A/N: A sparkly-guy cameo for artemisgirl. It's tough going being a sparkly guy! And it's tough being a ferret. Sorrynotsorry, lol.
21: Power for the taking
He was on a roll. The day after the Victory Celebration, he announced his candidature in public, to great acclaim. Now, it was all about giving talks and visiting St. Mungo's, wizarding towns and villages with the press following him around. Basically, he was shaking hands with witches and wizards, giving them his best, dazzling smiles, saying over and over again: "Please, call me Tom, just Tom," and he pretended to listen to their complaints, worries and opinions. Like he ever was going to do anything about it.
Thank Merlin for Apparition, or else he'd have been swamped down by travelling. The current Heads of Department were also arranging discrete, private meetings with him, negotiating their role after the election. He enjoyed wrangling with them, they were scrambling for position, and he was able to make quite a few useful deals to secure his own position.
Though, he remembered with a scowl, Lucius and Selwyn were now trying to assert their position. Oh, they were still so diffident, so obedient, but he could see it plain as the day on their faces, without resorting to Legilimency. The two of them held expectations of exaltation, of high positions and power under his rule, and the excitement for revels to come, a new reign of bloodlust and torture. It was apparent in their postures, in the way they talked, and in the coiled desire boiling just under the surface. Huffing, he reminded himself to be patient. Just a little longer…
Hermione had moved in with him at 12 Grimmauld Place, leaving her apartment to the Granger-Muggles. Tonight, he had promised her to go to dinner with her parents. In a Muggle restaurant, no less, wearing Muggle clothing. Oh well, the pictures in the Prophet would prove him to be more Muggle-friendly than he'd ever dreamt of in his worst nightmares. He had to survive entertaining the Muggles, playing nice Tom Riddle at his best for his goddamn inlaws, of all things. Sighing, he tried to comfort himself by the thought that he, at least, had chosen a good restaurant.
Buttoning up the black slacks he had Transfigured into a nice fifties style, he perused himself in the mirror. He had to admit, the trousers presented a nice view of his arse, and the Muggle-style shirt was more snug than its wizarding equivalents. Flexing his muscles a little, he nodded with satisfaction. He looked good as usual, even in Muggle clothing. Shrugging a black jacket across his shoulders, he supposed he would fit right in. No one would suspect him to be a wizard. All they would see, was a man looking like a movie star from the fifties. Voldemort gave himself a dazzling smile in the mirror.
His witch came out of the bathroom, wearing a flowing, blue summer dress, and he smiled at her. "Aren't we the very epitome of Muggles?" he joked, pulling her into him in front of the mirror.
She laughed, smiling up at him, and said huskily: "You look good enough in Muggle clothes to start a new fashion trend for wizards. Maybe after seeing you like this, they'll start selling Muggle clothing at Twilfitts and Tatters?"
He almost grimaced, but murmured to her: "I hope not. I rather like the robes, they are more comfortable than a jacket."
Lifting up the hem of her dress, he admired the sight in the mirror as he stroked her body. Her smooth legs, that enticing curve by her hip…
"Tom!" she said, giving him a light slap over his hands. "We'll be too late, my parents are waiting for us!"
Xxxx
Lucius Malfoy had - after attempting to protest - given up the names of his son's favourite haunts. All were rather unsavoury places, selling much more than beer and Firewhisky.
Slouching as he went, Glamoured like a thin, tall man with long, black hair, he entered pub after pub, looking for young Draco. When he arrived at the Jinxed Potioneer, a pub being the cover for its real business of selling recreational potions, there was a commotion at the door.
A gruff voice shouted from inside: "Merlin, you have to understand, we don't want the likes of you here! You're ruining the business, lightening up the whole house with your silly rainbow colours! Go away, or I'll hex you to Camelot, you friggin' moron!"
A man tumbled out from the door, lifting his fist against the pub, shouting: "Fuck you, Samador! I'll jinx your fucking business so hard, no one will ever dare to enter!"
Voldemort saw with amusement that this was one of the men Hermione and he had infected with the Sparklosanct Disease. The man was indeed flashing rainbow-coloured lights from every visible piece of skin, though he had tried to mute it by wearing gloves, scarves and a deep hood. Still, merry rays of yellow, blue, pink and green lit up the dark street.
