Author's Note: Sorry in advance this chapter may be poorly edited but I was excited to get it up. Thank you for all the encouragement and please review.

Chapter 10

They were silent on the walk back to the house. Hermione's cheeks were still warm with excitement from the argument. Her mind raced with possibilities concerning Harry and the actions he was taking. She wondered if perhaps she should try to speak to Ginny soon.

"Excuse me." Voldemort snapped. "That's twice now. Quit daydreaming and listen."

"What?" she replied defensively.

"I need you to study the diaries today. I have a meeting to attend." His voice was distant and his scarlet eyes stormy, smudged with gray.

"Rowena's?" she asked idly wondering what his meeting was concerned with.

"How to proceed with the whole King's Cross incident ." He replied looking concentrated.

She was shocked he even responded to the intrusive thought, by his expression she guessed he was taken off guard too. His eyes darkened and his lip was set in a sneer. "And yes, obviously the diaries I was referring to were Rowena's. I don't know why you'd even ask such a stupid question." he said coldly, avoiding her eyes.

"Fine." she sped up and finished the walk ahead of him, slamming the door on her way into the house. His behavior was infuriating, she grabbed the diary from the desk and poured herself a glass of wine. She went to the bedroom and put on an airy white cotton dress, the humidity had already turned her hair into a mess of wild curls. She carried her wine and the diary out onto the balcony. The soft ocean wind invigorated her. She took a deep drink from the crystal glass, the red wine was sweet and grapey, with just a little spice.

Leaning against the railing, she stared down the chalky crags, watching the slate gray water crash against the rock, her mind wandered. The tension and turmoil in the water looked just like the storminess she'd seen in his eyes earlier. He was always watching her, usually with frustration or disdain. But sometimes she swore there was something intense there, something that scared her... something that excited her. Chills ran down her spine and she turned slowly. Knowing he'd be standing there.

He wasn't, but for just a second she'd seen a woman in a white gown, long black hair blowing in the wind. It couldn't be though... her mind was playing tricks on her, she was under an unnatural amount of stress, even for her. Anxiety grew as she realized she was alone here. She finished off the wine and tried to immerse herself in her reading. But the anxious knot in her stomach tightened and twisted.

Day 23

I grow weary of our arguments. He is brilliant, without any doubt. But he is maddening, and more alarmingly, mad. He shows me small gestures of kindness, then retracts into grumbling coldness. And it worries me, that every time this happens, I yearn more for his gentleness. I wonder what I've done wrong to make him behave so. This is irrational for I know he is ill-tempered and cruel and in great likelihood he is making a fool out of me...I fear him sometimes. Behind the charm, the wit; I fear he is more sinister than I had guessed when I didn't lo...trust him.

On a lighter note, I wrote a poem today.

My gentle heart is a wilting rose

white and soft, sweet with decay.

My tender heart, it always knows

just where loves great treasure lay.

Oh dig it out, my wilted rose

And here with you I'll always stay.

Anyhow, I suppose that's all I even have to write. We have yet to accomplish anything tangible and yet I feel something of incomparable magnitude on horizon...what I just don't know.

Hermione mulled the entry over. It seemed too obvious to even check, but she had too. Nestled down from the house was the remnant of a fence, she supposed at one point in time contained a garden. Dandelions, clover, and other weeds covered the patch. But deep within the mess of it all she swore she could see it. She walked down the hill to get a closer look, finally when she was a few feet away she was a positive. Amidst all the overgrown grass and weeds was a single white rose. She pulled at the stem and sure enough it stayed put. She began to dig into the dry dirt with her hand, grayish brown mud practically ruining her dress. Finally she reached the roots and dug below them her nails making contact with a metal surface. She dug frantically now, whatever this was she wanted to get it quick, so she'd have a chance to examine it herself before Voldemort returned. She pulled a dirty bronze box out of the hole. "Scourgify" she gestured her wand at the box, revealing intricate carvings and glittering sapphires. Holding it to the sun it cast golden orange swirls and blue stars all over the surrounding area. Across her hand she saw a butterfly wing flap and realized the whole mosaic was alive. She was awestruck, this artifact, a treasure of Rowena Ravenclaw's had been buried undiscovered for centuries and now she held it in her hand.

