Bad Romance

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I had most of this chapter written but just wasn't feeling it. So I redid it and feel marginally better about it. Also, I was looking through old chapters for plot related stuff and was horrified by the abysmal quality of some of the earlier chapters. I'm sure wingedmercury (who is amazing and beta's for my non-HP stories) was probably cringing in horror at some of the glaring errors, rofl.

Anyway, water under the bridge. Hope you guys enjoy this one. I'm trying to make slightly longer chapters, but we'll see how that goes.

Disclaimer: the HP universe does not belong to me; I am just borrowing.


Chapter Fifty-Four: Right in Two


With a swish of his wand, Tom performed the Disillusionment charm before Disapparating from his new flat in Diagon Alley, reappearing with a crack at the outskirts of Black Manor. He had yet to master silent Apparition but was certain it wasn't long before that was yet another skill he possessed. Still, it mattered not at the moment—no one was around to hear him appear at Alphard and Hermione's new home.

What were they planning? He had initially intended to simply perform Legilimency on Alphard, but the ex-Seeker was proving to be more adept at closing his mind than Tom had expected. Was Hermione—no, the Mudblood, he reminded himself—teaching him Occlumency? She must have, as Tom was nearly positive the engagement was nothing more than a sham. He had proven months ago that the Mudblood felt nothing for Black, and though Tom was not acquainted with the foul concept of love, he was fairly certain it was not something that could be so simply accrued from months spent in one's presence. No, he had studied the concept briefly, and he knew that the Mudblood felt no romantic love for Alphard Black.

But perhaps, he thought with a smirk as he approached the sprawling manor on swift silent feet, Alphard's intentions do not mirror the Mudblood's. He knew Alphard well—the boy was charming and cunning and knew how to get what he wanted. Alphard was not evil but he had been placed quite correctly in Slytherin—it was not just for his notably pure blood. Could he have lured the Mudblood into a marriage under the false pretense of 'teaming up' or something similarly absurd?

If he had, Tom was a little disappointed that the Mudblood, with all of her own cunning and intelligence, had not seen through it immediately. So perhaps he doesn't have an ulterior motive, mused the young Dark Lord as he approached one of the windows, because if he did, there is every likelihood she'd spot it immediately. He knew Alphard had taken the day off from his job at the ministry, so he was likely to be here as was the Mudblood. Tom peered in through the windows, moving from glass to glass, searching for some sign of the engaged couple.

Heavy drapes blocked his view into what he assumed must have been the library, as he knew one existed but had yet to find it in his travels. Murmuring a spell—no need to be nonverbal, naturally, as no one was around—he attempted to slide the heavy drapes aside, but they would not budge. Damn. So the Mudblood must have cast wards on the place—which meant this was the right window.

Not that I need to sneak about to gain entrance to their home, he thought smugly. Perhaps another time then—at the moment he was running rather late for quite an important date...specifically one with a certain tree in Albania. He glanced at his watch, knowing he was expected back at Borgin and Burkes at half-past one. With another crack Tom Disapparated.


"If my memory is correct, he's going to try and get the cup from Hepzibah in the next few months," Hermione thought aloud as she paced round the enormous mahogany table, staring down at the whorls in the wood. Alphard was seated lazily in a plush emerald velvet armchair cross the room, and while his posture that he maintained was one of utter relaxation, Hermione knew he was just as focused and alert as she.

"You've got to tail him. I can't get any good chances to read his mind during our meetings," Alphard said, shaking his head and propping one leg over one of the arms of the chair so that he was sprawled across it. Hermione wrinkled her nose at both his posture and his suggestion.

"You know he's going to figure out right away that he's being tailed. He didn't rise to power through being an oblivious idiot—"

"Right, well, when you've got any better ideas, let me know," interrupted Alphard loftily as he stretched languidly, reminding her of a cat sunning itself on a wall. She glowered at him. "What? It'll be a perfect chance for you to practice not shagging him!" he teased, earning a well-aimed and relatively harmless Hex from Hermione that he could not quite block in time.

"I want to owl Geoffrey," she said softly, staring out the windows. Since her engagement party, she and Geoffrey had met several times for lunch. He was in training at the Auror headquarters and didn't have much time, but Hermione had been helping him out by practicing dueling with him in their free time.

