July, 1997
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione's drooping eyelids snap open at the sound of her boss' piercing, alarm-like voice.
"Miss Granger!" Now impatient, the voice seems to grow even more shrill.
She tips back a dose of Pepper-up Potion and washes it down with a few sips of water. The all-nighter she pulled last night was a shock to her system, but at least she was finally working on something interesting after two straight weeks of fetching coffee and sorting mail.
She grabs the armful of papers she spent hours studying and slips into Umbridge's too-pink, atrociously feline-inspired office.
"Ah, I see that you've finally decided to make an appearance." Umbridge sighs and purses her equally too-pink lips.
Everything about the woman– her appearance and mannerisms, the décor of her office– reminds Hermione more of a spoiled little girl having a tea party that never quite ends than a professional in a high-paying Ministry position.
"Sorry, I –" Hermione begins automatically and immediately curses herself for even thinking this inept woman deserved an apology.
"No excuses, Miss Granger. Next time I will not need to call you twice – is that clear?"
"Yes, Madam Umbridge," Hermione forces out.
"Good," Umbridge folds her hands in her lap and looks up at her sweetly. "Now, have you completed your assignment?"
She nods wordlessly and sets the stack of marked parchment on the edge of her desk.
Umbridge narrows her eyes and sweeps her hand in a circle above the pile. "What is all of this?"
"Erm, the proposal…The notes in the margins are cross-references to–"
Umbridge lets out a giggle that sounds a bit like a hiccup, her tone laced in condescension: "Silly girl. Why would I assign you to read this if I intended to do so myself? I have more important matters to attend to as the Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Education…"
Like what, dusting your hideously gaudy cat figurines?
"So," Umbridge prompts as she fishes through her purse and retrieves a nail file, "A summary, dear, if you please."
The grating noise that follows essentially describes Hermione's opinion of the woman seated in front of her. She tries desperately to ignore it as she recounts the (rather alarming, in some cases) measures outlined in Professor Riddle's proposal to the Ministry. "The first stage of the proposal is an audit of Hogwarts' entire course and extracurricular offerings. The rationale behind it is based on a study by the International Confederation comparing O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores across –"
"You exhaust me," Umbridge yawns. "Three sentence summary, Granger: go."
Inhale. Hold it.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Exhale.
This is only temporary, after all, and the position would look excellent on her resume. And if she didn't prove herself now, how could the Ministry possibly take her application seriously after graduation?
"The proposal includes an audit, which would be conducted by a committee of Ministry officials and Hogwarts' faculty. The committee would then have the authority to make appropriate changes in Hogwarts. There is also potential for adding a Dark Arts course to the curriculum."
Professor Riddle must have incredible nerve – there's no way that Headmaster Dumbledore would possibly support such drastic interference by the Ministry.
Or maybe she's just biased. The prospect of a Dark Arts course is alarming, but maybe the real reason Hermione doesn't want it to pass is because it means Umbridge will inevitably have a part in how it plays out.
"Most interesting," Umbridge hums as though she didn't hear a word. "When is the hearing?"
Hermione freezes. She was in the process of checking the meeting time earlier, when she began dozing off. "I – hold on." She scurries out of the room to her desk and checks Umbridge schedule before glancing up at the clock at the wall.
Shit.
She grabs her notepad and sticks her head into Umbridge's office, "Ten minutes."
Suddenly, Hermione hopes it passes – the victory for the Department of Magical Education might be the only thing that will keep her boss from wringing her neck later.
-xx-
"Do we have to go?" Draco asks boredly as they gather in front of the sitting room fireplace.
"Of course," his mother and Aunt Bella say in unison.
"This is very important to your father," his mother adds with a stern look while extending an embroidered pouch of Floo powder toward him.
So what? His father has been more or less ignoring him since learning that Goldstein was chosen for Head Boy and showing up to some stupid hearing doesn't seem particularly likely to change that.
"And regardless, I will not have both my son and husband sulking around the manor all summer."
Right – because if we're around all summer, it becomes much more difficult to sneak around with your lovers, doesn't it Mother?
When he still doesn't move, her eyebrow raises almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps you would rather take Pansy to lunch?"
Draco sighs, reaches into the pouch, and steps into the fireplace while Bella titters at his expense.
A small crowd is already gathered outside of Courtroom 6 and Bella spends the next few minutes complaining about how they're bound to get terrible seats.
Then he spots her.
She's leaning against the wall wearing muggle clothes: tight dark jeans that perfectly outline that incredible ass of hers and a simple black and white-striped t-shirt. She's hideously underdressed for Wizengamot proceedings but it's so her that it almost brings a smile to his face. He runs a hand through his hair out of habit after months of flirting with her.
It's too bad, really, that things had to end.
Where did it all go wrong? Why did she just drop him, seemingly out of nowhere? Of course, he didn't help matters by forcing himself onto her – just like going back to Pansy to save face didn't keep Halia Potter off his mind.
Quite the opposite, in fact; and yet, he still hasn't come even close to figuring her out. He's never met someone like her – someone who would tell him 'no', someone with such a fucked up life that she might actually be able to relate to his. Even his father seemed to find her interesting for some reason and scolded him incessantly after things ended.
