Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters and elements from the world of Harry Potter, created and trademarked by JK Rowling. I do not claim ownership over any Harry Potter characters or the Harry Potter world. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is not claiming to be any part of the Harry Potter canon. Thank you to JK Rowling for letting me play with the characters and not suing me for writing them into a new situation.
Light of the Moon
Chapter 21
The room was bright with moonlight, even so close to the dawn. Had he been inclined to look behind him, the King could have clearly seen his wife's body lying quietly in his bed. Instead, he let the door close behind him as he exited without a backwards glance.
The wedding had gone perfectly, a testament to Steward Aidos' conscientious planning and oversight. Hermione had been lovely, glowing with an inner light he couldn't help but admire.
The wedding night had gone more than perfectly. She had been everything generous and loving; he could almost, almost forget his duty.
Which was why he was leaving the King's Suite.
Under normal circumstances, he would have stayed, but he felt an uncharacteristic restlessness and didn't think he could stand to remain in the room. The quiet corridors gave him room to think.
His wife was. . . not what he had expected.
Even after he had intruded on Miss Lovegood's mind that night of her trial, in order to find out everything she knew about her fellow Brittanian—a trespass that was easily concealed in the Obliviation spell—he had still been surprised over the reality that was Hermione Granger.
She was different from other witches. Clever, strong, generous, kind. She made him laugh. She intrigued him.
She was beautiful. But it wasn't because of her milky skin, or her wild hair or even the feminine curve of her body. No, it was the way her eyes lit up when she learned something new. It was the flush on her cheeks when she performed advanced magic that was beyond the capabilities of all but the tiniest percentage of wizards in the world.
He'd found he enjoyed talking to her. He especially liked challenging her beliefs, watching as her clever mind ticked through the possible options and reached the same conclusions that he had. Of all the witches he'd ever met, she seemed the most capable of understanding him. He found the feeling intoxicating.
It perplexed him that she was Muggle-born. Muggle-borns were inferior to true wizards in every way. Or so he'd been taught. Or so he'd always been led to believe.
Yet, Hermione was very powerful. Her magic was not just the equal of Ophidian witches, but it far surpassed most of them. Lady Carrow for instance, that insufferable cow, could never hope to come close to Hermione's skill.
Could the infusion of wild magic that produced Muggle-borns actually produce a more powerful wizard? If that were true, it would explain why he, as the child of a Muggle-born, was the most powerful Marvolo to be born in several generations. Had they misunderstood Muggle-borns this whole time? Could he owe much more to his Muggle-born father than he had previously expected?
It certainly bore thinking about. It was enough to make him rethink the place that Muggle-borns had in his plans.
He almost wished he'd had time to run a few tests.
But he firmly pushed those thoughts out of his mind, ignoring the brief shout of a child's laughter that echoed in his mind. He had no time, and no need, for children.
His mother's words, via portrait, to Hermione had been a cruel, but necessary, reminder of her purpose in his life.
Finally, he reached the Queen's suite and pushed open the doors carelessly.
He noted with a sigh that the drapes were still drawn shut in her bedroom. A tiny thing, but it could have perhaps made a difference.
In the darkness, he easily crossed over to the glass shelves. The Heart of Ophidia was dark, but he could feel it. Picking it up, he walked back to the windows, and with a wave of his hand, the drapes slid open.
The effect on the Heart was not immediate. The crystal flame glowed slowly, images of blue fire flickering across its surface. As it got brighter, a crack formed in the top, and the edges folded downwards, like a flower opening to the sun.
The water formed a small pool, but as the moonlight touched the surface, it brightened with rainbow lights. The small pebbles that sat just under the surface began to glitter.
He'd never really cared before whether any of his wives solved the riddle of the Heart of Ophidia, had never bothered to check up on them, or wait to see if they would form the bond. Of course, all of his wives had been Ophidians, so they'd already been pledged to the Great Lady. And his purpose for them had not included them being the true Queen of Ophidia.
He had been unsurprised when they failed.
With Hermione, it was the first time he'd actually begun to think that someone would succeed. It was the first time he'd actually thought that he might want someone to solve the riddle.
It would put a kink in his plans, as a true bonded Queen of Ophidia had incredible power and protections. But it would be a small price to pay.
For the first time, he'd met a woman that he could see at his side for the plans he had for the future. For the first time, he considered he might actually have to put another throne beside his.
And he'd discovered he wasn't completely appalled by the idea.
More than that, with time running out before the wedding, he'd given her every advantage—encouraged her to take the Mark, even directly discussed the Heart of Ophidia.
"Your Majesty," Steward Aidos' voice came from behind him.
He didn't turn, he knew what she was going to say.
"Her Majesty is. . . has been. . . prepared. Pheme is with her. Awaiting your. . . orders, Master."
It was the first time he'd ever heard his Steward's voice waver. Since she had taken the position upon his ascending to the throne, she had been steadfast and true. She didn't remember the other times he'd Obliviated her; but he remembered, and not even when his mother had crossed the veil had she been this emotional.
