If you imagine Chadwick as Chadwick Boseman, we're on the same page

The next week passed in a painful blur.

Her days—from dawn to dinner—were spent prepping for starting at the ICWA. They mainly consisted of making sure the Wards in and around Black Manor would be accepting of her constant international travel and working with the British Ministry for a permanent International Portkey that would take her to and from Black Manor and the ICWA Headquarters.

The first day she had applied for her visa to be able to practice magic outside of the country and had also applied for the International Portkey—which continually got denied (apparently that was common) so she and her trainers had to constantly apply (multiple times a day) to get her the Portkey because she couldn't work without it.

After her trainers and the Warders who were adjusting the Wards and building Wards around her room would leave, she would get ready for her close friends' Introduction Balls.

She wasn't aware if Tom had been at any of them because she would only be there for as long as she was required to be there as Black Heiress—typically two hours as she only really had to entertain those of the same rank as the Black Family—before she'd disappear into the crowds—go home. Her family would make cleaver excuses for her if asked about—so they claimed—and she never saw her Soulmate, so she was content.

At least, that was what she told herself in attempts to keep herself together.

Everything was going fine until the day her International Portkey had been approved.

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"I told you, you had nothing to worry about," Chadwick Askar said happily as they walked out of the Office of Transportation. He was one of her Curse Trainers and her Year One Supervisor. As such, he had been around constantly the last week—even stayed in a guest room a couple times—helping prep everything and directing the insanity that was fifteen Curser Trainers and the two Warders who were currently building Wards to allow her to just portkey straight into her bedroom.

"I know, I know," she groaned. "I've just been stressed," she muttered. She played with the leather bracelet on her wrist and smiled at the magic that thrummed through the glove and into her bloodstream.

Chadwick placed a hand on the back of her neck. Her knees buckled slightly at the weight of the magic from his uniform. "I know, what with your Soulmate and all." He squeezed her neck and pressed the button for the elevator.

She smiled softly at the taller man. That was probably her favorite thing about Chadwick. He had a Soulmate, like many, but he had chosen to not pursue Activating the Bond or even having a relationship of any kind with his Mate due to her being significantly younger than him, but also clearly in love with someone else. Chadwick never gave her pity; never told her it was going to be okay or better. He was just there. A silent pillar that showed it was going to be okay.

Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually.

The elevator opened, and the two stepped into the empty lift. "Are Jensen and Skye going to be coming over to the Manor today to key the Portkey in?"

"Yes. They should be there already."

She leaned her head back and sighed. "Nice. I think . . . I'm going to go to bed early tonight."

"Don't you have some party tonight, Heiress Black?" he mocked lightly.

She kicked her leg out at the nosey African. "Yee," she grunted after she gave up on trying to hurt him.

He laughed and the two exited the lift at the Atrium. "Won't you insult them and your ancestors by not going?" The gentle mocking was hard to miss. Europe and Asia were the only wizarding communities that had Aristocracies.

"They'd understand."

"Would they? Would the really?" the dark-skinned man asked.

She pouted. Blaise would hold it over her head until the day they died. "Probably not," she groaned.

"Hydra!"

She and Chadwick paused and turned to see Theo and Tom rapidly approaching them—Theo ran and drug Tom behind him. She tensed and took a step back, and Chadwick, bless his soul, stepped slightly in front of her. Both Tom and Theo stopped, shock on their faces.

"Hydra, who the hell is this?" Theo demanded once the shock wore off.

"That's none of your concern," she sniffed. She grasped onto Chadwick's jacket in a crude attempt to focus through the waves of Tom's magic.

"Hyde? Who are these men?" Chadwick gently asked.

"The one on the left is Theo Nott—" Chadwick grunted in displeasure. "and the one on the right is Tom Riddle."

"Ooh, him," Chadwick said softly. "Oh, wait! I know him. Worked with him a couple years ago on a dig in Russia. Gringotts sent a few Researchers, and he was one of them—the Head Researcher if I remember correctly."

She made eye contact with Tom and collapsed at the rush of magic that hit her and stemmed from her Soulmark. Chadwick spun around and prevented her head from hitting the ground. "Damn he's powerful," he muttered as he lifted her. "Being able to force the Bond to pulse like that?" he whistled softly as he maneuvered Hydra's limp body, so her back was pressed against his front with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and shoulders.

Another burst of magic pulsed from her Mark and her head drooped forward. He wrapped his right hand loosely around her neck and forced her head up and back, so it pressed against his left shoulder.