He's asked himself over and over again what he did to make Potter lose interest in him and the only answer he could find was the Christmas party, when Bellatrix sent Cornelia Rosier at her. Perhaps it upset her far more than he realized and it kept her from wanting to get too close to him. In that case, it's all Bellatrix's fault that Potter pushed him away to begin with – but of course, Draco's father heard none of that.
As if he didn't feel like enough of a fucking prick already.
So when Bella follows his gaze and hisses, "What is she doing here?", Draco shrugs casually and gives her a cool look:
"You should know. She's your lover's star student…Or did he not bother to tell you about her?"
His mother steps on his foot with the sharp heel of her shoe for this, but he doesn't care; it's well-worth seeing Bella's nostrils flare and face twist into a grimace.
-xx-
For quite possibly the first time ever, Halia is early to something. It probably helps that she's been looking forward to this for two weeks.
With an hour to kill before the hearing, she buys a butter croissant from the coffee stand in the Ministry Atrium and lounges in one of the nearby metal chairs to people-watch. Every so often, she'll see someone she recognizes – Peasegood from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad; Crouch Sr., the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation; Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Office…
There are a few glances her way as well, some of surprise and confusion and others of unabashed pity. It's only a matter of time, she realizes, until one of them decides to walk up to her and tell her how wonderful her parents were and that they're sorry.
'For what?' she'll want to ask. It's not their fault: it's hers. And the last thing she needs is another fucking reminder of it.
Halia pops the last bite of croissant in her mouth and heads toward the lift, just barely catching one that is already crowded with Ministry employees. She squeezes into the corner next to the buttons designating each level and presses number 10 for the Wizengamot courtrooms.
Unfortunately, the lift takes them up toward Levels 1-7 first rather than down to 10 and she hugs the wall, careful to avoid the gaze of other riders scooting past her – especially after she hears a witch with blonde hair in a tight bun whisper to her companion:
"Is that the Potter girl?"
"I think so," hums the other woman in return. "Such a shame…"
Halia digs her nails into her palms and pretends to study the golden plaque describing the Departments contained on each level. Of course, her eyes are immediately drawn to: 'Level 9 – Department of Mysteries'.
The gossipy women and a handful of others deboard the lift at Level 3, the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and the only remaining person besides Halia exits at Level 2. The lift begins to accelerate downward to Level 10, her gaze lingering on the unilluminated button for Level 9.
What would happen if she paid the Department a visit? Could seeing it trigger more of her memories to return?
Or better yet, what if she refused to leave until they answered all her questions and filled the spots in her memory?
She sucks in her breath and presses the button.
"Level 9," the lift voices her arrival. "The Department of Mysteries."
The door dings brightly before sliding open and she cautiously steps out of the lift and through a stone archway into a circular entrance hall covered in gray, white, and dark blue marble tiles. The air is cold and crisp– not slightly musty like the other underground floors of the Ministry are.
Her heart pounds as she walks across the hall to its single door and the echoing metallic clash of the lift closing on the other side makes her jump.
"No turning back now," she mutters under her breath, her fingers trembling as she twists open the doorknob to reveal –
A dusty broom closet?
Her brows together and she closes the door and tries again, wondering if the first time was some sort of mistake.
Nope. Still a dusty broom closet.
She steps inside, peering into the boxes which contain various magical cleaning supplies. A few brooms and a mop lean against the wall and the writing engraved in each of the handles in gold reads: 'Property of the Department of Mysteries'.
What the fuck?
Is this some sort of riddle or secret entrance she's missing?
She begins rummaging around, tapping her wand against the wall for clues, but finds nothing of particular interest in both the broom closet and entrance hall.
"Hello!" she calls in frustration. "Does anybody work in this bloody place anymore?!"
No answer. So much for her brilliant plan to demand the return of her memories.
Halia sighs and calls the lift once again, taking one last look around the supposed Department of Mysteries before stepping inside.
She arrives at Courtroom 6 with at least another fifteen minutes to go before the hearing. A few people have begun to gather outside and the guard lets the dark purple-robed Wizengamot officials past them and into the courtroom as they arrive, but Professor Riddle remains nowhere to be seen.
For the countless time that morning, she feels a pair of eyes on her and she immediately spots the slicked-back, platinum blonde hair that can only belong to Draco Malfoy on the other side of the crowd.
The tall man with a wispy gray beard blocking her line of sight shifts and…yep – there's the stupid prat's face. Judging by his mother's presence beside him, he must be here because of his father's position on the Hogwarts Board.
His eyes dart away from hers as soon as he notices her looking and she smirks. But Draco wasn't the only one watching her; on his other side is another woman who looks familiar but that Halia can't quite place, glowering right at her with a slight air of disgust. She bears a resemblance to Draco's mother with her pointed chin and aristocratically high cheekbones, but seems a fair bit younger. It doesn't seem unreasonable to assume that she must be Bellatrix Black, Sirius' younger cousin.
Then Halia remembers the Malfoy Christmas party and why Bellatrix Black looks so familiar – she was the woman Halia spotted Professor Riddle talking to throughout the night.
Although they seemed to be nothing more than friends at the time, Halia can't help but wonder otherwise, now that she's gotten a better look at Bellatrix's plump, wine-colored lips and hourglass figure hugged by elegant black robes. Was it her perfume that Halia smelled on him that particularly late night she spent in his office?
Halia's stomach drops harder and deeper than she expects it to at the thought. She shouldn't be that surprised that he had an incredibly beautiful girlfriend, right?