She had never been much of a dueler compared to Harry, but she had learned a few tricks in her time, and Geoffrey had not forgotten how she had held her own against Tom Riddle during their Defense Against the Dark Arts courses. Their practice sessions were not just helpful for keeping the both of them sharp and ready for action, but also fun. Hermione enjoyed the chance to socialize with Geoffrey, and she also enjoyed the fact that their friendship was strengthening.

"You think it's a good idea to involve him in this?" Alphard was being serious now. He sat up slightly, frowning at her. Hermione sighed.

"Not necessarily. I just want to ask him about his methods for Disillusionment that he's learned," she explained.

"Right, but even I know Potter's no fool. He's going to wonder why you—as a bloody housewife, no less—are interested in something like that."

Hermione flinched at the term 'housewife.' It wasn't exactly the sort of moniker she had ever thought she would sport, and besides that, what with all of their servants, she rarely did any housework at all aside from making her own bed. These days, she and Alphard were completely immersed in their plotting against Voldemort.

Voldemort and his followers met often, and Hermione encouraged Alphard to make the best of these instances. After Tom got hold of Hufflepuff's cup, she knew he would disappear for at least ten years before resurfacing to ask Dumbledore for a job at Hogwarts. They had to make their mark now, before Tom decided to run off the map.

And it was working fairly well. Alphard was easily Tom's favorite again. Their strategy for now was for Alphard to drop hints that Hermione would be a suitable Death Eater as well, owing to her extraordinary magical capabilities as well as her practical, logical nature. Hermione had pointed out that if he told this straight to Tom, it'd be too obvious. Instead, he was working his way up—by convincing the other Death Eaters of Hermione's worth as one of them.

Soon she had a feeling she would be bearing a Dark Mark on her arm, and she didn't know how she felt about that. Would it go over her scar from Bellatrix? Tom already knew about that scar. Sometimes she wished she could just use the Time Turner again and fix the enormous mess she had created for herself. But she was set on this path, and she wasn't sure she could find it in herself to lose the other friends she had found.

"And we still haven't decided on how I'm going to deal with Tom recognizing me in the future," she said, turning back to Alphard, whose expression became grim at her words. He held up his hands.

"That's for you to solve. Hopefully I won't be around by that point—though it sounds like I wasn't, if you never met me."

"Well, I assume Sirius would've been staying with you," Hermione said with a shrug. "So either you were in hiding or — or dead."

It was strange to talk so candidly of a future he would not be alive for. Hermione admired how easily Alphard seemed to talk of his own impending death.

"Hope I go out in a manly way," he said with a very Sirius-like grin. "You know, dueling Voldemort or something of that ilk. But I get the feeling I probably just die of old age."

"Which is a perfectly fine way to go," Hermione said condescendingly, rolling her eyes at his glibness. "Now, should I contact Geoffrey or not?"

Alphard waved his hand in a blase manner as he rose from his chair.

"Invite him over for dinner for all I care. But I personally am going to be challenging the others to a pick-up game of Quidditch. I'll be back later tonight."

"Give the Legilimency another go tonight," Hermione called after him as Alphard left the library at their manor. The door shut behind him. Hermione stared at the closed door for a moment before she shook herself from her thoughts and went about owling Geoffrey.


Alphard and the rest of the original Death Eaters had taken to enjoying the fading summer warmth most evenings by meeting up for games of Quidditch. Sometimes Riddle joined them, though that was a rare occasion. Since graduation, Riddle had changed. Had Alphard not known any better, he might've assumed that Tom was simply becoming more and more involved in work. But thanks to Hermione, he could recognize that his former best friend (however one-sided that friendship may have been) was sinking further and further into his own darkness.

Tonight when he met his friends at Malfoy Manor, Tom Riddle was late. He was wearing a black suit that seemed to heighten the ever-growing shadows on his angular face, and there was something darker lingering about his eyes. To look at him and know his current experiments gave Alphard chills. Combined with the thinly-veiled look of smugness that Tom sent his way, Alphard was desperate to find any leg-up on the young Dark Lord that he possibly could. Was it because he had so recently fucked his own fiancee against the wall of his childhood home, or was there something else at play? Had he advanced his Horcrux quest?