He closed the Heart, the rainbow colors fading as he brought it out of the moonlight and placed it into the pocket of his robes. He could still feel the connection to Ophidia. It was always with him, faint but consistent. When he opened the Heart, he could sense it much more vividly.
He tried to suppress his disappointment that there wasn't a second connection, a Queen bound to him and to the land.
With steady steps, neither rushed nor dawdling, he walked the silent corridors to his destination, the Throne Room.
Inside, directly below the throne, a tiny house-elf sat crying.
Without the fountain in the middle, the Mark of Ophidia on the marble floors could once again be clearly seen, lit up by the moonlight that filtered through the restored stained glass of the oculus.
His footsteps rang on the floor as he walked, not over to the throne, but to the display cases against the wall.
He looked at them, much as Hermione had that night of her trial. She hadn't known just what she was looking at.
It had been such a long time since he'd even thought about those cases. Discussing them had brought the memories to the fore. He felt almost nostalgic as he gazed upon them.
The journal, in the bookcase that Hermione had loved.
The locket, hidden amongst an elaborate display of valuable jewelry.
The diadem, showcased to effect among the Marvolo crown jewels.
The golden cup, among the many golden treasures of the dragon's hoard.
The snake, the most cunning of all of the wild animals.
The case with his parents' rings was the only one that ever caused him a twinge of pain.
His mother had been the first. The blood connection they shared meant that the Horcrux he made by killing her would be that much more powerful.
When he came into his full power, and it was clear it was time for him to take the throne, she had accepted her fate with dignity. Enthusiasm, even. She had been so excited to see her son finally walk the path that had been set out for him generations ago, to finally fulfill the family's destiny.
He'd killed her, an act that ripped his soul apart and allowed him to make his first Horcrux. Not knowing how long it would take him to recover fully from the act, he'd intended to allow sufficient recovery time before killing his father to make his second Horcrux.
His mother had failed to tell him, however, about the love spell that she'd had on his father. Looking back, he realized now why his mother had been so adamant about him controlling his Legilimens spells. But he'd never thought to look into his mother's mind, and he'd certainly never suspected that his parents had been anything less than in love.
It seemed she'd begun to believe that Tom Sr truly loved her, and had not seen fit to warn her son. Her death had broken the spell.
Horrified at the years he'd spent helplessly in love with his own wife, and even more horrified at the plans his wife and son had to follow in Ptolemy's footsteps, Tom Sr had killed himself before he could be used as the pathway to another Horcrux.
Tom Jr had been horrified. Horrified at the secret his mother had kept, at the loss of the connection he needed to make his next Horcrux, and at the fact that the man he'd looked up to for so long had turned out to be weak—exactly as weak as everyone always said Muggle-borns were.
Too scared to face the truth, too weak to accept the facts, the Muggle-born from Brittania had chosen to kill himself rather than be used. A waste.
The blood connection couldn't be replicated. With the last of his kin dead, Tom did the next best thing. He married. The bond of magical matrimony linked their souls and their magic together, making a tie strong enough that breaking it would make a very powerful Horcrux.
Bellatrix had been ludicrous, but he hadn't had to be married to her for more than the single night he needed to perform the wedding ceremony and the Horcrux ritual.
To his surprise, he'd discovered that the linking of his soul with another actually made his soul—previously divided—practically whole again. After killing Bella, he experienced none of the madness and the instability that had been documented by his ancestors who had previously tried to follow in Ptolemy's footsteps.
Ptolemy may have chosen each of his wives to make his Horcruxes out of a sense of ego, or even an aesthetic parallel. But it turned out to be the only reason he was able to make as many as four and still retain his sanity.
It was no doubt Bellatrix that Ser Slughorn remembered. The Obliviation spell Tom had performed to erase the marriage had been the first of its kind, and he had been younger, not as strong; his connection to Ophidia not as deep.
The spell had held all of these years, but if Ser Slughorn could recall enough to say something when he was in his cups, then others might begin to remember as well.
By the time he'd married and killed his other wives, he had gotten much better at performing the ritual and the Obliviation spell. But they'd never yielded another Horcrux as strong and powerful as the one Bella's death had made.
Thinking there must be a connection, a tangible reason, he'd paused in his serial marriages and taken the time to research. He discovered that the strength of the Horcrux was directly related to the power of the victim.
Ptolemy had only been able to make four Horcruxes, and none of his other descendants had been strong enough to survive the rituals. Ptolemy's research—the scrolls carefully preserved in the secret room accessible only by one of Marvolo blood— showed that the ideal number was seven.
Seven Horcruxes to guarantee immortality.
He was determined his seventh and last one would be the strongest. Hence, the competition.
The competition that had brought Hermione to him. Hermione, who was brilliant and strong, who would make an incredibly strong Horcrux.
Or an incredibly powerful Queen. If only she could have solved the riddle.
"Master?" His Steward once again broke into his thoughts, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand.
Reluctantly, he turned away from the cases, which not only held the products of his labors, but served as a memorial—a tombstone, really—for the women whose deaths had produced them.
As he crossed the Mark of Ophidia, he gave very little thought to the bodies that were buried beneath it. All of his attention was now on the body that had been retrieved from his bedroom, and was lying on the floor, prepared for her final resting place.