But what exactly did Halia do to earn her death glare, anyway? Could it be that Riddle let something slip about their private meetings which made his girlfriend jealous?
Something about that sounds incredibly satisfying, as unlikely as it may be…
The doors to the courtroom open and the crowd begins to file in, but Halia continues waiting outside – she's not about to go inside without wishing him luck, after all. But it appears that she isn't the only one with the same idea and Bellatrix also continues to linger across the corridor even after Draco and Mrs. Malfoy follow the crowd inside.
Halia tries to ignore her and turns her attention in the direction of the lift, hoping Riddle would soon arrive. She spots Hermione scurrying behind a woman in a hideous pink cardigan, notepad in hand, and they nod at each other in brief, passing acknowledgement. Halia attempts the same when she next sees Professor Snape striding briskly toward the courtroom, but he completely ignores her and greets the woman on the other side of the corridor instead. It's a bit mortifying, though not unexpected – and at least it confirms Halia's guess that the woman is, indeed, Bellatrix Black.
As soon as Snape passes them, the one-sided stare-down resumes.
Fine. She'll bite, if that's how Bellatrix wants to play this – Halia leans back against the wall, crosses her arms, and quite blatantly sizes up her challenger.
Bellatrix's own scrutinizing glare deepens.
And so, just to throw her off, Halia widens her eyes, smiles, and sends her a little wave as though recognizing a long-lost friend.
It works; Bellatrix's expression shifts from venomous to pure confusion just as Halia looks up to see Professor Riddle round the corner along with Lucius Malfoy and a few other men she assumes to be members of the Board, a folder stuffed with papers tucked under his arm.
Halia doesn't waste her precious seconds of advantage and sends a small smirk in Bella's direction before jogging down the corridor toward him. "Professor!" she catches his eye with a wave.
"Hello, Miss Potter." If he's surprised or even a bit happy she decided to come, it doesn't show – he regards her just as coolly and disinterested as always. But at least he slows his pace when she meets him so they fall behind the Board members, earning a curious glance back from Malfoy that Riddle seems to ignore.
"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up – are you nervous?"
"No," he scoffs and gives her a look as though it's the most idiotic question he's ever heard.
Of course, Bellatrix is watching them too, her pretty face scrunched in clear irritation and Halia fights the urge to send her another gloating grin. But her pride is short-lived, as she soon sees Professor Riddle's gaze drifting toward the other woman.
It's pointless to care or to be offended – after all, if Bellatrix really is his girlfriend then she has every right to steal his attention away.
But it just seems so wrong…so incredibly frustrating beyond any level of rational thought. And so, Halia (quite shamelessly) does the only thing she can think of to reclaim his attention.
"Well, unlike you, I ended up arriving an hour early…"
"Early? You?" he snorts a laugh, "That's a first."
"Ha-ha," she grins. "You'll never guess where I spent it."
"Hm?" he mutters, his gaze shifting once more to Bellatrix as she wiggles her fingers at him in greeting.
Without a second thought, Halia places a hand on his forearm and he immediately stops, glancing down at her hand and then up at her face with an impenetrable expression. She tilts her chin up and leans as close to him as she dares, her mouth just a few inches from the tiny remnant of the red mark Nagini left on the lobe of his ear, and whispers, "The Department of Mysteries."
-xx-
Bellatrix vaguely hears Lucius say something to her, but she's far too focused on the way this little tramp is clinging to Tom to comprehend whatever the hell it was.
In fact, her entire mind seems to go blank as she watches Tom's eyebrow arch in apparent interest at what the girl whispers into his ear. Then comes the indignation, ripping through Bella's insides like a flame that leaves her quivering in disgust.
The fucking whore. She's not even that pretty, either – as tall and thin as a rail and in dire need of a haircut – but somehow this makes everything worse.
Is Halia Potter the reason she hasn't heard from him in weeks?
"Coming, Bella?" She glances to her right to see Lucius offering her his arm, a slightly amused expression on his face, and then back toward Tom.
At least they're standing a foot apart now and Bella manages to catch his eye, though his expression is just as maddeningly blank as usual with no indication of guilt.
"Now isn't the time," Lucius says lightly while linking his arm with hers and tugging her in the direction of the courtroom.
He's right, as fucking annoying as that is. Sacrificing one's dignity in the heat of the moment is among the few truly inexcusable offenses one could commit in pureblood society, right up there alongside being unmarried by one's mid-twenties.
Bella reluctantly falls into step alongside Lucius with her head held high, but can't resist one last glimpse over her shoulder.
This time, she catches Potter's eye instead of Tom's and the little bitch has the nerve to smirk at her.
Bella can't help but mutter darkly under her breath, "If anything is going on between them, I swear I'll burn that whore witch alive."
"Oh Bella," Lucius chuckles and pats the back of her hand as though she said something adorable. "Don't be so crass. But be a dear and inform me when you find out, won't you?"
-xx-
The diary certainly seems to be working.
That's the only thought that comes to mind when Potter's breath brushes his ear, before the words 'Department of Mysteries' even registers.
And then she's halfway through her account before it occurs to him how close she's standing…before that shocked look on Bellatrix's face at the other end of the corridor begins to make sense.
Where in the hell did Potter get the impression that this was at all acceptable, especially in public? What exactly is she playing at?
If he didn't know any better, he might suspect that it's just to fuck with him – to throw him off just because she can.