The man went grumbling on his way, disappearing into an alley, and suddenly, Voldemort felt the need. The revenge was amusing, but was it enough? No, never enough, for having overpowered and humiliated Lord Voldemort. He needed more.
Making a quick decision, he veered off his path, entering the alley behind the sparkly guy. Disillusioning himself, feeling the cold slither over his body as the Charm took hold, he stalked closer to the man. Smiling to himself, he thought: There was no need to overdo it. No talking, no revelations, just a quick and simple…
"Avada Kedavra!" The green light filled the alley for a moment, melding into the last sparkles from the man, and there was a muffled thump as the man hit the ground.
Pointing his wand, he Transfigured the corpse into a pebble, leaving it there.
Reentering the main street, he let the Disillusionment go, sauntering over to the Jinxed Potioneer. Gods, this felt good. Just … killing someone, on a whim, almost, and feeling that rush of darkness scour through his body. Sighing contentedly, he saw his quarry for the evening sitting in a corner, talking to an old man. Wasn't it…? Yes, it was, it was that seedy Order member, Mundungus Fletcher!
As he watched the two of them, money and a set of small vials changed hands. Almost rolling his eyes, he scoffed at himself. He should have known. Fletcher was a dealer, and Malfoy was buying supplies. He had entered Malfoy's mind before, and the man had at some point been a decent Occlumens. In all probability, he had dabbled in Legilimency too. It would be no wonder if Malfoy had taken a look at the Azkaban event in the mind of the old man, and that could have triggered new theories and suspicions, sidestepping his Obliviate.
Ordering a beer, he pretended to sip at the dirty glass while the two of them concluded their business. Then Malfoy was on his way, and silently, he followed the tall blonde outside. Walking up to the young man, grabbing his arm roughly, he took him into a Side-along-Apparation before landing in a large forest outside Nottingham.
"What the fuck…!" Malfoy sputtered, straightening himself as he backed a few steps away from Voldemort.
"Hello, Draco," he said, cocking his head with a small smile, rescinding his Glamour.
"You! What the hell, aren't you supposed to be out and about on your campaign or something?" Those ice-blue were wide open, and Voldemort saw a slither of fear creep over the pointed face.
"Can't do it twenty-four-seven, you know," he drawled. "I need some amusements too. So, why are you spreading rumours, Draco?"
"I'm not." The young man licked his lip nervously.
"Come on," Voldemort scoffed. "Don't lie to me!"
"Alright, I did it. I need money," the young man said, scratching his neck nervously.
Voldemort laughed out loud, incredulously. "As if..? What did you do, squander the Malfoy fortune on potions?"
"No, but you see, my father… He's restricted my access. I don't know why, he's never done that before, says he'll need to keep me in line for some reason."
Voldemort shrugged. "Smart move. He said he'd clean you up. Your move, however, was quite possibly the dumbest thing you could do."
Lunging forward, gripping the chin of Malfoy, he entered his mind. Yes, among a haze of smoke, alcohol and potion-induced illusions, he found it. Malfoy had indeed monetary problems and a serious addiction to certain potions, and due to accidental curiosity, he had looked at his dealer Mundungus Fletcher's memory from the Azkaban debacle, noting that Tom Riddle's wand movements were identical to those of the late Lord Voldemort. Malfoy had gotten even more suspicious when he was unable to say 'Tom Riddle' and 'Lord Voldemort' in the same sentence, taking this as a proof his mind had been tampered with.
"Draco, Draco," he said, shaking his head. "You could have made yourself useful instead, you know. This is counterproductive, and I won't have you threatening my position. I gave you one chance earlier, but this is it. I hope you've enjoyed your life."
"No, wait, please…!" the expression on Malfoy's face was panicky, terrified, and Voldemort couldn't help smiling. Such fear, it felt so very good. Such fear, from someone who knew who he was, and what he was capable of.
Grinning at Malfoy, he said: "Your grandfather was a useful man, and your father isn't half bad either. You can thank them for me making it short and sweet."
Standing back, he let the quick, heady rush of death flow through him, the green flash of ecstasy thunder out of his wand, and with that brief, sharp shot of exquisite bliss, the Malfoy Heir was nothing more than a crumpled heap on the ground.