"Alright, who's on which teams this time?" Avery said, tossing one of the Bludgers from one hand to the other a bit menacingly as the young men all gathered in a circle, the sun setting beyond a whispery summer treelit horizon. Alphard was beginning to perspire with sudden anxiety. What if the timeline had been altered from Hermione's time? What if he had seen inside Hermione's mind long enough to glimpse his own possible downfall?

"I call Black," began Tom, smirking. His voice was jarring and startled Alphard slightly, though luckily he recovered quickly. As Alphard and Tom were by far the superior Quidditch players, it annoyed the others to no end that the two men were always on the same team together. Of course, they could never voice such an opinion.

At that moment, Cygnus foolishly stepped forward, assuming Tom was referring to him. Protectiveness, and perhaps a bit of the old competitiveness he had once had with his brother for Tom's attention, propelled him to loudly point out that Tom had meant him and not Cygnus.

He cringed at the hurt in his younger brother's eyes before rejection, jealousy, and hatred took over in their brown depths so like his own. Alphard turned away.

Soon the teams were sorted out. Alphard sauntered over to Tom as they shared a private smirk at the others' expense. They both knew they would win as they always did, for they were the best of them. And for a moment, it felt like old times...

...before she had come along and changed everything.

Before the resentment could build up, he reminded himself that nothing had changed besides his own awareness of the reality of Tom's character. And then he remembered seeing Tom Riddle torture his brother to the brink of death with nary a second thought, not so much as a twinge of remorse. And he remembered the number of times, even in the very beginning, that Tom had so effortlessly stolen away Hermione's attention. He remembered how it had felt, just a few weeks ago, to know that Tom was fucking Hermione up against the side of his home during his and Hermione's engagement party. Alphard's feelings for Hermione had abated, but no man appreciated having something of his stolen from under his own nose.

Alphard mounted his broom with his pure hatred for Tom boiling in his stomach. He had to clench the handle tightly to hide how his hands shook in anger and resentment. You've already ruined my life, he thought as he watched Tom soar across the field to where Abraxas was releasing the balls. I'll never have a normal life because of you, Lord Voldemort.

But Hermione wanted me to give the Legilimency another shot, he reminded himself. Tom laughed at something Abraxas had done, throwing back his head and laughing his heart out, the other boys hungrily watching him, wanting so desperately to know—what was his secret? How did he have all of the popularity, all of the athleticism, all of the charm, all of the wit, all of the looks? How did he manage to garner such loyal friends when he himself could turn around and unleash pain and suffering on any of them at any moment? What was it about him that drew people to him so magnetically?

Tom tilted his head to look back at Alphard for one moment—perhaps to confirm that Alphard found whatever it was funny as well—and Alphard seized his split second window of opportunity.

He cast Legilimency, peering into his mind for the briefest of moments. He had expected to find thoughts of Horcruxes, or thoughts of his work at Borgin and Burkes. But for that fleeing instant, all he found was Hermione.

Alphard swallowed over a lump in his throat and abruptly ended the spell before Tom could even process what he had done.

"Alright there, Black?" teased Avery from across the field.

"He's just depressed 'cause he's getting shacked up so soon," called Lestrange, earning laughs from the others. Alphard smirked smugly at them and before he could stop himself, he blurted out something:

"Nah, just tired because she keeps me up at night," he countered before pulling a sharp dive on his broomstick that he knew none of the others could handle. There were wolf-whistles and appreciative whoops from the others, but after he pulled up out of his impressive dive, he came face-to-face with Tom.

Tom didn't look happy. They hovered far above the others, staring at each other coldly. Inwardly, Alphard grimaced at his own inability to keep his mouth shut, but outwardly he could not bring himself to drop his defiant glower.

"Keeps you up at night, you said?" he said coolly, arching his elegant dark brows at Alphard.

"You heard me," he replied tartly, mirroring Tom's expression and raising his eyebrows. "But really, it's not polite to kiss and tell, so I ought to just clam up." He turned away from Tom, unsettled. "Let's just play, shall we?"