"Heiress Black?" Her knees buckled at the smooth tones of Tom's voice and the magic that assaulted her growing stronger.

"Don't you dare, Black," Chadwick snarled, his voice terse, but kind. "Stand through it. Breathe through it. Stand up, Black." She weakly got her feet under her and pushed herself up "Good. Now, breathe, Black." The authoritative way he treated the situation helped her focus on what he was saying and not the magic or the crowd around them. "Focus on my voice. Focus on everything but the magic in and around us. Focus on my arm." He tightened his grip—both of them—and a low growl reached her ears as the magic flared. "Breathe dammit!" She took a deep, stuttering breath and held it for a moment before she released it and repeated the action. "Focus on my hand." His thumb began to rub soothing circles on the right side of her neck.

She could feel her pulse flutter against. "Just breathe, Hydra," he said softly. "Just breathe and focus on me."

Slowly, so, so slowly, she got her wits about her and was able to focus even with the crushing waves of magic that wrapped around her from her Soulmark. She pulled away from Chadwick and thanked him softly, her back to Tom and Theo. "That's the first time I've been able to get through one of those without having to strip."

She looked to the ground and scuffed at it with the tip of her shoe. Chadwick lifted her chin. "It's what I'm here for. Literally. See?" He pointed to a crest on his Uniform over his left pec. "This shows that I'm a Lead Curser. You're stuck with me kid." A smile split his dark-chocolate face as he rustled her hair.

"Okay—wait. Hold on," Theo demanded. "What the hell just happened?"

She and Chadwick exchanged looks. It was against the rules to explain to outsiders the inner workings of the ICWA—especially how the uniform worked. Often times if people were observant enough, they'd figure it out, but they weren't allowed to offer any explanations.

"It's nothing unusual for someone starting in our line of work," Chadwick answered. "We're overly sensitive to magic and can often pass out when around powerful witches and wizards."

Tom scoffed softly under his breath. Apparently, he knew exactly how the uniform worked—which didn't surprise her when she thought about it. Not only was he smart, but he had also worked with the ICWA and had probably been forced to wear a training uniform himself depending on how closely he worked with the Cursers—whether he wore one or not, he was no longer considered an outsider.

But Theo on the other hand—

"What?" he demanded. "You have a job?"

She met Tom's eyes and leaned heavily on Chadwick. He looked at her with concern. "Yeah. Perhaps Mr. Riddle would be willing to tell you about it if you ask him nicely enough. He knows all about it."

Theo's mouth dropped open while Chadwick snickered softly. "Hydra, we have to go. Appointments to keep."

She nodded. "It was good to see you again, Mr. Riddle." She looked down at her portkey. "How do I activate this again?"

"Like this—" Before either Tom or Theo could protest their sudden departure, her Portkey was activated—and yes, the ICWA was that awesome that they had clearance to portkey in an out of government buildings—and she and Chadwick were promptly deposited in the receiving room of Black Manor.

"Thank Merlin, you're home!" Jensen gasped as he ran into the room. "Your father won't stop trying to force me to go to some dance with you tonight."

Her father idly strode into the room behind Jensen and gave Hydra a kiss on the cheek. "Yeah, no. That's—I'm sorry. I'm not doing that."

Her father collapsed onto her. "But Hydra!" he whined.

As Vega had done the last time Hydra had to stay the entirety of a ball, she picked out a backless dress with a slit up the side. The slit in this dress, however, was on her right side and went up to the top of her hip, and depending on how she stood, could hide her skin.

The back, unlike the last dress she wore, had a golden snake with a large ruby for its exposed eye in the center of her back. Twelve gold chains anchored it to her dress, and it was heavy. If the dress didn't have a wide neckline that stopped just above her breasts, she was sure the snake would choke her to death by the end of the night.

The cap sleeves of the dress itched violently, and the golden sequins that covered every single inch of the dress continually caught on her hair—which Bixby had styled to the side to help cover her hip. Bixby had drawn a black snake on the outside of her leg and had added a golden chain wrap thing that she was positive would cause severe chaffing by the end of the night. The golden thong she was forced to wear was—

All in all, she was very uncomfortable and did not look forward to the night ahead of her. She sat on her dressing chair and summoned the shoebox with a flick of her wand.

She groaned.