Voldemort whistled as he Transfigured Malfoy into a white ferret, slashing the stomach open to attract scavengers. Sure enough, a crow hopped down to the ground, peering at Voldemort, before hopping closer.
"Enjoy," Voldemort said, nodding at the crow. "Dinner is on me."
Xxxx
The election was just a day away, when he met Lucius Malfoy in a corridor at the Ministry.
Nodding at him, he moved to pass him, when Malfoy actually dared to disobey him by approaching him, stopping him in the middle of the corridor for all to see.
"Please, Mr. Riddle," he said in a low voice, "I wondered if you had heard any news on my son. He's gone missing."
Voldemort arched his eyebrow, and brought one hand up to tap his lips. "You son…" he said pensively. "No, I can't say I've seen young Mr. Malfoy for some time. When did you say he disappeared?"
"We're not exactly sure," the elder Malfoy admitted with a nervous grimace, "because we thought he was on a binge again. Astoria says she last saw him a week ago."
"Hmm, not a very devoted wife, is she?" Voldemort said flippantly, nodding to Malfoy to signal the end if this conversation, and tried to move past him.
Shockingly, Malfoy moved to block him, again. Voldemort frowned at him, showing his displeasure by trying to brush past him, but his minion wouldn't budge.
"Please, if you've heard anything, if you know anything, you would tell me …?" The words my Lord wasn't audible, but for Voldemort, they were as clear as day.
He plastered a sympathetic look on his face, mindful of the people looking at them, and replied: "Please, Mr. Malfoy, if I had any inkling as to where your son might be, I've would have told you straight away. As it is, I have no idea, trust me in this. Have you considered putting the case to the Aurors? Now, if you will excuse me, I need to move on …"
He nodded to Malfoy in passing, seeing the man's shoulders slump in defeat. Oh well, it didn't matter if the man believed him or not. Soon, it wouldn't matter at all.
Xxxx
After dinner, Ginny Weasley pulled Hermione into the drawing room, shunting out the two wizards. Potter shrugged, and said: "Care to join me for a game of chess?"
"Sure," Voldemort replied, while privately wonder why a shitty player like Potter would want to expose his shortcomings like that.
They sat down, the white chessmen groaning at the sight of Potter, while the black chessmen waved happily at himself. He was no more than barely an adequate player, but still, he was way better than Potter, he thought with a certain amount of satisfaction. Ronald Weasley had thumped him in chess quite a few times during his early visits, being a much better player than himself.
After a few moves, it already looked like Potter would lose. Then the young man straightened himself and clearing his throat nervously, before boring those big, green eyes into Voldemort's face.
"Erm, I saw you with Malfoy today. I had no idea the two of you were so friendly." His glare was accusing.
Voldemort pursed his lips, answering slowly after his knight hit Potter's bishop over the head. The bishop groaned, before limping off the table. "Not really. He's been my contact with Delphini, you know…"
Potter interrupted: "You did look awfully close today. He looked like he begged you for help, didn't he? Asking you about Draco? It was almost like he thought you knew something."
Voldemort almost rolled his eyes. Malfoy complaining about his son had been decidedly risky. So many people might have overheard them. In all likelihood, Malfoy would need a punishment for being so careless.
"We're not close. He wondered if I had seen him."
"Seen him?" Potter looked bewildered. "Do you know Draco, then? I thought you had barely met him."
"That's true. I don't know him at all", Voldemort said shortly, eyes on the board.
Xxxx
They let out Rita Skeeter just before the election. The witch screamed as her body stretched out, growing into a human again. Voldemort supposed, muscles would become cramped when an Animagus was stuck in their form for weeks.
His witch looked impatiently at Skeeter, before handing her a pain-relief potion. The blonde gulped it down greedily, and after a short while, she managed to sit up.
"Dear Rita," Hermione said with a saccharine smile. "We've had this talk before, but you are still untrustworthy. Therefore, I've decided for you to take an Unbreakable Vow."
"Like I would!" the journalist spat, looking shiftily around in the damp, dark cellar of 12 Grimmauld Place.
He sat back, content to let his devious little witch handle this, watching her with a small smile.
