They don't see each other for a decade. In that time, he gathers followers and finishes his first five horcruxes. He sees her picture in the Daily Prophet occasionally; the story is usually about her charitable donations, her social life, or her husband, who has achieved his dreams by becoming the Italian Minister of Magic within eight years of first working at the Ministry.
Tom is having his breakfast in the study of the Death Eaters' house that he's taken over when Dolohov comes in with news, "My Lord, we have heard from within the Ministry that the Italian Minister of Magic will also be visiting Britain next weekend for the wedding of the daughter of Nobby Leach."
"So?" He drawls, annoyed already at the mere mention of him.
"We were wondering if we may kill him during our attack on the wedding."
"Why would you kill him? What has he done to impede our progress?"
"Nothing, my lord, but..."
"Exactly. We will cancel our attack on the wedding. Let them have their happiness for a day. The following week we will carry out our final plan to take control over the ministry."
"Yes, my lord."
After Dolohov leaves, Tom looks back down at the day's edition of the Daily Prophet. He flips to page seven, which features a story about the latest Universal Wizarding Education Reforms. He reads, paying particular attention for Vera's name, who had spearheaded the whole thing as the chief delegate among all those from the participating countries. Once he's done with the story, he stares at the picture of her laughing as she pulls her children close and hugs them. Below it is a smaller picture of Dante and Vera, standing on a balcony and waving at a crowd below. They are holding hands. Eventually, they look at each other and kiss, seemingly egged on by the calls of the crowd.
Tom leans back and closes his eyes. The memories of his last kiss with Vera flood back into his head. Why did he ever let her get married? It seems like she's living happily ever and, even though Tom's on track to achieve everything he ever wanted, he's jealous. He wonders what would have happened if he had her; if she hadn't married Dante so quickly. Would he be the one smiling with her now? Would he be Minister of Magic? Would he be tucking their children into bed at night and then holding her close as they fell asleep?
He couldn't help seeing her. He just had to know what she was like now. He had Dolohov knock out one of the Ministry officials and prepare a polyjuice potion, under the guise of performing surveillance.
He looks around the wedding once more. This is nothing compared to the wedding he remembered Vera throwing ten years ago. Halfway through the reception, he notices that she has just finished dancing with the British Minister of Magic and approaches her, "Would you care for a dance, Mrs. Aleksi?"
She smiles, "Oh, yes. Mr. Prewett, I believe? I am quite surprised that you attended – I have heard that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has had a tough job in these last few months."
He nods politely while he takes her hands and sweeps her along the dance floor, careful to keep a polite distance between them, no matter how much it pains him to do so, "I imagine things are not much easier in Italy."
She smiles, "Well, the situation is quite different. Of course, we have had to deal with some media panics about whether the current state of affairs in England will spread through the rest of the wizarding world. But, as our pureblood community is large, we have never had quite the problem with mixing blood that England has. I believe we have managed to keep the few problems we may have had contained – though I regret that we are not able to offer more assistance to the British Ministry, as I did grow up here."
"From your words, it would be easy to forget that England was your original home. You seem very fond of Italy," he remarks, trying to remain aloof.
She smiles tightly, "It does pain me to see my homeland in such a state. Nevertheless, I will not forsake the truth simply to be polite, and do admit that England quite sickened me. Life here is so much more reserved than it is in Italy. I believe the English magical community must have been very shocked by all the pictures of me in the Daily Prophet. They must think I have no manners now, but, despite the fact that I do find Italy liberating in many ways, I promise you that my English manners do not fail me."
"The fact that you have managed to charm everyone here certainly does attest to that. May I observe, Mrs. Aleksi, that you do seem very involved in your husband's political career."
"You do not have to put it politely. Yes, we do work as a team. We have become accustomed to it, despite the fact that people think it odd for a women to be so involved in political office. Well I may not have been elected, I assure you that the people do love me and approve of me very much – in fact, I dare to think that if anything happened to my husband they would trust me with the office. When you have known someone most intimately for over a decade, it is impossible for you to make a move without thinking of them."
He fakes a smile, "I believe yours is the most successful marriage I have ever seen."
She laughs, "I find that love will make any effort one undergoes more likely to succeed."