Inside the box was a fairly normal pair of black stiletto heels—six-inch heal, one-inch platform, leather. Simplicity at its finest. Until you looked at the heel. On it, a golden snake wrapped around it until it was at the back of the shoe where it layered over itself twice before its head settled on the outside of the shoe with a brilliant ruby for an eye. Around the ankle another golden snake would wrap around it and eat its tail.

She wasn't too sure how she was going to get the shoe on, to be honest, considering the snake was metal and likely wasn't charmed to understand Parseltongue since she was pretty sure she was the last Speaker in Britain.

Once she got the shoes on—the snake was charmed to open up the moment she touched it with her fingers and close around her ankle once her heel was in the shoe—she put on gold bangles, earrings, and a few golden necklaces of varying lengths. She charmed a bronze upper arm wrap in the shape of a snake to appear gold and charmed her portkey to appear gold as well.

She looked in the mirror one last time, nodded her head, and left for the floo.

When Hydra stepped into the Zabini ballroom dressed entirely in gold, Tom swore his heart stopped beating for a moment. She seemed to glow from within and with the lights reflecting off of her dress—

Every eye in the room was on her—and the ones that weren't on her were blind.

"Tom!" Historia squealed in his ear, "look at Hydra! Isn't she beautiful?" The girl tugged on his arm until he weakly nodded his head.

"She is," he said with a dry mouth.

"We should go speak with her! I do miss her—" Tom didn't think the sentiment was returned. "She holds such invigorating conversations, did you know?"

He looked down at his fiancée. "No. I haven't had much of an opportunity to speak with her." Instead, he spent every moment he got alone with her giving into the Bond and kissing her.

Maybe he would change that tonight . . ..

He was jerked out of his thoughts by Historia dragging him across the ballroom and towards his Soulmate. "Hydra! Hydra!" Historia called. Dark rimmed green eyes looked towards them, and a slight grimace crossed her face. "Darling," Historia greeted when they arrived, "I've missed you!" He was released as Historia hugged his Soulmate.

"Historia," Hydra greeted coolly—a tone he hadn't heard her use before, but still somehow made his heart thump in ways that probably wasn't healthy. "Mr. Riddle."

He extended his hand, and she hesitated slightly before she took it. He greeted her as he had been taught, bowing over it, and pressing a chaste kiss to her skin. "Heiress Black. How are you this evening?"

She squirmed slightly—a movement he would have missed had he not been watching her so closely. "I'm doing well. How are you?" She took her hand from his, and he was pleased to see her run the fingers of her opposite hand over the skin he had kissed.

"I'm doing well," he said simply.

She turned from him to Historia. "And you, Heiress Nott?"

Historia frowned. "Darling, we've known each other for years, call me Historia! And I'm doing good," she said, her voice airy. "Wedding plans take up all of my time right now, I feel I hardly have any time with my Tom."

Hydra's jaw clenched as she stiffly smiled. "I'm sure they do."

Historia took that as invitation to elaborate on the 'woes' of wedding planning. While his fiancée prattled on about flowers and color schemes, Tom watched Hydra's expression slowly become more pained.

"Historia, that's enough," he spoke.

"Oh, right, right. Sorry! Sometimes I forget propriety around the upper class." Before he could ask what she had meant by upper class, she continued, "What have you been doing, Hydra?"

"Preparing for work, mainly."

"What does that entail?" he asked.

"Getting visas, adjusting the Wards around my house, and getting a portkey." Her hand stroked a thick golden band around her left wrist.

"That sounds exhausting," Historia whined.

A small smirk appeared on Hydra's blood-red lips. "It's actually not. You see, some of us have the work ethic to have a job, and others have the work ethic to sit around and drink all day."

Historia frowned, confused. Tom bit his lips as he tried to hide the laughter at the clear insult towards her.

"Heiress Black!" The woman in front of him tilted her head back slightly and shifted her body to the left to peak around him to see who had called her.

His mouth became a baren dessert when the entirety of her right leg became visible, and he saw the elaborate snake etched upon her skin with black paint, a golden chain that was magicked to stick to her leg, and the golden snakes on her shoes.

Every moment she became more and more addicting.

"Lord Nightingale," she said with a charming smile. "Heir Nightingale. How lovely it is to see you again." Two male figures came to stand next to him and Hydra.

The younger of the men took Hydra's outstretched hand and kissed it. Tom bit his cheek. "Heiress Black," he greeted shyly. "The pleasure is ours."