"Oh, you will. Or else, I'll Obliviate you into believing you are a Muggle," Hermione said blithely.
"Hah! You wouldn't dare," Skeeter snorted, but uncertainty flickered in her eyes.
"Try me." Hermione almost whispered the words, but her eyes glittered with a malice that made his pulse race. Gods, she was magnificent. She was…
Skeeter swallowed. "What do I have to promise?"
"You will never write another word about me, Tom, Harry or Ginny. You will not help other journalists by gathering gossip or researching - if you do that sort of thing at all - on cases where we are mentioned. You are simply to lay off any piece of writing involving the four of us."
"And Delphini," he shot in, and Hermione nodded.
"And Delphini, Tom's sister. And any children Tom and I might get. And any children of Harry and Ginny. Just lay off our families."
Skeeter stared at them, tugging nervously at her earlobe, before she quickly said:
"Yes. I will promise."
"Wonderful," Hermione purred, making shivers race his spine. He rose from his chair, reveling in the resulting small flinch from Skeeter, and pulled out his wand.
"Remember, love, she must also promise to not say a word about the bond."
"Ah, yes, and that too," Hermione said.
Skeeter nodded, before stretching out her arm. Hermione clasped her hand tightly, and he put the tip of his wand to their joined hands. As Hermione asked the Vows, and Skeeter responded, thin, white tendrils shot out of his wand, curling around Skeeter's arm.
When they were done, Skeeter huffed. "The two of you …" she said bitterly. "If people knew…"
"Now, they won't," Hermione said triumphantly, "as you will not be spreading any more lies about us. I wish you a more productive career, Skeeter, and I hope you'll write decent pieces in the future, using your talent to further our society."
Voldemort almost sniggered by her righteous tone. Like she hadn't trapped the woman, held her in captivity in Animagus form for a few weeks, then blackmailed her into an Unbreakable Vow. His lovely fiancee was by far more dark than she would admit to. She'd make a splendid wife for him.
Xxxx
The results from the election were coming in, and the gathering he held at the rather posh restaurant in Diagon Alley, the Famished Swan, was filled to the brim with cheering, happy people. Some were genuine supporters of his, like his employees from the Department of Mysteries, the Weasleys (exempting that odd twin, George), Potter, Shacklebolt and other people from the Order of the Phoenix, the Cabinet of Department Heads and, of course, Hermione. Others were joining the band wagon late, because he had been the favourite in all polls, having no real opposition.
He was grinning, genuinely happy, seeing as everyone who mattered wanted to be there, the night Tom Riddle became Minister of Magic. The night Lord Voldemort became Minister of Magic.
The finger food was, of course, delicious, the wines and the spirits too, and the tapered candles in magical chandeliers created a soft light over the congregation.
As the results came in, from the smaller villages like Western Wychern, Godrics Hollow, Appleby, Tinworth and Ottery St. Catchpole, he held a solid lead, and people cheered, some even casting Cheering Charms to keep it up. The excitement grew, as the larger towns like Hogsmeade, Holyhead and Chudleigh were finished, and still he held the top position. When the results finally came in from London, it was decisive, and the roar from the audience was going through the roof.
He had made it. He was Minister of Magic, mere months after entering his new timeline. Wizarding Britain would never be the same.
Kissing his witch hard, he shook hands with what felt like a myriad of people, before getting ready for his speech, the media setting up their cameras and quills, the wireless getting ready to broadcast directly.
Hermione patted his robes, making sure that the black silk was correctly layered, before giving him a big smile. Taking a deep breath, he entered the raised dais to hold his victory speech, peppered with lies and half-truths, though interspersed with nuggets of his true intentions.
"Thank you, my friends, and everyone who voted for me. I'm immensely honoured to have your trust. I wanted to be Minister for Magic to do some good for our society, and one of my driving forces has been to make it up to you, each and everyone who lost someone or something during the war my father started. I want a better society for each and every one of us, no matter if we are Pure-bloods, Half-bloods, Muggleborns or Beings."