Love? Was this a lie to maintain their sparkling public image? Or had her feelings, her very self, changed? A decade is a long time. A long series of moments one is faced with, moments that alter a person little by little. He knows how strong the cumulative effect of all those moments can be. He's altered himself more than a little over the last ten years. But could she ever be altered so much? Or, perhaps, had he never really known her? She had always been good at hiding her weaknesses, and she regarded any type of caring as the greatest weakness one could have. He was too, but he had always worn his weaknesses on his sleeve with her, and he had thought he had the same effect on her. Still, attempting to read the mind of another is never a foolproof proposition, much more so when attempting to read the heart.
He sees her staring beyond him and spins them around, looking at the spot she was looking at. Her two children are playing with their father. His mind is still reeling but he manages to mutter, "May I say that you have the most beautiful children – one would think they are blessed to have your spirit, as well as your eyes and smile."
She smiles, "The spirit most of all. It is very hard to get them to stay still for more than five minutes. You wouldn't believe how many different dresses my little Lexi tried on before she decided that she wanted that one – she has become more concerned about fashion then even I ever was."
"How old are they now?"
"They will be four in August."
"And where do you intend to send them to school?"
"I would love to send them to Hogwarts – it provided me with the best education a young witch could ever need – but, given the current state of affairs, I think I may have to wait to see if that will be out of the question," she says while looking back at them again. "I believe the song has just ended, and they seem to be very eager to get their mother back. As much as Dante loves them, I am afraid there is only so much of their tugging that his suit can take."
"It has been a pleasure to speak with you again," he comments, leaning down to kiss her hand. He nearly forgets that she doesn't actually recognize him for a second.
She nods, "The pleasure has been mine. It is a rare opportunity that I get to visit England and you are always one of the Ministry officials that enhances my stay here."
He sits back down at a table at the very back and watches her kiss Dante when she approaches him. She swings her little girl up into her arms and kisses her on the forehead before putting her down softly. She turns to her son and asks him something, to which he nods in response. They walk toward the dance floor, Dante holding their little girl's hand while Vera holds her little boy. He smiles as he watches her dance with her son, seeing the motherly affection in the way she leans down and holds his hands softly while plodding along. Their nanny comes to take the children to bed, but Vera doesn't hand them off until they've both received a goodnight kiss on the cheek from their parents.
Once the children walk away, waving the entire time, she turns back to Dante and sighs, leaning close to him so that he can hold her up while they dance to the piano that's playing. She looks exhausted – maybe it's from the two children, or maybe it's from the pressures of office. After the toast, they smirk secretively at each other and then slide out of the french doors to the garden while everyone else is watching the cake being cut. Tom follows them, hiding in the shadows so he won't be seen.
They are leaning over the balcony, holding hands. She suddenly laughs and says, "Remember when we were at my parents holiday home for Christmas over ten years ago and you first asked if I would consider marrying you? I never would have believed we would be this happy."
"Because Vera Sinclair didn't believe in love or happiness or letting children limit her possibilities. You have no idea how thrilled I was when you said yes and I finally gave you the engagement ring. I think I had been fearing all along that you would be your usual stubborn self and turn me down at the last minute."
"I'm so happy I chose this. I was a silly girl, wasn't I?"
He smiles, "I didn't think you were silly. I thought you were refreshing, and beautiful, and strong-minded, and adventurous."
"I think I was silly. I had no clue what I wanted. I thought I would be young and ridiculous forever. I thought that I could be happy if only I had an endless parade of entertainment. I was very wrong. I've never been happier than I was only a few minutes ago, when we danced with our children. Despite my teasing, you were really much, much smarter than me all along."
He kisses her softly, "Now that's just silly. Everyone knows you are smarter than me."
She laughs and cuddles closer to him, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her and his strong chest against hers. After kissing him softly on the neck, she says, "I'd love to argue with you, but it seems like such a trivial thing right now."
"I want to have another child," he whispers softly.
Her laugh sounds like wind chimes, "But we've already had three. I highly doubt I can have another child and still maintain this figure. And you know you do so love my figure."
He chuckles, "Yes, I do. But I also love our children."
"We're still only 28. There's plenty of time to have another child – perhaps once you retire from office."
"Which you know will be never."
"Well darling, that's when I'll want to have another child. You're out of the house too much, and we travel too much, and the children already spend too much time with their nanny for us to be able to raise another baby."
"You're right. Like always. I've barely written Samson two letters since he went off to school. I've been meaning to talk to you about his attending Hogwarts. I know he was the one who said that he wanted to, but given what's happening in England..."
"He'll be fine. He's Samson Aleski-Sinclair for Merlin's sake – they wouldn't dare. If anything, I am worried that Dumbledore will fail him. He still doesn't like me very much."
