Disclaimer: All you recognize belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling

Summary: In the bowels of the Ministry of Magic is hidden the biggest enigma of the wizarding. No, it is not some weapon, or a spell or even a secret doorway to other words. It's a simple golden goblet with the power to find soul-mates. And every single morning it produces a list of names, creating a tight contract between the soul-mates and itself. A contract so powerful that breaking it will cost your magic or ever your life.
So what happens when the day after her seventeen birthday, Ivy Potter's name is called out, matched to the one and only Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin? Hell breaks loose, of course.

Rating: M
Main pairing: Fem!Harry/ Tom Riddle
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, violence, sexual situations

Saints and Sinners
Chapter 3
Choices

Ivy greeted the morning awake, leaning against the cold glass of the window, letting it cool down her feverish skin. No one had bothered her, either realizing how desperately she needed the time alone or too terrified to test her already straining temper.

And indeed, she did spend the time thinking, mulling over the choice she was face with no matter how glum it was. Because in the end her decision had been glaringly obvious.

Ivy Potter was not afraid to die. She never had been. Perhaps it was her upbringing and the sense of her own unworthiness it had nursed in her, or maybe her so aptly named hero-complex, but death had never seemed as such a frightening concept. Over and over she had proved her willingness to sacrifice her own life for those she loved.

And still, it was the other possibility which frightened her most. A life without her magic seemed like a bleak, dark prospect, a hundred times worse than death could ever be. Even now, as she sat brooding against the window she could feel it coursing beneath her skin, ready to leap in action at the faintest hint of danger.

Magic meant… Everything. It had been the one thing which kept her alive under the Dursley's less than tender care, healing her when she needed it or simply bringing comfort when she was all alone in the dark behind the locked door of her cupboard. It had been the reason for meeting her friends and escaping the clutches of her relatives so she could find a true home in Hogwards.

And what would happen to the Order if she died? To her friends and family? Dumbledore was gone. Who would protect them if she died? True, they'd probably choose another leader, one perhaps with more experience and knowledge than her. But Ivy was not a fool. She knew that with the Headmaster's death, she was the only obstacle which stood between Voldemort and all those she held dear. Despite everything, she knew that the Dark Lord feared her, if only a little. She had survived him too many times, defeated him too many times, to not make herself a threat.

She could not, would not, leave those she loved at his mercy. And if the price of protecting them was binding herself to that monster, she would pay it, as she had paid so many times before.

That did not make the idea of marrying him much easier to bear though. The very thought of allowing that creature into her life, into her bed, made her want retch. It had nothing to do with his looks, though they were disgusting enough. But the knowledge of what he had done, the awareness that the hands who would touch her were the same ones who had murdered her parents was more that she could bear at the moment.

Blood red, merciless eyes flashed behind her closed eyelids, the promise of murder writhing within their depths.

Ivy swallowed thickly. She would not cry! She had faced horrors which made adult wizards cower in fear. She had bled and she had killed. She was a leader, a weapon, forged in blood and fire to stand between the wizarding world and darkness.

Albus Dumbledore had made sure of it.

With his subtle manipulations and those damned twinkling, knowing blue eyes, he had made sure she would be the perfect martyr they needed. And the worst thing was that she had let him. The little eleven years old orphaned old girl who had spent her whole life belittled and oppressed had latched herself at the opportunity to do something, to prove the world and her relatives that she was not worthless. So she had let him guide her, mold her into the perfect little soldier of the light, despite knowing that it was far from the genuine affection she so ardently wished for.

It had taken her years to finally open her eyes but by then it had been too late. She had been already too deep, hunted viciously by one side, while the other hailed her as a hero. And she no longer had a way out.

Realizing that she was gripping the window still with enough strength to leave a mark on the worn wood, Ivy forced her fingers to relax, flexing them slightly to get rid of the dull pain rooted there. Sounds of clattering dishes and pans reached her ears and she sighed, knowing that her solitude was at its end.

Throwing a last glance towards the lightening world outside, the witch stood up and made her way to the shower to erase the last remnants of last night.

They were walking on eggshells around her and it made her eyes flash with anger and her blood boil. They'd mentioned nothing of the night before, filling the silence with nonsensical chatter, but she could see it in the way they avoided her eyes.

She was vaguely reminded of her second year at Hogwards when everyone had been convinced she was Slytherin's heir. The prickling of eyes on the back of her neck, the whispering conversation which halted as soon as she stepped into the room, it all so, so painfully familiar. But these were not a bunch of fearful adolescent fools, these were the people who were supposed to be her family.