The elder—Lord Nightingale—looked at Tom. "I don't believe we've met before. Heiress Black?"

He inwardly rolled his eyes. Why did Society have so many rules?

"Lord Nightingale, this is Tom Riddle, Heir Nott by engagement to Historia Nott."

The man sneered lightly, but still took his hand to shake. "I see the fool has finally found someone willing to marry his mutt of a daughter."

Historia tensed next to him.

"Father—" the boy started.

"No, Sebastian. The Notts are worthless pigs who pretend they're worth more than they actually are." The man looked at Tom. "You must be just as worthless to stoop to marrying that," he said with a chin nod towards Historia.

"Asa." Tom's heart kicked in his chest at the commanding—if not murderous—tone in Hydra's voice. Her green eyes practically glowed as she glared at Lord Nightingale. "While I agree with your ideas in most situations, this is one that I must disagree on. I have been able to speak with Mr. Riddle many times over the last couple weeks and he is a far better man than most men in this room, yourself included." Tom's mouth dropped open at the words. Lord Nightingale laughed loudly. "Lord Nott, the bastard fool that he may be, saw potential and a better future for his daughter in Mr. Riddle, and took it."

Lord Nightingale stopped laughing. "But, Hydra, he's not one of us."

Tom's jaw clenched.

"You're right." Before he could be hurt, she continued speaking. "He's so much better than any one of us could ever hope to be. He was a lead Magical Researcher at Gringotts before he was forced to quit by the Nott Family. You know as well as I do how difficult it is for someone of our positions to get to that kind of position in a paying job—especially with the goblins."

Lord Nightingale inclined his head before he turned to Tom and did the same. "I apologize for assuming, Mr. Riddle. I do not have a pleasant past with Theodore, and it colors my opinion of all those who associate closely with him. I do hope you'll forgive me, and one day have a conversation with me about our work as a Researcher. I used to be one myself before I had to quit upon taking up the Nightingale Lordship."

Tom smiled, his cheeks stiff, his heart wild in his chest. What was going on? He wanted to scream. "You're forgiven," he spoke lightly, the sound false to his ears. "I would be honored to discuss my days as a Researcher with you. It's rare whenever I am able to do so."

He smiled. "Ask Heiress Black one day. She knows quite a bit. Now, Heiress, I believe it is time for you to dance with my son and then we'll discuss Curse transmutation. I read about it in a paper published just this last week."

"You do know I haven't started yet?" she asked as she tucked her arm into Heir Nightingale's elbow.

"You are aware you have a Mastery of Curses, yes?"

She tilted her head back and laughed, the sound free and joyful—Tom's eyes were drawn to her neck, and he needed to place a mark upon it to show the world that she was taken. "I recall being made aware of it once upon a time." She tilted her head to Tom and Historia. "If you'll excuse me."

"But—" Historia started. "We barely got to speak!" she whined.

Tom rolled his eyes up with a slight exasperated sigh. "I'm sure we'll have time to speak later."

And then she was gone, a large hand covering the Mark on her back.

Lord Nightingale excused himself shortly after with a reminder about their pending discussion.

"I hate that man," Historia hissed. "He's a spiteful scumbag who stole from my father and convinced the rest of high society that the Notts are nothing but scum," she spat. "I want him dead."

"You need to calm down, Historia. Let's get you something to drink."

The tense set of her shoulders and the grip she had on his arm loosened at the mention of alcohol.

Throughout the night he watched Hydra. As he danced with Historia, his eyes were on the golden angel across the room—sometimes next to him, but always out of reach. He watched her dance with other men, watched those vile cretins put their hands on his Mark—on his Mate.

All through conversations with Lords and Ladies, Heirs and Heiresses, he watched his Mate talk, laugh, and dance and—

That was his Mark.

By 11:30, he made sure that Historia wasn't without some type of alcohol—be it wine, fairy water, elf wine, champagne, or even some blue colored drink he was sure had vodka in it. At 12:15, Lord Nott took her home and insisted he stay to keep the Nott name looking good—Legilimency was a wonderful thing.

The annoying pest that was Historia was out of his way. Now all he had to do was wait for the ideal moment to actually approach Hydra.

He spent the next twenty minutes watching her dance with her friends, family, and other members of society. The jealous ball of needy rage grew tighter and tighter with each glance of the snakes that adorned her body, and especially the snakes on her back—whether they were being touched or not depended on how much it grew (along with if he had drunk out of the glass of aged whiskey he had been nursing since he started getting the ball and chain drunk).