Hands shaking with anticipation she undid the delicate clasp that held the box closed. She opened the box and a lovely lute song began to play, the sweet warpy notes melded together in the most soothing way, she felt the burden in her mind melt away, the heaviness in her heart receded. Eyes closed she breathed in deep, feeling utterly free and able to do anything at all. She opened her eyes and looked into the box and there was a rose head, just like the one growing in the weeds, it had been white at a point but it was browned and curled at the edge of every petal. While it still smelled sweet, there was also something festering about it, and it glowed faintly white around it. Curiosity getting the best of her she touched the velvety petal. She imploded, every worry, fear, trouble that had past her in her entire life and more surged into her and some she'd never even experienced. Tears streamed down her face but her mind was so overwhelmed she couldn't make a sound. Her stomach was so knotted she could take it, she fell to her knees and vomited. She'd never felt this before, this madness, it was like there was nothing good inside her anymore. It was like weights we crushing her she wrapped her arms around her knees and held herself tight trying to choke back tears. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew if only she could get control of herself she could stop this or at least figure out what was happening. As the pressure became to much for her to bare she let herself slip into the deep veil of sleep.

"Leave child, your heart is good. Leave this place, don't look back." the voice was gentle and warm, it reminded Hermione of her mother, but the tone was forceful. "Leave him to destroy himself. You need not destroy your soul, it is not a noble thing to do. Leave him before he does it to you, because you will be a waste."

"What happened to me?" There was no sign of where the voice came from she was in a vast expanse of blackness alone.

"You felt the burden of witch who followed her heart into the dark. That is what waits for you, I can see you now this, you may not admit it to yourself, but you know." the voice paused for a moment then continued in a harsher tone. "He could never love you. No matter what you do."

"I don't want that!" Hermione screamed. "I just want..." she wasn't sure what it was she wanted anymore. "I just want to feel alive."

"At what cost though child?" the voice asked softly.

"I don't know." Hermione muttered through tears. "I don't know..."

"What don't you know?!" the voice shouted in frustration shaking her. "Wake up."

Hermione opened her eyes slowly recognizing the familiar screaming before she needed to see his face.

"Let me go." she croaked weakly. He released her immediately. He had carried her back into the house and put her on her bed. The copper box was on the dresser in the corner with some type of protective charm surrounding it. It was dark outside now, she had no idea how long she'd been out for.

"Six hours since I've returned." he replied quietly to her thought looking out the window. She nodded unsure as what to say. He continued softly still not looking at her. "Why would you ever touch some strange artifact you found buried in the ground of all places, without checking if some dark magic were present?" He looked at her now, his face was unreadable, if she didn't know better she'd have swore he looked worried.

"I think I spoke to Rowena Ravenclaw in my dream." she said weakly looking at the box.

"It's unlikely Ravenclaw dabbled in that kind of dark magic Hermione. Highly unlikely." he rubbed his temples.

"I found the box from a poem in her diary though." He rose an eyebrow in response.

"Really? In which entry I don't remember any poems pointing out the location of ancient artifacts and I've read those diaries over a million times."

"Exaggerating much?" she tried to raise herself from the bed but found she had hardly any strength. "What's wrong with me?" She had thought the side effects from the spell or according to him, curse, had worn off, she didn't feel the overwhelming pain in her heart anymore.

"You were exposed to one of the most complex nightmare spells I've ever seen. Honestly I'm surprised I'm speaking to you right now." he replied evenly. "Now where is the diary where you found the entry?"

"On the balcony, it should still be opened to the page."

"There was no diary on the balcony. That's where I found you." he looked a mixture of confused and almost sick.

"What do you mean? I passed out by the garden."

"Well then somehow you made it back to the balcony." he was looking at the floor unsure.

"What are you thinking?" she asked trying to remember how she'd made it all the way back to the balcony. Without saying a word he walked out of the room only to return a moment later holding an ancient sheet of parchment, the same that were in Rowena's diary. Scrolled across the page in handwriting that was not hers but was still very familiar read a freshly scripted note.