"I have to go," he snaps and steps away from her abruptly as Bellatrix takes Lucius' arm, "We can discuss this another time, perhaps when I'm not about to give a presentation to the Wizengamot."
Inexplicably enough, she seems more satisfied than deterred as they walk side-by-side toward Courtroom 6. "Sure," she shrugs and adds with a smirk, "I'll write you later. Good luck in there, Professor."
What a headache of a girl; not even Nagini is this effective at exasperating him.
Several pairs of eyes follow them when they enter the chattering courtroom together: Bellatrix, all three members of the Malfoy family, Severus, Granger, and (of course) Dumbledore, who sends him a small nod and knowing smile. The sooner this vote is over the better; his patience for pandering to the old man's agenda is dwindling rapidly.
Tom makes his way to the podium in the center of the circular room and calmly organizes his notes as Chief Wizardess Bones calls the Wizengamot to order.
"Thank you for joining us today, Professor Riddle," she greets him with a tight nod of acknowledgement that reminds him far too much of McGonagall. "Are you prepared to present your argument in favor of proposed Educational Decree Number Twenty-One?"
"I am," he smiles charmingly back at her, all teeth.
Some might shy away from speaking under such scrutiny of the country's powerful elite, but it's moments like this when he feels most at ease. There's always a bit of a high that comes when his thoughts fade and the words begin to flow with effortless charisma – not only is it an exercise of his ultimate talent, but an addicting reminder that he has the power to delude them all into buying this composed, noble guise of his own creation. Teaching at Hogwarts allows him a taste of it every so often, but it's nothing like this. Right now, he feels more alive than ever. Completely fucking unstoppable.
Indeed, by the time his presentation concludes, many around the room– including Minister Fudge himself– are leaning forward in their chairs and nodding in agreement.
"Thank you, Professor," the Chief Wizardess folds her hands together and licks her wrinkled lips. "We will soon open the floor for questions but first, I would like to say that I commend your ambition, as well as the…thoroughness of this proposal. I have also reviewed the letters of testimony from prior Headmaster Armando Dippet and Professor Horace Slughorn regarding your qualifications as well as the statement of support from the Hogwarts Board of Governors – very impressive. However, I could not help but wonder why you chose to omit Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' current Headmaster and esteemed Wizengamot member."
Here it is, the moment of truth: will his attempts at civility actually pay off or will Dumbledore take the opportunity to completely fuck him over?
The attention of the courtroom drifts upward a few rows as Dumbledore calmly stands. "A misunderstanding of my own accord – Tom courteously requested that I submit my deposition of support and alas, I found the letter in my office just this past weekend, stamped and all. I wish I could provide a more exciting excuse, though I imagine that at least half of those present would recognize the curse of old age and wouldn't be fooled." He smiles peacefully and holds up an envelope and Tom exhales, realizing only as an afterthought that he was holding his breath in the first place.
Elphias Doge's bushy eyebrows furrow together in apparent concern. "I'm surprised at you, Albus, advocating for the establishment of a Dark Arts course at Hogwarts…"
"On the contrary, Elphias – Educational Decree Number Twenty-One outlines only the possibility of establishing a Dark Arts course– establishing any course, really– contingent on the findings of the audit. As per Department of Magical Education and Hogwarts' policies, new courses will only be established at Hogwarts if sufficient evidence is presented to prove them necessary to the current or acting Headmaster, Board of Governors, and Head of the Department of Magical Education."
By saying this, of course, Dumbledore really means: play loyal for another year, Tom, and you'll get your Dark Arts course.
He could endure another year of this if that's what it took…
Right? Maybe. It's worth a shot, anyway.
"I suppose one concern does come to mind, however –"
Don't you dare renege on this now, old man. Tom's gaze narrows almost imperceptibly.
" – Tom is, after all, one of Hogwarts' most impressive faculty and his Defense Against the Dark Arts class is consistently ranked among the best at Hogwarts by our students. It would be truly unfortunate if an undertaking as considerable as a school-wide audit caused that success to wane. One solution would be to add another faculty member to the auditing panel. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall would be more than qualified to assist…"
Nope – not going to happen.
Dumbledore bows his head slightly with a small smile as though hearing Tom's thoughts. "Alternatively, Tom might consider the appointment of a class assistant to take on some of his current grading and lesson planning responsibilities to reduce his workload as well as provide a suitable sixth or seventh year student with an opportunity to gain work experience. What are your thoughts on this matter, Tom?"
Well, how…convenient.
"I have given this some thought, Headmaster…" Tom lies, scanning the opposite side of the room until he spots Potter. She's sitting near the back row of seats and appears to be paying no attention to him at all, her wand drawn and aimed discreetly at the back of Draco Malfoy's head as the poor prat tries desperately to stop an incredibly stubborn nosebleed. "…and I've decided to hire a class assistant for the duration of the audit."
"Excellent news," Dumbledore's eyes twinkle irritatingly at him, "And have you already selected this student?"
"Yes…I requested her presence at today's hearing in case the Wizengamot had any questions regarding her qualifications, though I can attest that she is one of the brightest in my class–" Tom glares at Potter and coughs, which manages to draw her attention back to him just in time for him to gesture calmly in her direction, "– may I introduce Miss Halia Potter."
Her eyes widen in surprise but she jumps to her feet, waving at the Wizengamot rather awkwardly.