It made her wonder what they would do when she married Tom. Would they look at her with fear? Would they speak about her when she was out of the room only to stop as soon as she entered?

Anger and something akin to betrayal bubbled in her chest, her fingers fisting into the dry, sun-burnt grass beneath her.

Unable to stand the tense atmosphere and pitying looks inside, she had escaped out here, knowing no one would follow her. The sun beat against her skin and sweat poured down her forehead but she could not make herself to return to the coolness in the house. Not when her temper was so high, when the tight leash she kept on her magic was straining, closer to breaking than it had been in years. She could still recall clearly the destruction of Dumbledore's office, her hair whipping against her cheeks as the storm of pure, angry, unrestrained magic, violate and dangerous, stole the very air of the room. Had Dumbledore been a weaker wizard, she could have killed him that day.

The Headmasted had sat her down in front of her desk after the storm had passed and explained in no uncertain terms what the price of possessing such powerful magic was. He had thought her how to temper it, how to control her emotions so she never again lost control in such a way.

The sound of wings beating against the wind drew Ivy out of her progressively darkening thoughts, making her look up, fully expecting to see Hedwig returning from her most recent hunt. But instead of her beautiful, white snowy owl, the approaching bird was dark in color – a stark contrast against the cloudless sky.

"Hello," Ivy greeted as the majestic-looking barn owl landed on her bend knee, sharp talons surprisingly gentle against her bare skin. "Do you have a letter for me?" Obediently, the owl raised her leg so Ivy could carefully untie the pristine white envelope. "I'm sorry I don't have any owl treats for you." She apologized when the bird remained where it was, watching her carefully with wide dark eyes.

Slightly disturbed by the bird but far more curious about the letter, Ivy focused her attention on the envelope, where in the most elegant handwriting she had ever seen was written her name. Curious but wary, she waved her wand over it, sighing in relief when she found no curses. Not that a cursed letter could pass through the brand new wards surrounding the Burrow, but the need to make sure had been continuously drilled into her since the accidents with fan-mail during her fourth year in Hogwards.

Once convinced that it was safe to do so, the witch tore into the envelope, unfolding the short note it contained with curiosity.

Lady Potter,

It read in the same ridiculously beatific script from the envelope.

In light of recent revelations, I believe a meeting should be in order to discuss our plans of the future. If it is convenient to you, me and two my associates will be in the Leaky Cauldron at 12 o'clock on Tuesday. You have my word that you and any friends you decide to bring shall not be harmed during the meeting.

If this plan clashes with previous engagement or is in any way disagreeable to you, please respond with a more convenient time.

My owl shall await your response.

T.M. Riddle, Lord Slytherin

Taking a deep breath to calm the frantic beat of her heart, Ivy skimmed the letter a few more times, pondering what her response should be. The formal style, surprisingly, did ease her nerves a little, letting her think of it more like a business meeting rather than planning a wedding. Deep inside she was relieved that he had been the one to reach out first, because honestly, she couldn't imagine writing a freaking letter to the Dark Lord.

Transfigurating some sticks and leaves into a pen and paper (because she absolutely refused to go ask her friends, who would flip out at the mere mention she was writing to Voldemort) she scribbled a short, affirmative response, trying to keep it in the same formal style his letter had been. Smirking a little, she signed it with -

I.D. Potter
Lady of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter
Lady of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black

Sending the owl back to her master, Ivy allowed herself to relax back on the grass, her mind full of confusion. She wondered who she should bring to the meeting. Her first though were, as always, Ron and Hermione, though she quickly brushed the idea of taking Ronald. He was way too brash and hot-headed to be able handle the meeting with the needed diplomacy. Knowing him, he would curse Voldemort as soon as they see him.

No, Ivy needed someone whom she could trust to stay calm and keep their head no matter what happened. That, unfortunately, dismissed at least half of the Order and most of the Weasleys. Her mind flashed to Remus and she frowned, considering the possibility. Remus was not a conflictive person and she knew she could trust him to watch her back.

Yes, Remus and Hermione sounded like the best choices – both smart, knowledgeable and able to keep a clear head under pressure. Now she just had to convince them to accompany her. And stop Ron from blowing the roof off when he found out about the meeting.

Feeling much older than her seventeen years, the Girl Who Lived pushed herself off the ground and made her way towards the house, mentally readying herself for the battle that was sure to follow.

And that's chapter number Three, lovely readers of mine. I hope you'll like it and if you do, don't forget to drop a review and let me know.

Much Love,
Just A Drop In The Ocean