"...Yes, let's play," Tom conceded in an icy tone. "See if you can keep up, Black. You're probably very tired," he added scathingly, swooping down to dodge one of the released Bludgers. Their eyes met.

"Yeah, you're right. I am. Especially after making her scream my name 'til dawn yesterday," Alphard agreed before he swept upwards, dodging the Bludger as well. Before he could stop himself, he had kicked at it with all of his strength, sending it back in Tom's direction.

"What in bloody Merlin's name are you doing, you great prat?" demanded Cygnus, "he's on your team!"

"Oh. I forgot," laughed Alphard a bit vaguely. Tom was looking at him with renewed interest, as though seeing him truly for the first time. Alphard returned the stare before his eyes spotted what he had spent so many years looking for—the Golden Snitch.

Time to end this stupid folly, he thought with a smug smirk. Cygnus was Seeker for the other team and he knew that he could always outfly his little brother. In a manner so casual it was insulting to the others, Alphard dove and wrapped his calloused fingers round the Snitch, ensnaring it in his grasp.

"Aw, dammit, Black! We never get to actually play when you're here," groused Avery, dropping off his broom and hurling his bat at the ground broodingly. "Besides, can't you ever let your little brother win?"

"I don't want him to let me," argued Cygnus in quite a bratty voice. Alphard rolled his eyes.

"When you gits are done bitching, let me know and we'll get back to business," he sighed, meeting Tom's eyes again. There it was again—that flashing smugness. "Besides, I want to hear why you're in such a good mood, my lord."

"In good time, Black," said Tom softly, as they watched the other boys struggle to wrestle the balls into the crate again. Alphard's jaw tightened as he prepared himself for an evening of listening for the slightest hint from Tom of his activities. Time to end this stupid folly as well, he thought darkly. He watched the summer breeze toy with Tom's dark locks. Tom was smirking to himself, clearly thinking of something privately that pleased him. And so Alphard smirked as well.

You fool. You don't even know how at this very moment, your precious Hermione is plotting to end you and all you stand for...once and for all.


Hermione lay awake late that night, tossing and turning, becoming quite clammy in the sheets. Alphard had not yet returned from his outing with the other Death Eaters, and she was eager to see how it had gone. It was rare for them to last so very late. She sat up and paced for a while, her nightgown fluttering about her ankles, and nearly cried with relief when she heard the familiar crack of Alphard Apparating back inside their home.

She was uncertain about the state she might find him in—the Death Eaters liked their Firewhiskey, and it was expected of Alphard, as the favorite of Tom, to keep up with the others. He frequently returned to Black Manor sodding pissed, and she sighed as she heard the sound even more familiar than the crack of Apparation—the bang of Alphard bumping into something as he stumbled about the manor, attempting to make his way up the marble stairs.

"Have a good time?" she asked a bit cheekily as she reached the top of the enormous staircase, watching amusedly as Alphard clunked about the front hall, ramming into an umbrella stand at one point and knocking it to the ground. Alphard fell at the stairs and looked up at her. Normally he was a very cheeky, silly drunk, and he tended to get quite flushed in his cheeks. So when she saw that he was ashen-faced, it was like a slap across her face. "Oh, Alphard, are you okay?" she demanded, rushing down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the icy marble. Alphard shakily got to his feet.

"There you are," he mumbled, falling against her and nearly knocking her down. Hermione sighed.

"Yes, here I am. Surprise, surprise," she said dryly. "What happened at the meeting?"

"He was thinking about you," slurred Alphard as he allowed Hermione to help him up to the stairs to their bedrooms. It was difficult, as Alphard, while not the tallest man in the world, still had several inches and at least fifty pounds of solid muscle on her. Hermione wanted to slap herself for leaving her wand in the bedroom, but she had the feeling it was not the best idea to abandon Alphard in favor of getting it—even if it would make this business of carrying him up the stairs loads easier.

"Y-you looked into his mind?" she asked lightly, attempting to hide her interest. Luckily it wasn't too hard to mask any tones in her voice, as she was wheezing by the time she reached the top of the stairs. For his part, Alphard was absolutely useless, and the moment she relinquished her hold around his ribcage, he toppled over and crumpled on the floor, moaning.