"Fine. But if this gets worse, we'll transfer him to the school I attended."
"You know how he begged me to go to Hogwarts. He likes England. I can't imagine why. Now that I don't live here anymore, I realize how bloody dreary it really is. Anyway, you let him spend the summer with my parents. You know how they are. They think this whole Death Eater business is brilliant and it's about time someone showed the muggles where they belong. Hogwarts can't be any worse than that."
He sighed, "He's an odd one."
"He's our child. Of course he's an odd one. Let's just pray that he isn't as crazy as you and I were when we were teenagers – hopefully there won't be any surprise trips to other countries and coming home at sunrise."
He laughs, "Let's be crazy again. The children are already asleep. Let's go to Paris. We haven't been to Paris in years."
She turns, a smile on her face, "What a wonderful idea! Can we get some decent food while we're at it?"
"Of course. Dinner in Paris. At midnight. This should be quite an adventure."
With one final kiss, they apparate away.
Seven years later, Tom is working on a few new plans involving magical creatures when there is a knock on his door. He doesn't say anything. Dolohov walks in quietly, standing by the door until Tom acknowledges him with a nod.
"My lord, there's a young man here to see you. He wants to be a Death Eater," Dolohov says.
He glares at Dolohov, "Why would you bother me with this? You know how it works. Send him off to Malfoy or Lestrange. I've got work to do."
"He asked to see you," Dolohov says softly.
He smirks, "Tell him he may get the pleasure another day, but right now I am busy."
"He's Vera Sinclair's oldest son," Dolohov comments.
Tom purses his lips. Vera's son coming to him. This couldn't possibly be true, "How do you know he's really her son? Has he only told you so?"
"He looks just like his mother. We couldn't have missed it even if he hadn't told us that Vera would kill us if he was hurt."
So it is true. Vera Sinclair's son. Vera, who would always be better than him, who had teased him for his dirty blood. Vera, who had left him that morning without a word, who had laughed at his silly dreams. And now her son was coming to him to beg to be a Death Eater. The irony was just fantastic.
Tom leans back in his chair and stares out of the window before saying, "Send him in."
He isn't sure about this. He isn't sure if he can handle seeing her son, especially if he really does look like her. For a minute, he thinks about changing his mind and sending the boy away instead. But he just has to know why the boy is here in the first place.
He continues to look out of the window, even as he hears the door close and then open again. An imperious voice says, "I'm Samson."
"Samson Aleksi-Sinclair," Tom says, a smirk on his face. "Lord Voldemort. Why would you want to be a Death Eater?"
"Because it's true, what you say. Purebloods really are better, and we shouldn't have to deal with those insipid mudbloods or muggles thinking they can force us to hide away."
"According to the media, your parents hold a very different position."
He sneers, "According to the media, my father is the best Minister of Magic ever and my mother is a saint. There are a lot of things the media doesn't know. My grandparents think all mudbloods should be killed and muggles should be treated like house elves. My father thinks mudbloods are inferior too, but he isn't allowed to say anything as it could potentially damage his future election results. And my mother – well, as long as she can live in her perfect little world and throw parties and go shopping, why would she even care? They live in a world full of purebloods and believe this war is below them."
"Then go back to your mother and father and live in their world. You were born into it – why should you care?" Tom knows he is still bitter because Vera had told him he didn't belong in her world, that he had no birthright that allowed him to be seen with her. This boy had that birthright so why would he bother pretending he didn't?
"Because I can't let all the other real wizards go on living like this. Why shouldn't every pureblood wizard have what my family has?"
"Do not take your blessings for granted," Tom says dispassionately before turning in his chair and finally looking at the boy.
18 years old. Vera's hair color. Vera's facial features. Vera's smirk. And then the thing that stood out about this boy. Dark, ocean-like blue eyes. Not Vera's light brown and not Dante's green. Tom froze. They were exactly like his had been when he'd graduated from Hogwarts. He imagined how Vera must have felt, looking at her son's face and being reminded of the one mistake she had made in the whole course of her marriage; that one fatal mistake she had made in her entire life – Tom Riddle.
"Go. Ask for Lucius Malfoy." Tom says, waving the boy away dismissively as he becomes focused on his own thoughts.
Samson and Delilah. Tom and Vera. The name suddenly made sense. If she had stayed with Tom, would she have ruined him? Have taken away all his cruel power and made him just like every other wizard in the world?