"You vile, wretched snake. You will leave this child alone. The Slytherin name shall die with you. Their cursed blood will leave this world once and for all. I will be standing there when she destroys you. She will not have my fate. I will not allow it. You will fall, bastard heir of Slytherin."

"So now I suppose you're going to have me believe you don't remember writing this." his voice was calm but their was something malicious brewing in his eyes.

"That's not even my handwriting." she read the note over. "It would seem as if someone were giving you a warning though."

"Really?" he asked scathingly. "You know, I don't even know who you are, but from what I do know, I have no idea why I've let you stay here this long. Clearly, I shouldn't trust you." his eyes were furious. "You will destroy me...the bastard heir of Slytherin." he practically shrieked. He laughed now looking down on her. "You say these things to me, threaten me, and look at you." he looked her body up and down slowly. She suddenly was aware of all the rips and exposed bits of skin through the thin dirty cotton dress. "Just a pathetic little mudblood, covered in mud." he laughed again, the cold shrill laugh she'd heard the first night they met. She held his gaze though, tears collecting in the corners of her doe wide chocolate eyes. His eyes narrowed, a swirling storm of red and steel, like the sea that morning. He hovered over her, wand out, but he was silent now, staring intensely into her eyes. She opened her mind completely, hoping if he just saw what happened he would calm.

It was an awful and uncomfortable feeling, him pushing through her thoughts, feelings, she took deep breaths, trying to relax. He took a step back from her and turned around to look at the letter again. He walked out of the room over to her desk. He came back with one of her personal journals and one of Rowena's notebooks. He stood comparing them silently before her, only occasionally performing some spell she'd never even heard, at one point her hand started to glow white. "Why is this happening to my hand?" she demanded.

"You wrote this note with your hand. But I don't think it was by your choice. Perhaps you were under Imperious." he looked back at the note.

"Why what was that spell you did?" she asked nervously, as her hand was still glowing.

"Stop being paranoid, it will fade in an hour or so. And the spell I'd thought was obvious, it illuminates the hand of the writer of any mark." his face appeared a little puzzled. "I created the spell to trace the origins of threats made against me, it normally makes the hand glow red. However sometimes the hand has glowed blue if the writer was under Imperious. But white...I've never seen it frankly."

"So...did you check out the box yet?" She managed to pull the blanket over herself and he laughed coldly.

"No, of course not, there were unique dark curses on the object inside the box. Though the box itself seemed to have a very difficult and rarely seen ancient charm."

"What does the charm do?" she asked tentatively.

"It removes all the worries in the world from the person who triggers it." His brows furrowed a bit and he chewed his lip and she couldn't help but admire him. He smirked slightly for a second and she quickly went on guard and tried furiously not to blush. He continued on as if unfazed, smiling slightly, clearly satisfied with himself, "Putting that dark object in that specific box was a very calculated move. A curse that powerful impacted upon a person who was even a bit troubled would destroy them. Mentally at the very least. But by making the person who was to come in contact with it first become completely free they can survive the encounter with the curse." Now he looked at her nibbling this bottom lip. "But why do you suppose someone would ever want you to survive a curse of that magnitude? I mean there are much easier spells that could get someone to act as your slave or to inflict mental and physical pain." He looked at her intently. "So what is your conclusion?"

"Well most of those curses would require the presence of the wizard, say the Imperious for instance, but if the wizard who's casting the curse isn't alive they'd need a much more powerful spell to somehow make their presence felt. Sort of like what you did to your diary when you were in Hogwarts."

"I don't like that you know that... is that another one of the times you battled me?" he appeared frustrated.

"Yes, well I didn't. I was actually petrified. You didn't see that, the basilisk incident?" she rose her eyebrows smirking. "You know I figured it out actually, I was on my way from the library with the discovery and I caught its reflection."

"Hm..." he laughed softly to himself looking at his feet. "You know it's strange...I was thinking earlier..." he paused looking at his hands that he had steepled.

"What?" Hermione asked trying to prop herself up. His eyes had a sort of wild look to them, glowing red rimmed with a growing smoky rim of gray.