Merlin help him.
Thankfully, everyone seems distracted enough by the curious murmur that fills the air at the mention of her name to ignore the shock written across her face.
"A wise selection," Dumbledore says, looking far too pleased for Tom's comfort.
But clearly not everyone is pleased with his choice – namely Granger, who sighs in obvious envy, and Bellatrix, her gaze cold as stone for whatever reason. She's so erratic that it's rarely, if ever, worth an attempt to decode her emotions.
Bones quiets the chamber once more and the hearing presses on with a few more questions thrown his way from Doge and other members of the Wizengamot, none of which are particularly surprising. When they're finished, she thanks Tom politely and gestures for him to sit before calling Byron Crabbe, the Head of the Department of Magical Education, to the podium to present his opinion of Educational Decree Number Twenty-One. No surprises there, either, which probably has something to do with the fact that he allowed Vincent Crabbe to enroll in his class despite his less-than-stellar O.W.L. score.
"Do you have anything to add as the Assistant to the Head and our designated Ministry representative for the proposed audit, Madam Umbridge?" the Chief Wizardess prompts.
"Assistant Head, not Assistant to the Head," a frumpy woman who must be Granger's internship supervisor corrects in an overly sweet voice. "But I do agree with Mr. Crabbe and I would like to emphasize that this would provide our department with the opportunity to create a far stronger relationship with Hogwarts which is, of course, in the best interest of both parties. After hearing Mr. Riddle's presentation, I am quite confident that we will work excellently together and make incredible strides forward to improve Hogwarts."
Well at least she's on board, but there is also something about this woman that makes him a bit apprehensive. Or maybe it's just because the mere thought of someone else getting involved in the audit, although necessary, irritates him to no end.
After Umbridge's statement comes the Wizengamot vote– finally– and Tom waits impatiently for the final count, drumming his fingers against the wooden armrest of his chair.
"With a majority vote," Bones begins with a diplomatically blank expression, "Educational Decree Number Twenty-One is hereby approved by the Wizengamot. Congratulations, Professor Riddle."
He smirks as the chamber fills with applause and a photographer from the Daily Prophet snaps a picture when Chief Wizardess Bones and Minister Fudge come down from the Wizengamot seats to shake his hand.
He's waited so long for this victory that it almost feels surreal.
Moments later, Rita Skeeter joins him and the Prophet photographer in the center of the room and asks him what the Decree means for the future of Hogwarts. It's an easy question, one he has a perfect answer to, and he's just about to open his mouth when the woman named Umbridge suddenly appears beside him and says, "It means, dear, that the Ministry will have the authority to improve Hogwarts like never before and our utmost priority is –"
She drones on, but Tom hears none of it.
Who exactly does this woman think she is? Nobody fucking interrupts him.
A few rows above, Dumbledore smiles serenely.
Is this a victory? It's becoming harder to tell.
-xx-
It's just past lunch when Dolohov tells him the news that Tom Riddle's proposal passed in the Wizengamot – not in spite of Dumbledore, but with his full support.
Grindelwald dismisses his most trusted assistant, lights a pipe, and moves to the window to admire the southern alps, a smile creeping across his face. "You, Tom Riddle, are a mystery."
Indeed, it's been a long time since someone has so persistently occupied his thoughts, save for Albus of course. He rather likes the enigma of it all – the building anticipation of games sure to come...
He finds himself rather bored these days, after all. The 'war' in Russia is far too easy to be called a war: a chess match won before it even began – far before Fudge's Department of Magical Law Enforcement published their report of the poisoning cases, anyway. That was simply the checkmate, and the Wizengamot's decision to send him financial backing was no more than the cherry on top. Anyone in the Russian government who stood as a threat now rests in Nurmengard, which is becoming the unofficial holding cell for enemies of the International Confederation. And the black market they worked so hard to build now belongs to him – he wasn't about to turn over all the operations to the Confederation, of course…only the least profitable.
It's over. He won. The rest of the world will just need time to catch on and in the meantime, he's not one to argue with the free publicity that comes with waging war.
Everything is falling under his nose, just the way he likes. The same way Tom Riddle will.
Eventually. It seems that this may prove a tad more difficult than originally anticipated with Dumbledore keeping such obviously close tabs on the man.
But Grindelwald welcomes the challenge. And after all, it's never too early to start scheming.
-xx-
He's been on chapter forty-three of Advanced Summoning Theory: Familiars and Other Suitable Demons for over twenty minutes, a rather pitiful reading pace. But his thoughts keep drifting, wondering why several hours have passed since the hearing and Potter still hasn't bothered writing him yet, despite her promise to tell him more about her visit to the Department of Mysteries.
Maybe she's out and doesn't have the diary on her. Maybe she'll write later.
Whatever. It's not like he cares in the slightest anyway.
And this feeling of restlessness surely doesn't have anything to do with her; in addition to the bittersweet 'victory' at the hearing earlier, something about staying in this house never fails puts him on edge. Suffocating is the only way to describe the way every crack, crevice, and wallpaper fiber seems to burst with the ghostly hidden memories of the Gaunt lineage. Yet he stays – perhaps out of spite or perhaps in optimism that the sensation of being an intruder will someday wane.
He hears the creak of the staircase as Nagini slithers down from her hunting trip for mice in the attic. She appears in his wood-paneled sitting room a few seconds later, her movements heavy and languid.