He couldn't sleep that night, so he apparated away instead. He had long ago learned how to stretch the conventional limits of that particular magic. He found himself on a street and recognized the cafe on the corner. It was a few blocks away from her house in Italy. Without questioning his actions, he walked forward, his feet taking him where he needed to go without his counting the time it took or worrying where to turn. Traveling here had become a habit over the years.
He only snapped back to reality after he saw the familiar mansion resting on the cliffside next to the ocean. He couldn't move closer. He couldn't apparate inside. The protections placed on the Italian Minister of Magic's house were formidable. Nothing he couldn't destroy with a bit of effort, but that would alert him to the fact that he was there.
The french doors from the front balcony to her bedroom were open. With a little magic, he could just see her sitting beside her vanity, combing out her hair. Could see her husband whisper goodnight to her and kiss her cheek.
He decided he wanted to see her tonight. Not only see her - speak to her. He made a piece of paper and quill appear and quickly wrote out a message to her, careful to avoid signing it.
Within 15 minutes, she was at the beach a quick walk from her house. Tom was waiting, standing by the seashore and throwing rocks into the water.
"What are you doing here Tom? You know I'm going to have to report you."
"You know you're only saying that because you feel as if you have to - and because you don't want to see me."
"It has been 17 years Tom. I know we have both moved on," She says. She actually laughs a little, "I'm not even sure if I can call you Tom anymore."
He turns to face her, "You can call me whatever you like."
"You look older."
"Time does that to people."
"It isn't time. It's the things you've done."
"The things you've done have made you older too. What is it like, being the wife of a Minister of Magic?"
"Like being a Minister of Magic, but with nicer clothing and more housekeeping."
"I suppose it's the same as if you would have married me and I would have become Minister instead of who I am now."
"'Who I am now. I'm curious Tom, are you afraid to admit to your actions, or are you only afraid that I'll think of you differently once they are confirmed? There's no point to it - I already know Tom. I knew when we were in school. I couldn't have kept you from it."
"That was what I thought then too, but I now think you could have, if you would have chosen me instead of him."
"You know it wouldn't have worked Tom. There was already too much hate in you."
"Just like in your son," he retorts bitterly.
"How do you know my son?"
"Samson? Did you not think I would meet him eventually?"
"I hoped not, seeing the circumstances you probably met him under."
"He has my eyes. Why didn't you tell me Vera?"
"Would you have wanted to know?"
"I will keep him safe from harm."
"Why Tom? You probably care for him as much as you did me back then."
"You forget that I love you Vera."
"You believe that you loved me Tom. You never said it then."
"He's all I have left of you now."
He steps closer to her and takes her face in his hands. She shakes her head and backs away, "Tom, I'm married."
He chuckles venomously, "How could I forget?"
"Will you kill him?"
"I just promised I would keep him safe."
"Not Samson. Dante."
"He is my enemy."
"If he's your enemy, I'm your enemy."
"Vera, I could never see you as my enemy."
"Then you ought to leave before I report you."
"Vera, do not kid yourself. You loved me once too. We have a son…"
She cuts him off while taking another step back, "No, he is not your son. You may be his father, but the only person who ever acted as a real dad toward him is Dante. You were not there to raise him, and even if you would have been I highly doubt you would have done so correctly."
"It doesn't appear as if your darling husband has done so correctly either," Tom bites back, stepping closer to her once again.
She glares at him, arms crossed in front of her in an effort not to literally shove him away, "You are no longer a person who can mention my husband. You would kill him if you had the chance."
Tom knows what her body language is saying, but doesn't care. If this is the only time he's going to see her for another decade or more, he wants to make it worthwhile. He reaches a hand forward, his fingers pushing her hair back behind her ear before resting his palm against her cheek, "Of course I would, he got to marry you."
"Leave," she says coldly, face and body locked in their stony positions.
"You can leave with me," Tom hisses, not moving even a centimeter away from her. He is an expert in charming people by now. In that second, under the moonlight, with the sound of the waves crashing only feet from them, with the knowledge that their child is in the country where she belongs, he is delusional enough to think he can charm her.
"If I was ever even remotely interested in that, I would have a long time ago. Seventeen years ago to be exact. Stop pining over something that never happened and will never even be possible."
"Pray that your husband never meets who I am now," he whispers, slipping forward to place a kiss on her cheek before apparating away.
A/N: I think I am down to only one or two chapters left to close everything up now, so if any of you lovely readers have burning questions, requests, or feedback about this story, now is the time to leave it in a review please :)