He watched her legs constantly get exposed with each spin, each dip, each and every lift. With each stroke of skin that was done and wasn't done by him, made him want to light the world on fire and take her and claim her and—

He couldn't just stand there anymore.

When she started dancing with people she didn't regularly associate with, immediately switching from one partner to another—often many times during a song—he began to make his way to her.

He weaved through the dancers, and whenever his shoulder bumped with another's, he didn't pause to apologize—he just threw one over his shoulder and continued on. The bastards touching his future wife didn't have the same respect for her body as her friends and family did. They touched her lower—his—touched her Mark—his —and touched more skin—his.

They all deserved to burn eternally in the deepest pits of Tartarus.

They needed to stop touching her immediately.

Her current partner—some slimy pig with a red face covered in sweat—spun her away from him, and like she had done every time a dance partner had done that, she released his hand and began to look for a new partner.

Tom grabbed her hand and pulled her flush against him.

"You look like you need saving," he murmured in her ear. Despite how closely they danced, his hand was on the middle of her back—on the golden snake—as was proper.

She slumped slightly—a sigh of relief against his chest—before she lifted her head and smiled softly at him. "I did, thank you."

Was that a—it was. The questioning gazes turned from them, and the resulting confusion soon left the other members of the Ball as their combined presence was erased from their minds.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"For what?"

"Lord Nightingale. He's really a nice guy, its just—bad blood between him and Theodore."

He ran his thumb along her back. "Historia said that he stole from Theodore."

Hydra snorted. "Oh, that's just like her," she laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the other way around. Lord Nott stole from Lord Nightingale—a Family Heirloom, in fact. He's lucky it's just defamation that Asa has done and not charged him with attempted Line Theft."

"Wait—what? That can happen? From stealing an Heirloom?"

"Yup. Depending on the Heirloom and its importance to the Lordship, it can be another way of indicating Heirship, Ladyship, Lordship, or Vassalhood. I have a ring, it's not the Black Heir Ring, but because I have it, it claims me as a Daughter of the Black Line. I haven't gone through the official routes to become Heiress Black with the Goblins because it's very difficult to undo once done. This ring allows me to claim Ladyship of the Black Estate if something were to happen to my father before me or my siblings officially Claim it."

"When do you lose ownership of this ring?"

"That's . . . a difficult question to answer."

"How so?"

"It has multiple answers." She sighed. "It's . . . I said I'm not the official Heiress Black, legally speaking. That's because if I marry someone with an equal or higher ranked Title, I lose the Heirship. So, let's say I've married someone with a higher Title, and Hermes is Heir Black. I lose the Daughter of the Black Line ring when he has an heir—it goes to that child if it's a girl, or there's a Son of the Black Line ring that the child would get. Now, let's say I married someone with a lesser ranked Title. I keep the Black Heirship, and I lose that ring when I have a child, it either going to my daughter, or the Son of the Black Line ring going to my son."

"Wait—so the ring is to guarantee someone is there to take over?"

"Exactly."

"So . . . Theodore stealing from Lord Nightingale . . . is worse than Historia made it sound like?"

"Oh, definitely. There's a high chance that she's not even aware of what had been stolen, despite the fact that she had been wearing it when it was discovered that it had been stolen."

"How do you know this?"

"My father, Cousin Lucius, and Abraxas had been there when it happened. Apparently, Nott saw something that Saige, Lady Nightingale, had been wearing and wanted to sketch it so he could have something similar made for Historia. I think it was a ring now that I think about it. It could have been a bracelet. I know it wasn't a necklace. Saige left the room, trusting Nott, and when she came back, Nott was gone along with the Heirloom. It was about a week later that Saige saw Historia wearing it and did a summoning charm. It kicked up quite the fuss in High Society for a while."

She fell silent for a moment. "Hydra?" he asked softly.

"I—you need to be careful, Tom." She looked at him with wide eyes. "Theodore doesn't have the best reputation among the upper class, and that's going to fall on you as you continue to attend these Balls. Lord Nightingale is the mild one of us."

He smiled softly at her and ran a hand down the snake to her bare lower back. "I can handle myself but thank you for the warning. There's no need to worry."

"Forgive me, Tom, but I'm going to worry no matter what you say."

He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead—no one could see them, so why not? "When you say things like that—" he murmured. His voice was a deep growl, and she seemed to like it—if the way her knees buckled for a moment was anything to go by.