"A productive hunt?" He smirks as she hisses a satisfied affirmative, cradles her bloated body between his shoulders and the back of his favorite leather armchair, and nuzzles her head against his neck.
The dull prickling sensation along his neck that follows serves as evidence of the inherent magnetism between horcrux and source soul, an effect which Tom paid little attention until very recently.
But it's impossible to ignore now that Potter seems to be throwing boundaries aside left and right, like the way she touched his arm earlier that day. It's impossible to ignore the way her skin seems to sizzle, radioactive and dangerous. Does she feel it too? Perhaps subconsciously…maybe that's where her apparent disregard for his personal space is coming from.
What he really can't stop wondering is why this effect is so much stronger in Potter than Nagini or any of his other horcruxes. Maybe it's because she's human or because their bond is the newest compared to the others, which could mean that it would fade with time. But that didn't explain how he went from feeling nothing week after week of injecting her arm with his version of the Calming Draught to feeling something as sharp and startling as he did this morning.
If anything it seems to be getting stronger, which should please him because it probably means their bond is getting stronger. Though in reality, he doesn't really know what to think about it except for the fact that it makes him dreadfully uncomfortable.
Nagini shifts her head to his shoulder. "Will she visit tomorrow?"
Fucking hell, not this again…
Of course, there is no need to clarify who she is referring to – hardly an hour has passed since leaving Hogwarts where she hasn't made some mention of Potter. As if he wasn't irritated enough by the girl's constant presence on his mind already.
"No," he rolls his eyes.
"Next weekend?"
His jaw twitches. "No."
"The day after the full moon?"
"No, Nagini," he says calmly because she'll only take his irritation as a mark of victory. Just like Potter would if she was there. "You'll see her again when we return to Hogwarts."
She brushes this off as though it is a suggestion rather than reality. "Too far away. Don't you want to see her?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he says innocently while turning a page in Advanced Summoning Theory, "I saw her today."
His jab has the desired effect: she hisses in pure indignation, her head rising off his shoulder. "You lie, Marvolo."
"Yes, but never to you Nagini," he smirks.
She hisses again, this time in vicious warning.
"Bite me again," he tells her nonchalantly, "and you will be sleeping in the cold where the foxes wait."
Nagini seems to be weighing the pros and cons when they hear a knock at the door.
"It must be her." The snake eagerly slithers off his shoulders and into the adjacent foyer.
"I bloody well hope not," he mutters under his breath while marking his place in the book. If so, they are certainly going to have a little discussion about boundaries.
It's not and he can practically feel Nagini's hopes deflating behind him when he swings open the front door.
"Hello," Bellatrix greets him with her usual roguish smile, though there is a strange edginess behind it. A lace-gloved hand holds up a bottle of champagne and presses it into his arms. "I brought you this – you left the Ministry before I could say congratulations earlier."
"Thank you," he answers vacantly while simmering in silence at her nerve to show up at his house uninvited.
And then again when she looks up at him expectantly and asks, "May I come in?"
"I suppose."
He could use the distraction anyway.
Nagini watches them with a critical gaze as Tom leads Bellatrix through the foyer and gestures for her to settle in the sitting room while he fetches two wine flutes from the antique cabinet in the dining room. When he returns, Nagini is curled up on the chair directly across from the emerald-upholstered sofa where Bellatrix rests, staring her down like easy prey.
'Behave yourself,' he tells her in the form of a threatening scowl.
Bellatrix doesn't seem to notice anyway, though she does sound uncharacteristically nervous when she says, "Seems like you've been busy lately."
"Somewhat," Tom opens the bottle of champagne and pours them each a flute, wondering where exactly she is going with this. It wasn't typical for either of them to engage in any real form of conversation during their encounters.
"It's just…" she clinks her flute against his and takes a sip, not quite meeting his eyes. "I haven't heard from you in weeks."
He smirks and places a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze upward as he towers above her petite frame. "Does Miss Black feel neglected?"
She quivers, leaning into his touch while biting her bottom lip. "Maybe a little…"
As sick as it may be, there is something incredibly gratifying about the fact that this beacon of pureblood propriety would eagerly fall to her knees before him in that horrifically expensive dress of hers at a single command.
In fact, the words are on the tip of his tongue when Nagini hisses threateningly right beside him.
Bellatrix shrieks in surprise and jumps away. "Don't you have a cage you can put her in or something?"
"No," The corners of his mouth curl upward in amusement before glancing down pointedly at Nagini and tipping his head in the direction of the stairs. "But she could take a hint."
She doesn't move, so Tom rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle of champagne. "Fine. We'll go."
Bellatrix shrieks again as she dashes past Nagini, who nips at her heels, and races in front of him up the stairs to the master bedroom. She seems to calm down a bit when Tom locks the bedroom door behind them and even more after downing the rest of her glass and then a second. Meanwhile, Tom lounges on the bed and watches her patiently, wondering when exactly Nagini became so goddamn possessive; she never acted like this before Potter came along.
But that's exactly it, isn't it? For whatever reason, Nagini seems to have it stuck in her head that he and Potter are…mates. No – even worse: soulmates.
It seems rather inappropriate that this is his train of thought while Bellatrix's dress falls to the floor across the room.
"Well?" he prompts her with a smirk while forcing the thoughts from his mind, "Let's see just how desperate you've become since last time."