"I wake up every morning and I read Voldemort's journals. I mean, I am Voldemort, but I'm not him. I mean hell I haven't even been beat by Potter yet. I read his thoughts, plans, strategies, opinions; they're not all mine." He stood and paced gesturing his long white fingers for emphasis. "For instance, he had this whole image of masks and hoods for the Death Eaters. Why should we hide our faces? Like villains, like we are afraid, ashamed. Oh reasons its to increase the fear associated with our presence."

"Excuse me...but I would prefer you not discuss this with me." she said quietly looking away. He was captivating her, entrancing her, she knew this rhetoric, this tired speech he'd give her.

He frowned. "You can't be serious? You are literally the only person who knows the extent of what's happened to me and you can't at least respond to my thoughts. I'm serious about this, I'm thinking of reevaluating my strategy, I think perhaps I can come out a hero for this. The goal after all is domination so I can achieve my ideal state without any opposition."

"What a clean and clever way to say wipe out muggles, mudbloods, blood traitors, and well pretty much anyone you don't like." she shot back.

"Oh really, well if I could achieve, say Minister of Magic, I could just make it illegal to educate mudbloods and let them enter into our world and it would be settled." he said as if it were a rational, well argued point.

"Oh my god I cannot listen to this." she covered her ears. "Oh this is so unfair. I can't move, you need to leave the room now before I find my wand and hex the hell out of you."

He grinned crookedly at her walking forward slowly. "Yes it is unfair isn't it." He stood beside the bed now. "You're just pathetically weak now." She swallowed nervously as his eyes linger on her neck and shoulders showing above the blanket. She went to pull it higher but he grabbed it and threw it off the bed. She drew in a sharp breath feeling the chilled night air, crossing her arms over breast horribly aware of the rips and tears exposing pale flesh all over the dress.

"Stop..." she whispered looking at him uncertain of what he was doing, his mind was completely shut off. Her heart was racing and though she tried to appear brave she trembled slightly.

"Now see if you'd listened to me when I tried speaking you'd see I was conflicted, see I've been spending nearly all my time around a mudblood and for the most part it hasn't been excruciating or dreadful." He sat down on the bed beside her. "You know even in Hogwarts when I was young and had plenty of free time I didn't consort with muggle girls." he smirked stroking her abdomen. "And contrary to what you might have believed, I consorted with plenty of lovely pureblood girls. "But they just don't have the fight in them, the spirit." he looked at her face from a moment, his face actually looked soft, though she told herself it was an act, he was charming her. He continued "That pureblood entitlement saps the fire from their blood. You, you've fought for respect. I can almost admire that..." his long fingers grazed lazy circles across her quivering stomach and chest.

"Stop telling me what I want to hear. I'm not an idiot and you haven't changed." she felt like she was trying to convince herself more than anything.

He bent his head down slowly and kissed her stomach above her belly button, she tried to stop herself from shaking when his lips, warmer and softer than she imagined met her flesh softly, lingering. "Really?" he asked, his lips not even an inch from her skin still, his hot breath against her skin gave her goosebumps, without realizing it she was stroking his hair. He stiffened noticeably and reached for her hand and set it on the bed. He continued kissing her across her abdomen, slowly, so that she was drawing breaths raggedly, trying not to enjoy his torment, for she was sure this all this was, some twisted mind game. She tried to push him away and he grabbed her wrist again, this time more forcefully he pinned it above her head and looked into her eyes. She could see now he was conflicted, when just a moment ago he seemed so sure of himself, in control. He stroked the outline of her dress, where it curved delicately over her breasts.

"What are you doing?" she said as calmly as she could mange, she felt her nipples harden as his fingers grazed beneath the dress.

"What I want to do." his eyes glowed bright and he wasn't the Voldemort she had read about in every history book upon finding out she was a witch, or even the one she'd battled with Harry and Ron. "I'm tired of waking up every morning and following his orders and becoming him. Damn it, if Potter thinks he's going to beat me this way he is very mistaken. I'm as powerful as ever and now I have the face the wizarding world can trust, Potter has no idea the blow he's dealt himself." he smiled, his face gentle, soft jet curls fell loosely over his forehead, he looked angelic almost. It made her believe he actually might pull it off.

She looked away toward the window and he drew a curving line down her spine making her shiver and lean into his touch uncontrollably.