"Yes. And there's another one."

"Another what?"

"Horcrux."

Hermione stared down at Alphard in shock before recovering.

"He's already found the diadem, then," she reasoned aloud before stooping to help Alphard again. Shouldering his weight was even more difficult without the leverage of the stairs, but it seemed he would not be budging on his own any time soon.

"Smart girl," Alphard slurred thickly. They reached the room they had recently been sharing and Hermione let him drop onto the bed and began helping him out of his fine robes. "I love it when you undress me," he jeered, earning a heart eye-roll from Hermione.

"Has anyone ever told you you're crap at holding your liquor?" she asked in amusement, though his former words were still weighing heavily on her mind. He was thinking about you.

It was a poor idea to contemplate those words too much; Hermione busied herself by retrieving a basin of water to help Alphard sober up. He leaned over it, splashing his face as Hermione held his dark hair back with slightly trembling hands. Did Alphard have the slightest idea of what effect his words had on her? Had he hurt her on purpose?

You did demand to hear everything, she reminded herself rather unsympathetically. Finally Alphard straightened, swaying notably. His bare skin was warm under her touch; her fingers instinctively traced the lines of his tattoos.

"Bet I look better stark naked than Voldemort," he said in a tone surprisingly haughty for someone so very thoroughly stinking pissed.

"Oh, stop it," snapped Hermione irritably as she led him back to the bed, which he quite clumsily fell onto before clambering fully on, dragging Hermione with him. "How did you find out about the Horcrux?" She tried to wrestle away as Alphard drew her against his chest, but he was too strong for her. "Let me go."

"He was dropping hints," Alphard said with little interest. Hermione finally managed to prise herself from his grasp and she crawled to her usual side of the bed, putting as much distance between herself and Alphard as possible. "Made a few comments about traveling today; I reckoned he was talking 'bout Albania," he added with a yawn before slumping against the pillows sleepily. While Alphard was drifting off, however, Hermione's brain was working so fast that had Harry or Ron been there, they would've commented on being able to 'hear the gears turning.'

"I'll need to start tailing him before the wedding. And I'm going to fill Geoffrey in on everything, because we dueled today and he's gotten to be really good," Hermione plotted out loud, narrowing her eyes at the velvet emerald canopy of the bed in thought. She glanced at Alphard. "And I think I'll have to make some Pepper-Up Potion tomorrow morning, given your state," she observed dryly, smirking as Alphard rolled over closer to her. "You do realize you have work tomorrow, right?"

"Work. Right," replied Alphard vaguely before burrowing his face against her hip and slinging an arm across her stomach. "'Mione, you're too serious," he grumbled, his voice muffled by his slurring and the fabric of her nightgown.

"Oh, sorry, I'll try to be more comedic about my plotting of the downfall of the Dark Lord," Hermione countered sarcastically, earning a wry chuckle from Alphard.

There was silence as Hermione debated whether to tell him to back off. Their position felt rather intimate and she found herself holding her breath slightly.

"Think we'll ever fall in love?" Alphard wondered softly, his grip on her opposite hip tightening slightly. Hermione sighed.

"I don't know, Alphard. That's not really a fair question to ask," she pointed out.

"I was just wondering," replied Alphard a bit sulkily. "We are getting married and all."

"Just a few weeks from now," she said softly, her hands moving along his thick dark hair. "You've really been fantastic about all of this...giving up everything so readily for this." She hadn't commented on the enormity of Alphard's sacrifice yet—it had always felt too large a subject to broach.

"It was never a choice. Not after he did that to Cyg," Alphard replied, his breath warm through the thin cotton of her nightgown.

Intense sympathy for this troubled young man flooded Hermione, and without really contemplating her actions, she slid down and returned the loose embrace, running her fingertips in little soothing circles over his back.

"Thank you," she breathed, her eyes catching his in the darkness. Alphard offered a weary smile before finally drifting off into a deep, drunken slumber. But Hermione lay awake for hours as she contemplated everything he had said, turning over the words in her mind as the dread of the wedding grew like a sinking weight in her stomach, pulling her further and further down into a darkness she feared she might never escape.

For Harry, was her last fuzzy thought before sleep finally claimed her around dawn.