At that, his witch teared up, blowing him a kiss, and he waved at her, before continuing: "We need to build a strong, magical society, based on knowledge, research and sound principles for governing. Nepotism, favouritism and corruption will have no place in my administration, because I want us all to strive for better results. Those who will give what it takes to build a better Britain will be able to do so, while I will stop anyone who thinks otherwise. We will strive to make a better world for us, and repair the damage that has been done in the years past! To do that, we need knowledge. I will open up the Department of Mysteries, giving everyone the chance to learn the exciting research we've been doing there, so that each and everyone of you can advance your magical knowledge. Magic will not be shrouded in secrecy, but become our fountain of knowledge, where we learn, work, live and breathe."
Finishing his speech, he saw the glowing, happy faces of his followers, and he couldn't help grinning. They were so fucked, and they had no idea. These people had unknowingly helped Lord Voldemort to power, and in the years to come, they'd be, suffice to say, surprised.
Lucius Malfoy and Jeanette Selwyn were standing at the back, their pupils dilated with victory and joy. They would pounce on him tomorrow to get what they thought were their dues for services rendered, if not tonight. Curling his mouth in a quick expression of distaste, he noted that Malfoy conveniently enough seemed to have forgotten all about his son, at least for tonight. Shaking his head slightly, he wondered how come the both of them had forgotten all their Slytherin cunning. Yes, they had helped him, but they should also realize, they were now a liability to him, being the only two living people in the world knowing his identity. Besides, no one should make demands of Lord Voldemort. He would rectify their misgivings. Severely.
Xxxx
Hours later, after the victory celebration, he was standing in his bedroom, looking down at the bushy head of his little witch. Her hair had escaped the pins holding it up, and his hands buried in her hair didn't help much either. She looked so good at his feet, sucking off her Minister. Merlin, he enjoyed it, the thought of all the formal power he now held. It gave him such a rush. Him, Slytherin's Heir, the most powerful wizard in Britain, ruling the Ministry, soon to rule the world, and ruling the heart and body of his pretty, little witch. He had her. He owned her. The Golden Girl now firmly belonged to Lord Voldemort.
With her hot, wet mouth wrapped around his cock, her tongue sliding around the shaft, licking the sensitive head, Voldemort wanted nothing more than to show his cock down her throat, burying himself in her, making her choke on his release. Gripping her head a little harder, he began to thrust lightly into her mouth, testing her.
She looked up at him, and the trusting innocence in her eyes made him pulse and throb. Innocent? Oh, no, she was not, he remembered, as the glint in her eyes became seductively wicked.
Hollowing her cheeks, she moaned wantonly, licking her lips, and she pushed one hand down to her naked crotch, fingering herself as she sucked him. He grunted, as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper, and he followed her lead, thrusting harder, hitting the roof at the back of her mouth.
Still looking up at him, she tipped her head slightly backwards, letting him slide into her throat. His cock jerked, making her gag slightly, and the constriction of her throat made him give off a ragged gasp.
She had one hand resting on his thigh, and she brought it quickly up to grasp his cock, pushing him back slightly, before sliding him slowly into her throat again.
He bit his teeth, feeling all those pulses of heat collect into an intense pulsing point somewhere deep in his balls, and then her hand drew back to fondle those very bits. Groaning deeply, his hips surged forward, but this time, she was ready for him, taking him deeper.
Her small, soft hand caressed and tickled his sack, cupping him, stroking, making goosebumps appear as his balls lifted, hardened, readying to shoot. Now firmly lodged in her throat, he thrust into her, the blaze igniting in his cock, and he was grunting: "Hermione, oh, Hermione, you feel so good, I'm going to come down your throat, take it, take it all, little witch, fucking your mouth like this…"
The blindingly white sheet of light rose behind his eyes, his muscles tensed, and he held on to her head like a drowning man, hunching over as he rode her mouth. And then he was there, shooting out like a starburst, trembling as he pumped into her throat, eyes widening as she swallowed around him, intensifying his pleasure.
Gasping, he retreated from her mouth, a trickle of his seed leaving her mouth, and he stumbled back to sit on the bed, feeling dizzy with the fading buzz in his veins. She grinned at him, still on her knees, before crawling after him on all four.
"What about my pleasure, Minister?" she purred, looking up at him from underneath her lashes. His heart almost stopped in his throat, as a feeling he had no idea what to make of arose inside. He wanted to make her happy, pleased, aroused and satisfied, all at the same time.