"How has your evening been?" she asked softly, her forehead still pressed against his chin.

He pulled away slightly. "Same as any other of these gatherings I've been drug to," he grumbled. "Nothing but tedious conversation. You know, I had no interest in society when I was in school and Abraxas was studying or something and wanted to share it with me—I still have no interest in it."

Her eyes glittered as she smiled softly at him—everything about her expression was warm. "It's definitely no world traveling job doing what you love, that's for sure."

He laughed as he began to lead her to one of the more obscured balconies in the back of the Zabini ballroom. "You're right there. How has your evening been?" he asked softly.

She tilted her head side to side and shrugged lightly. "Tiring mostly." She smiled at him. "It's exhausting being an Heiress."

"Is it?"

"Yes. You Heirs get away with just speaking to Lords and Ladies and the occasional dance, but we Heiresses have to do that, and dance with their sons, even if they aren't the Heir." She tilted her head forward, like she was going to rest her head on his chest—his heart soared—before she lifted it back up. "This is definitely the highlight of my night so far."

"I'd dance with you all night if I could," he whispered, his voice thick.

Her gaze was pure want and pain. "Don't say things like that, Tom."

He pressed his nails against her back and pulled her closer—somehow. "It's true. I've watched you all night tonight. I could tell you the exact layout of the snakes on your shoes if you asked. I could tell you exactly how many gemstones were charmed to your leg, and I could tell you the number of diamond hairpins in your hair. I could tell you how many times you danced with your brothers, father, Godfather, Blaise, and how many times you ran from Theo. I can tell you how many Lords and Ladies you spoke to. I can't even tell you the color of Historia's dress."

The grip she had on his hand tightened as she licked her lips. "It was pink," she informed him, the sound wet.

He laughed softly and pressed his forehead against hers. He needed her so much it hurt. "Hydra," he murmured.

"Don't look at me like that," she begged.

Her eyes began to shine.

The warm night air began to blow against his skin as they came upon the doors. "Hydra," he repeated, his voice deeper, rougher.

"Please." His eyes rolled at the sound of pure want and a soft groan left his mouth.

He led her onto the balcony and released her to turn to the doors. He forced them shut with his magic and placed a notice-me-not spell and a repellant ward on them before he fused the lock with a controlled flame of fiendfyre. He was content that the two of them wouldn't be disrupted.

He turned to see his Soulmate had gone to the railing and was looking up at the stars. He wrapped his arms around her stomach and buried his face into her neck. "Someone will see," she whispered. Her hands grabbed his own but didn't move to push him away.

"No, they won't," he murmured into her velvety skin before he began to pepper kisses along it. Her head tilted to the side and back against his shoulder—victory sang in his chest. "Because of that nifty little spell you cast, they don't know we're here." He sucked on a spot behind her ear, and she leaned heavily against him.

"People on other balconies or on the grounds could see us."

"I don't care, Hydra." He turned her around and cupped her face in his hands. "I need you."

Before she could fight him—as she seemed to enjoy doing (not that he would ever complain)—he pressed his lips to hers. His chest warmed at the contact, and his blood sang when she immediately began to reciprocate.

The kiss was soft, similar to their first kisses—before they discovered they were Soulmates. It was like coming home after a long day.

The kiss was lazy. There was no expectation to be someone he wasn't when they were together. There was no need to continue the illusion of perfection in everything he did. If he stumbled with his tongue, or if their teeth bumped every once in a while, then it was okay, because it was just the two of them.

The kiss was everything he wanted, needed, and desired.

His hands slowly slid down her face, to her neck, and then to her shoulders before they separated. He pressed his forehead against hers and took in the breathtaking sight that was Hydra Black while she looked at his tie and began to play with it.

"Tom?"

"Yes, princess?"

"If you're going to kiss me in stolen moments, do it properly."

His dropped his hands to her hips and gripped them tightly. "Darling, if I do that, I'll destroy you."

You've hurt her enough.

She grabbed his tie in her hand and slowly pulled it from its place tucked inside his waistcoat. She slid the tie clip from the fabric and tucked it into his pocket before she grabbed his tie again and continued to play with it. She met his eyes, and behind the desire, he saw the pain.

"You've already destroyed me." She yanked on his tie and pulled him down and pressed her lips harshly against his.