The house-elf, Pheme, was still sitting close by, crying noisily. She had been particularly attached to her Mistress. For a few moments more, he would let her grieve. He thought, with what almost passed as compassion, that it would be a relief of her pain when he Obliviated the memory away.
"Wh-where is Mistress to rest?" Pheme asked, her eyes on the chestnut curls she'd carefully coiffed for a royal wedding, not twelve hours ago, and which now lay loosely about Hermione's shoulders.
If it wasn't for the pallor of her bloodless skin, one might think she was merely sleeping.
He'd indulged himself with her almost too long—acutely aware of the moon's progress across the sky—enjoying the feel of her arms around him, the heady feeling of having a whole soul once more, the warmth of her body. When she'd closed those beautiful brown eyes, sleepily satisfied, he knew he could put it off no longer.
He had promised her no pain, and he was skilled enough and determined enough that the only one who had felt any pain was himself—when her death ripped his soul apart, as required. She would never open those eyes again.
"With me," Riddle answered Pheme, gently. "She will be placed beneath my throne, and I will guard her as I guard my people, my country, my heritage, and the Great Lady."
Pheme's sniffles subsided a little bit, as she clearly thought this grandiose statement was appropriately indicative of her Mistress's importance.
With a few spells from his yew wand, a place was made beneath the marble under his dais, and his Queen's body was very carefully placed there.
In his other hand, he carried Hermione's vinewood wand. He'd originally planned on making a case for his final Horcrux, as he had all of the others. But he didn't want it showcased behind glass; he rather thought he would keep it close.
As he climbed the dais and sat on his throne, he placed the wand onto the arm of the throne, under his left hand. Wordlessly, he had the pattern on the wand travel around the throne until the arms and legs and the high back were etched with the same design of vines and leaves. Even if someone managed to discover the truth about his Horcruxes, and even if they managed to break through the impenetrable wards that he'd placed around his cases, they'd never discover this last Horcrux. It would remain his most closely held secret.
Settled at last, he took a deep breath and removed the Heart of Ophidia from his pocket.
The last of the moonlight was in the sky; it was almost dawn. He'd taken the longest amount of time possible, putting off the inevitable.
With his wand to his Mark, he tugged on the magic that connected him to everyone else who bore the Mark, within Ophidia as well as without. For the most part, they slept soundly in their beds, not knowing how their King siphoned the tiniest bit of magic off of them.
It pleased him, as it always did, to feel his Army—ready, waiting. It would soon be time for them to act.
Since Hermione had been from Brittania, he was going to need much more magic, though, and a much larger network. With the Heart of Ophidia still in his hand, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the bond inside him that connected him to the magical power of Ophidia.
The Great Lady was bigger than just Ophidia. But hundreds of years of providing a home to wizards and witches had woken up that one small part of the land. Through that part he could reach the magic that slept in the earth, the air, the fire, and the water—everywhere the moonlight touched as it trekked across the sky.
And the Great Lady stirred just enough to answer his call. She was reluctant. She'd had an awareness of Hermione, might have even chosen her as a Queen if Riddle hadn't needed the Horcrux. But Hermione was gone now, and the Great Lady had no reason to deny the King his request for power.
As the last of the moonlight faded from Ophidia's borders, drowned out by the rising sun, Riddle cast his spell.
More than a simple Obliviation spell, all memory of Hermione Jean Granger—every word, every interaction, every test score, everything she'd ever accomplished—was erased. Until he was the only one left to remember the brightest witch of the age. . . who had still not been bright enough to solve that final riddle.
He sighed, disappointed in himself for being disappointed. She was only a Mudblood, what had he really expected?
A/N: And so we come to the end. There's only the Epilogue left. I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with the story this far. I'm #sorrynotsorry to break your hearts. It's been an incredible learning experience, and I'm so excited to have finished my first novel-length story.
I'd like to make special thank yous to everyone who contributed to this story. There's too many people to name who gave me wonderful support, including the Inkers and the Admins of the Tomione fanfics group. But first off, I'd like to thank DelicateScholar, who motivated me to do this story and provided a lot of alpha support in the early planning days. I wouldn't have taken this project on at all if it wasn't for her. My husband, who let me talk out all the nitty gritty details, and when I told him I needed a riddle, he wrote me one on the back of a Del Taco napkin. For three months, he endured my capricious Writer's Moods and made sure I had proper lighting and atmosphere and meals. For three more months, he patiently supported me through hours of 'writing' that resulted in hardly any words. DarkDaisies, who cares not one whit about the Tomione ship, but who kept me company on some long nights when I was anxious and writers-blocked, and had no one else I could go to. She grounded me on those nights I felt abandoned.
And most importantly, my fantastic beta, brandinm05. I would be absolutely lost without her incredible insights and her cheerleading and her fine-tooth comb. She put some back-breaking work into this story, despite her incredibly busy real-life schedule. I'm so grateful for all the ways she's polished this story so it could shine.
Also, because I know you're probably super anxious and thinking "maybe that's not really how it ends," I'm posting the Epilogue at the same time.
S&R: Constructive Reviews Welcome (CRW)