She doesn't skip a beat, jumping on the bed and straddling his legs while getting to work unclasping his belt.
If he thought his train of thought earlier felt inappropriate, it's nothing compared to the moment Potter's voice appears in his head: "Really would've thrown a wrench in things if I hadn't decided to show up today, hm? Fancy that."
Leave it to her to write him at the most inopportune moment possible.
"Oh, and I accept the job offer by the way, thanks for the heads up," she continues snarkily just as Bellatrix's mouth melts over him.
No, no, no. This cannot happen. Can't it?
Of course not.
But delaying a reply to Potter might break her trust, and he has been waiting for her to write since the hearing…
Well, not waiting. Perhaps expecting…?
"Still, I'm flattered…and a bit surprised that you didn't pick Granger." Tom pushes Bellatrix off of him as Potter's voice fills his head yet again.
She looks up at him in confusion, her lips pressing into a pout as he zips up his trousers. "Give me a moment…I think I heard Nagini break something downstairs."
"That bloody snake," she crosses her arms and settles in against the pillows to wait.
Tom starts downstairs, rubbing his eyes in disbelief at Potter's timing. Nagini greets him on the landing with a furious look that quickly turns into an inquisitive tilt of her head as she follows him into kitchen, where he swiftly downs a full, much-needed glass of water.
When he finally manages to breath normally, he responds telepathically to the diary, "Why? You are inarguably the top student in my class – you know that."
Potter responds almost instantly, "I know. But it's nice to hear it from you now and then."
He smirks. "Tell me about your visit to the Department of Mysteries."
She does, and his only disappointment is that there isn't more to it. But perhaps that was for the best; Bellatrix was waiting for him, after all, and if given the choice he would listen to Potter talk about the Department all night.
"Pardon the interruption," he joins her again after about twenty minutes and the assurance that Potter would soon be off to sleep for the night. Now he just needs to hurry this along so he can be sure to catch Potter's dreams.
"It's quite alright," Bella stretches, still lounging in her corset and stockings on his bed. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about anyway…"
What was that supposed to mean? This better not have to do with any of the constant hints she's been sending the last few months about being anything more than they already were...
"I guess I'm not sure how to say this," she folds her hands over her stomach while staring up at the ceiling.
His posture stiffens. "As candidly as possible would be appreciated."
She sighs and closes her eyes. "My mother set me up on a date with Rodolphus."
Tom is not one to play the fool, so he simply shrugs and tucks his hands in his pockets. "I know."
Her eyes snap open and she sits up in surprise. "Y-you do?"
"Of course."
"And you...aren't angry about that?"
"Why would I be?" he leans back casually against the door, "I was under the impression that our arrangement did not include any expectations of fidelity."
Her face pales as it hits her, surely wondering if it means he's been fucking other women this entire time. He hasn't – but planting the seed wouldn't hurt.
"Was that assumption incorrect?" Tom tilts his head to the side and folds his arms across his chest.
Bellatrix chews her bottom lip. "No – you're right. But it's not just one date…my mother wants me to marry him. She won't stop nagging me about it. She's dying, you know…she wants me to be married before then." Bellatrix glances up at him as though expecting him to care.
He doesn't and makes no effort to pretend.
"And?" Tom prompts her impatiently, though he knows exactly where this is going. He's seen it coming for months, with all of her hints and hopeful glances – he should have anticipated it sooner.
"Well…I don't need to marry Rodolphus if you don't want me to."
"I'm not standing in your way," he scoffs and steps away from the wall, gesturing to the door.
Just leave. Now. Don't argue.
For a fraction of a moment, Bellatrix forehead creases and she looks unusually vulnerable. But then, as though something suddenly breaks inside of her, she jumps off the bed and storms over to him with a furious expression written across her delicate features.
"Maybe I want you to stand in the way, Tom," she snaps. "Maybe I want this– whatever the hell it is– to be more. I've waited for over five fucking years…"
His temper sears through him. What incredible audacity…how dare she?
"Are you honestly telling me you haven't even thought about it once?" she grasps at the front of his shirt. "Even if my mother wasn't pressuring me into this, I've waited a long time for…"
Fine. They'll play one last game; it's not like she didn't ask for it. She should have left when he gave her the chance.
"For a proposal?" He smiles vacantly and caresses her cheek with his fingertips.
"Yes," she sighs, calming substantially at his mere touch.
"For me to present you my family's ring?" He slides it off his finger and holds it up level to her gaze.
"Yes," she whispers, her eyelashes fluttering.
"For me to fall to one knee–" he does, and gently takes her hand, "–and ask you to marry me?"
Her mouth falls open in surprise. "Yes."
"Is that what you've been waiting for, so patiently and for so very long?"
"Yes," her voice cracks and eyes gloss over.
He looks up at her with an innocent expression. "And during all of that time, did you ever stop to wonder what it is that I want? Or have you always been this selfish and foolishly entitled?"
She gives him an expression as though she's been slapped as he rises and slides his horcrux back onto his finger, fighting a smirk all the while.
"I'm the selfish one?" she snaps, quite clearly on the verge of hysterics. "Every time we're together it's all about what you want."
"Oh, but I thought you liked it that way Bellatrix," Tom leans in close and murmurs in her ear, "I thought you enjoyed being a cheap fuck. What changed?"
She's shaking– in fury or disbelief, he isn't sure– and averts her gaze from him. "You're such a bastard."