"Hermione." her name rolled off his tongue like music, his voice rang in her head and she had a hard time remembering her situation. He pulled down her dress to her waist and toyed with the straps of her flimsy white cotton and lace bra. "Could you imagine, having a second chance to do everything right, to improve on any mistake I've made. To avoid become that weak, paranoid, lonely, old man." he smiled genuinely. "I feel it, I can do any damn thing I want."

"Fine, I'll indulge your delusion. So how do you plan to pitch this to your Death Eaters. I've lost my memory and my age is reversing daily, but don't worry I'm still an effective leader. Even though I don't remember half your names and have no idea when this process of losing memories and age will stop.

He interrupted her now with the slightest look of smugness, "I think I do know what's happening actually. I spoke today with one of my spies, my most trusted Death Eater in fact. It seems Potter has been dabbling in some very, very dark arts. He is essentially stealing my soul, my life, my power. But he will only get as far as I have altered myself. Beyond that he can do nothing."

"But he can take away your immortality?" she looked stunned by his casual demeanor.

"Hermione. I'm so powerful, I'm not even afraid of death. I've notebooks of thousands of spells no one but I have ever heard of." he began kissing her collar bone up her neck, nibbling at the soft skin at the base of her neck. "And I have the most intelligent, powerful witch in the world at my side...I'm unstoppable." his lips met hers forcefully. He bit her lower lip til she yelped in pain and pleasure. She tried to keep her lips still but she fell into the rhythm of his lips and when his tongue pushed against he lips she opened her mouth eagerly.

"I don't support the fight you do and I won't ever, you can forget it." she said pulling away from his kiss. Her mind cleared and she looked at him intensely. "You are evil."

"And you didn't know that?" he rose an eyebrow incredulously. "Now tell me dear, who isn't evil, who is "good"? Who goes without killing for their righteous cause. Who says this bloodshed should stop?"

"I don't know what drew me to you. But I know now, you are my compliment, my balance. You will stand beside me when I make my accession." he looked so certain she nearly believed it herself. "You will see. They will all see me, young, handsome, reborn. Hand in hand with my mudblood queen. They will turn to me desperate, sick of war, of death. They will beg me to save them. I will be their god."

"No, that will never happen." she whispered tears building in her eyes as she fought the urge to pull of his plain gray robes. He must have read her thoughts because he pulled them off and stood before her in a simple black shirt and trousers.

He paced beside the bed staring at her nearly exposed breasts. "Yes I think tonight you will become my queen." she felt a lump grow in her throat, her heart was beating so hard she could hear it. He pulled his shirt above his head exposing lean, pale muscle, his body was peppered with scars. Though she examined him openly he appeared unfazed, or rather smugly satisfied with the attention she paid to his body. She closed her eyes tightly, clearing her mind, she tried to name the twelve uses of dragon blood. But she could feel him now, climbing onto the bed, she could feel the skin of his bare thighs straddle her. She shuddered and moved unconsciously against him, grinding her hips into his. He stared into her watery eyes, stroking a tear off her check, "You are mine." he whispered possessively. He pulled off her dress and she kept her eyes clenched closed tears streaming down her face, but she didn't resist. The lights in the room dimmed and she saw candles float in a halo above the bed. He finally let his body, hard and cold meet hers, soft and warm. His skin felt electric, power seemed to pulse and radiate from his skin, making her tremble.

She felt herself start to regain some strength, certainly she was pulsing with adrenaline. His wand was within reach she could take it now without him even noticing. But her hands stayed at her sides, her eyes remained locked with his. "You lie. You are charming me."

"Perhaps. But I know we're on the verge of making the greatest discovering in the history of our world. And history tends to be abundantly forgiving to geniuses." he kissed her deeply again and she couldn't even pretend she didn't enjoy it. She found herself leaning up towards him as he pulled away, breathing in short pants, his eyes swirling, hypnotizing her. He kissed her shoulder in long, languid motions, his tongue sliding over the sensitive skin. He made his way up her neck, to her earlobes nips gently. Their hips were moving gently in synch. His lips hovered over her ear, his breath sent shivers down her spine. Into her ear he whispered, "Be my queen Hermione."