Grinning weakly at her, as he caught his breath, he patted the bed beside him. Grandly, he said: "You've more than pleased the Minister, little minx. Now come and get your reward."
She climbed up to sit beside him, and he pulled her up into his lap. Looking deep into her eyes, those big, chocolate eyes, his hands rested on her hip as he leaned in to snog her senseless, tasting his own, bitter release on her tongue. Her mouth opened for him, letting him in, and her tongue danced around his, entwining them. Massaging one breast with his left hand, he twirled the nipple between his fingers, and sent his other hand down to the apex of her thighs. Rubbing her wet slit, she squirmed in his lap, wriggling, and he stroked her, dipping one finger inside, sliding out to coat her clit in the glistening strands of her own wetness.
"Tom," she gasped, before remembering their little game, and she moaned: "Minister! Thank you for fingering me, sir!"
"You're more than welcome," he rumbled, feeling his cock miraculously twitch to life, rising up and swelling between them. Grabbing her, he lifted her up by the hips, slamming her down on his cock with a groan.
Her eyes flew wide open, and she moaned: "Gods, Tom, are you ready again? You're insatiable, that's what you are!"
Panting as he pushed into her wet, swollen sex, she closed her eyes, her head lolling back. He set a fast pace, bouncing her on his cock, one finger frigging her clit. She clenched methodically around him, before her eyes opened into a wild-eyed look, and she screamed: "Tooom! Good Lord, oooh!"
The pulsing and trembling of her tight cunt around him made him lose it again, and he came with a stifled groan inside her. Seconds ticked by as they just sat there, still locked together by their bodies.
Voldemort felt as if he should say something. It would be the right thing to do after this, right? She had, by herself, played right into his power fantasy by submitting to him like that. And it was good. So good, too good, and it had been for a long time now. He still couldn't muster any interest in fucking other witches. She seemed to be the only one he wanted for the time being. He had to say something, if for no other reason than to keep her reasonably happy. Merlin help him, he wanted her to be happy.
Leaning his head to her brow, he whispered stiffly: "Love you." The words still burned like bile on his tongue, but the reward was immediate. She swallowed a sob, kissing him fiercely back, before she replied: "I love you too, Tom, I love you too."
Xxxx
Later, she was curled up in his arms in his great bed, the silk sheets nestled around them.
Sleepily, she murmured: "I wanted to be Minister of Magic too, you know."
He shrugged lazily: "Who says you can't be?" When he took Europe, he'd need an able, trusted Minister in Britain. Heading the Magical European Union would be no trifling matter, and someone had to run Britain. She would do just fine.
She laughed. "What are you going to do, then?"
Petting her hair, he replied: "Can't be Minister all my life. It's only fair you get a go too, isn't it?"
She burrowed her surprisingly cold nose into his shoulder with a contented laugh. "Maybe. First, I need to learn how to raise a child, apparently."
"And being the Minister's wife," he reminded her, smiling into her hair.
"About that, " she said nervously. "I don't really know what's expected of me in that position. I've read some books, and I can't really see myself as..."
Voldemort shrugged, interrupting her. "Neither do I. We'll find out."
"The wedding…" she said, voice trailing off, uncertainly.
"What about it?"
"When, I mean, and how? Now, when you're Minister, does people expect this to be a grand, official affair, or..."
Taking a quick peek into her mind, he saw a conversation with Ginny. Dresses. Invitations, guests, friends and family intermingling. A rather small affair. Why not? It would save him from arranging matters. He stretched, feeling the afterglow still satiating his body.
"I'm fine with that," he replied, mind preoccupied with the possibility of tying himself even closer to Potter.
"Fine with what?" she was surprised, and he belatedly realized she might think him to be snooping. Well, there was nothing that a bit of charm and daring to convince his witch.
Grinning mischievously at her, he said: "The double wedding you are thinking about, of course," hearing a small gasp.
A/N: I hope you'll forgive me for killing off Draco! The fact is, I've never liked him in the books. He's always reminded me of this obnoxious boy in my class at primary school, who really was a self-entitled prat. I know a lot of people like Draco, though, so I hope you aren't too disappointed.
Please, tell me what you think!