Well that's not news.
"Answer me," he smirks and grabs her chin, forcing her to look up at him just as a tear escapes and streams down her face to the tip of his thumb. "What changed?"
"I-I don't know." She swallows, looking positively terrified. "I suppose I realized that I'll need you always…I love you, Tom."
Wrong answer.
His lip curls in rage and disgust and he drops his hand from her, the door swinging open with a snap of his fingers. "Get out."
It's far too late by the time she realizes her mistake, her eyes widening in dread. "Tom, wait–"
I'm sorry. We don't need to marry. Mother will get over it. She'll understand. Please I'm sorry. I love you. Rodolphus will understand.
Things can be just like before. Please.
I love you.
The panicked, tear-stained delirium doesn't cease until he raises his wand. "Imperio."
"I asked nicely for you to leave, Bellatrix. Now go."
He can feel her magic struggling against the curse as she pulls her dress back on and starts downstairs; she even manages to break it when she steps out of the house, just long enough to throw him an enraged, accusatory glare and snarl, "There is something going on between you and the Potter girl, isn't there? Your new 'class assistant'?"
Tom laughs coldly before closing the door in her face.
-xx-
Educational Decree Number Twenty-One Approved by Wizengamot
The Prophet's front page story is concerning enough, but it's really the picture that accompanies it that catches Sirius' attention and makes his mouth curve into a frown.
There he is, shaking hands with the Minister for bloody Magic: the professor he's heard so much about from Halia since the summer began.
'He's much younger than the others,' her words ring through his ears again, now that he's faced with proof of how regrettably true this statement is.
And far too good-looking.
"Is something burning?" Halia suddenly appears in the doorway of the kitchen, her nose scrunched.
Shit.
So much for making dinner, his most recent experiment in fatherhood.
He slides open the window above the sink with his wand and begins waving away the smoke billowing from the pot of stew. Meanwhile, Halia strolls over, turns off the burner, and lifts the lid. Sirius curses under his breath when he peers inside at the mess and he glances over to see her trying to hide a smirk.
"Wanna go out for chips?" he sighs and laughs defeatedly.
"Sure," she grins.
They wander a couple of blocks to the small stand that sells newspapers, assorted candy, and arguably the best chips in all of London. Sirius places an order for two and Halia enthusiastically douses hers in malt vinegar before joining him at the metal table and chairs near the stand.
"Sorry your soup didn't turn out," she looks at him sympathetically, "But these are delicious."
"It was a stew," he chuckles. "And it was my own fault, anyway. I was a bit distracted by the article in the Prophet about yesterday's education hearing."
"Brilliant, isn't it?" Halia brightens substantially and Sirius immediately regrets bringing it up.
"Well, that's one way to look at it I suppose," Sirius tosses a chip in his mouth. "Seemed to me like a power grab by the Ministry…or this Professor Riddle. Isn't he a little inexperienced to be dictating everything that happens around Hogwarts? I thought that was Dumbledore's job."
"It's not like that," she shakes her head. "I should know – I read the original proposal and was there for the hearing yesterday."
What the hell?
"You…were?"
"Mhm," she hums. "Oh! Speaking of, Tom– I mean, Professor Riddle– asked me to be his class assistant."
Sirius feels the color drain from his face, though Halia doesn't seem to notice. "He what?"
"It's just helping him out with grading here and there so he can focus on the audit," she glances down at her chips and moves them around with her fork, but he can still see her ear-to-ear smile as clear as day.
That's it. As much as he doesn't want to crush her excitement, he needs to say something before this– whatever it is, God forbid– goes any further.
"Don't you think that's…I don't know, a bit strange?"
"What do you mean, 'strange'?" Halia scoffs rather haughtily. "I am the best in the class…"
He balls his hands into fists at his sides and releases them with a silent sigh, trying to decide what exactly to say next.
But to his dismay, she changes the subject before anything useful comes to mind. "Anyway, would you mind bringing me to the airport this weekend?"
He chokes on a chip and coughs violently. "For what?"
If this has anything to do with Tom Riddle I swear to fucking Merlin…
"My friend Frances invited me to visit her for a couple of weeks in New York City. Mum and Dad used to work really closely with her mum, President Laidley."
He's so relieved that he doesn't bother to dwell on the fact that she didn't bother to ask his permission before making plans to spend a decent chunk of the summer abroad. Although, there was a good chance she didn't even think about asking in the first place – jumping around constantly from place to place was the way she always lived her life until somewhat recently. At least she seemed to be thinking responsibly about it and wasn't planning to make the trip across the Atlantic completely alone by broomstick.
He's almost convinced to let her go when the prospect of her leaving when they already had such limited time to spend together begins to sink in.
"Remus was planning to visit this weekend – he misses you," Sirius swallows, raking his fingers through his shaggy hair. "And surely you don't want to miss out on teasing him about his new girlfriend," he adds with a grin.
"Well I can visit with him when I get back, right?" Halia shrugs nonchalantly. "It's only a couple of weeks. And more than anything, I think I just need a change of pace for a while. I start feeling trapped when I stay in the same place for too long…you know?"
"I understand, Halia." He exhales in defeat and forces a compassionate smile to the surface. "Of course I'll bring you to the airport."
-xx-
Bye bye, Bella (for now?)! ;D
Thank you for reading and reviewing!