He grinned against her before he pushed her back until her back hit the wall and grabbed both of her hands and pinned them above her head with his right hand. He did a final sweep of her mouth with his tongue before he bit her bottom lip and pulled away, his breath harsh. "Are you sure?" he asked. His left hand began to drift towards the delectable slit in her dress.

"Just kissing."

"As my love commands," he growled. Her eyes widened before he pressed his lips against hers and immediately forced her mouth open with his tongue.

The kiss was deep and possessive. He was confident that with the heat in his veins, he could easily go swimming in lava—it only grew hotter when she gave as good as she got.

His left hand began to drift down from its place on her hip. Down . . . down . . . down, until he finally felt the flesh of her thigh. He dug his nails into the firm muscle, and a deep moan reverberated from her chest and into his mouth.

He wrapped her leg around her waist and made sure to dig his nails into the sensitive skin behind her knee. He was rewarded with a keening whine and her arching into him in such a way that nearly made him forget the just kissing stipulation of her current destruction. He wrapped her other leg around his waist, which resulted in stumbling laughter when the fabric of her dress became a momentary problem.

He carried her to a bench and sat with her on his lap. Her arms stayed wrapped around his neck while one of his hands was on her knee and the other on her hip. He continually placed kisses on her neck and face as they both fought to regain their breath.

"I hate this," she whispered against his forehead before she pressed a kiss to it.

"I know." He pulled away slightly and met her eyes. "Do you hate me?"

She kissed him softly. "Never." She shifted her position, so she sat on one leg with her legs draped off to the side. "Tell me something." She began to play with his fingers.

"I hate dogs."

She laughed. "Don't tell my father that. He's a dog animagus."

He laughed. "Tell me something."

"I once fell off my broom practicing for a Quidditch match in the middle of the night and got a scar that looks like a lightning bolt above my right eye."

He pushed her away just enough so he could look, and there, above her eyebrow was a small white scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. It shimmered slightly before it disappeared completely. "No," he whispered. "Don't hide from me."

Slowly, pale scars began to appear along her arms, neck, chest, and leg. "I was . . . reckless in my childhood. Not to mention dueling, Quidditch, bu—" She stopped speaking suddenly. "What about you? Do you have any scars?"

He allowed the change of subject but filed it away for a later date. "My left forearm is the only really visible one. I was . . . am an orphan. I grew up in a muggle orphanage, and the other children weren't fond of me or my magic."

She looked at him in horror, her eyes wet. "What did they do to you?"

He turned the bottom of his left sleeve invisible. On his forearm was a crude carving of a snake. "I liked snakes even back then," he murmured.

She ran her fingers along the invisible fabric, a failed attempted at touching the scar. Her hands trembled. "Muggles are filth if this is what they do to those whom they deem different."

He lifted her chin and kissed her. He clenched his jaw momentarily. "They paid for it—in ways much worse than this." His Soul trembled as he awaited her reaction.

"Good. If I ever meet them, they'll never sleep again. They'll never eat again. They'll slowly die for what they did to you."

He kissed her. He kissed her like his life depended on it—in that moment, it did. He tried to tell her how much those words affected him without using words of his own.

When he pulled away, his bottom lip trapped between her lips before she released it, they were silent. Words weren't needed to be exchanged to know how much of a turning point this had been—the Bond did it all for them. The burning in his chest whenever she touched him grew stronger.

It wasn't long before Hydra's body began to shake with despairing sobs. Instead of comforting her, he kissed her. He couldn't offer her comfort. He wasn't in a position to. He couldn't break the engagement. This was the most he could give her at the moment. He didn't know when he'd be able to give her more than stolen moments.

The kiss was soft. It was as soft as it was lazy.

The kiss was wet.

The kiss was deep, possessive. It was everything he could have never wanted.

The kiss was salty.

The kiss was goodbye.

I...have nothing to say for myself. Let me know what you think 3
By the way...the comments are just making me cackle with joy because I don't know how to properly emote. :)
Also, if you want to listen to the song that inspired this fic, it's Magnets ft. Lorde by Disclosure
(Yes, Mango, I went back through our entire discord server looking for it)
I also found this while looking

Tom: I need you, Hydra.
Hydra: I need a drink to deal with you.
Tom: -feels success- Does that mean I'm winning -kisses her neck-
Hydra: Tom-
Bixby: Mistress called? I have pumpkin juice, fairy water, wine, vodka-
Hydra: Bixby, I didn't call you!
Bixby: But mistress needs a drink. Bixby has hot chocolate