seen it. She didn't know much about him, but she watched his face attentively while he led her through the ballroom.

"You were spending too much time with Crouch and Lestrange. Your duty is to charm as many wizards and witches you can. Try those." Were the only words he uttered to her, just before leaving Hope with Marquis Selwyn.

Belá Selwyn lived in the north of Scotland with his wife and their children - two girls of the age of four and seven. He spoke about an orphanage burnt in a fire near his castle. At the expressions of horror of those who heard about the story, Hope couldn't help her thoughts about the falseness of all those around her - they had done similar things fifteen years ago. But the image of children locked in their bedrooms made Hope walk away before doing anything.

While she never had friends in the orphanage, or felt pity for the children she had grown up with while she also lived there, after Hope had left Mordred's House her thoughts often returned to those who had never had the same chances she had. She remembered a little girl that had arrived at the orphanage three days before Hope's depart. The girl's mother was a mudblood servant who had rebelled over the empire and tried to kill Marquis Nott. The mother was executed after poisoning a guard and her daughter was sent to the nearest orphanage. The girl had been an innocent soul, her eyes shivering with fear and her hands trembling in panic. Mr. Spinff had told Hope that the girl would never become anything more than a slave. Everything else was too dangerous, as it would require the girl to have some proximity with purebloods, and with her mother's past. It wasn't an option.

It was the little girl with no future that might have already become a slave now whose body Hope imagined to be burning, cornered between pieces of a fallen ceiling. She shivered at the thought. Her feet moved through the dance floor numbly, walking to near the walls where she knew she wouldn't hinder the dancing pairs. She didn't felt like dancing anymore, but as a newcomer she was obliged to accept every invitation she received. She had to get away from the ballroom, get some air. She knew she wasn't supposed wander around the palace, and it was foolish to do so - she had doubts she would be pardoned if someone found her lost in the dungeons. But she also knew she was allowed to if she stayed close to the ballroom for a while. Surely more than an hour wouldn't be highly recommended, as the emperor enjoyed having his sycophants fluttering around him. Maybe she would be able to take a peek of the Serpentine Tower.

Her eyes searched for Draco in the crowd but there was no sign of him. Near her, she heard some people talking about the niece of Lord Avery, who had been found dead after being kidnapped. A man said that Lord Avery had refused to pay for the ransom the kidnappers asked. Hope heard the fake gasps of some woman, but everyone could also listen to the sickness of their voices, their personalities. It was there for everyone to notice, their coldness. And they talked about orphans being burnt with a poisoned amusement, they talked about the dead daughter of their peers with a deadly calm voice, they rejoiced on the other's misery, and thanked Morgana that their lives were still intact.

She felt suffocated by those voices.

Opening one of the many side-doors of the chamber, Hope walked across the passageways, her fast steps echoing through the marble floor. Her hand roamed in her hair, taking away the hair pins that held her hair in an elegant bun. She had been one of those children. She was in a world where the same woman with whom she had joked with a while ago killed her husbands. She wouldn't be bothered by her death. None of them would. Sometimes she doubted that Draco would be affected by her death if she died. He wasn't raised to be, after all. She wasn't sure if she would be much affected if Narcissa or Lucius were killed. Did that make her soulless? Was she the monster that the Emperor wished for all of them to be? She had just one friend. Just Draco. The others…how could she call people she saw just some times in a year for a few hours her friends? Draco didn't call them friends, they were his allies, and he saw them every day.

Was that all there was? Nothing more to see, to feel. A world that asked so much but gave nothing in return.

Her feet stopped when she noticed her steps weren't the only thing that echoed in the dark. She turned to see to who those elegant but slightly heavy steps belonged to. Obviously, they were a man's steps. But she wasn't being followed by Draco, Lucius, Damon, Reynold, Arty, Blaise, Theo, Gregory, Vincent, Ivan, Stan, Barty or Severus; she could easily recognize their foot rhythms. She wouldn't bet in Rabastan and Rodolphus's cousin, Marquis Ronald Jugson-Lestrange, too. Actually, she couldn't think of anyone that she knew that could have those steps. Well, there was one – a monk that Lucius's had brought once to the manor to give her a lesson on mind-projection; he used the same chimaera leather boots that her mystery person was using. She would never be able to thank the thief who had taught her to recognize steps of everyone, and the shoes that produced each sound. It was one of her best abilities – if not a bit useless. The thief was killed the same day he had declared he had taught her everything he could.

But no kind of training – with monks, thieves, duelists or generals – would have prepared her to the sight that waited her. One could even blame her for jumping in fright when the dark cloaked figure appeared to her, the furs of his robes on the ground, his jaw-length hair melting with the pelts of an animal she was almost sure to be a sphinx.

Lord Voldemort, Emperor of Magical Great Britain

I'm becoming the cruel kind of writer that leaves cliffhangers on every chapter. I want reviews to post soon, yep, I'm bad. Thank you, Miko Road and sailormoonserenity99 for the reviews. As I already told in a PM, it will be Fem!Harry/Voldemort, but this isn't the only paring that Hope is into. I'll update as soon as I can but I'm not in vacations and I'm having fourteen hours of class per day, without counting the studying at home hours, and I can only write on weekends. I want to thank everyone that is Reading and enjoying this fic. See ya, folks!