Smut at the start of the chapter.

Chapter 9 – Alcazar Deslizan – June 13th, 1947

Tom awoke to the chirping of birds, the ones that began their songs before the sun had even fully found itself in the sky, that if he were to get up and look out the window, he would see the gradual haze of purple to orange in the horizon.

That wasn't the only thing that technically woke him though, Hermione was curled into him like a cat, and she'd twitched hard enough to start him, this being an occurrence since he'd given her the Gaunt ring. At first, he'd thought them to be nightmares, but after low moans dragged themselves from her throat, raspy from sleep, he'd known it was the opposite.

It had been a month he'd gotten her to wear it, which was to say nothing of how her bargain had surprised him, he hadn't thought that she would offer something so ambiguous, yet clever at the same time. True, he could ask anything of her, but the wording was specific to 'after a duel', so at the same time, he could not, because if he requested something completely against her nature or interests, she could refuse to duel him again, never giving him the chance to take advantage of the bargain again.

He was content, though, his first request to give her the ring had been more than enough. It had come from three reasons, the first was the test the dynamics of the bargain, the second was to observe her constant exposure to a Horcrux, to look for any inconsistencies in her behaviour, and thirdly, it was a direct response to the threat of Lestrange.

Tom had assumed that having a Horcrux on her person at all time would affect her negatively, due to the significant amount of dark magic within one, but, she seemed fine, besides the only exception being that his seventeen-year-old soul piece was a randy bastard, otherwise, while awake, there didn't seem to be much of a conscious response.

This didn't necessarily discourage him, as it was a piece of his soul, it probably felt right at home on her finger, quite like Kaa was hardly bothered by being a Horcrux herself, as she was his familiar. He'd, of course, had his doubts that the Horcrux wouldn't simply attack her, as it had been created months before he'd even met her, so the soul piece technically wouldn't have known her, but it seemed that wasn't the case and he surmised that it had to do with being on his finger for the entirety of the years he'd pursued, and eventually won her.

Another moan tore from her lips, and she wriggled back against him. He groaned, and rolled onto his back, forcing away the urge to take her while she slept. His hand crept down and he stroked himself, watching as she too shifted onto her back, and her hand went between her thighs. He brought his other hand there too, and finding her absolutely slick, he made up his mind and curled his arm under her, turning her until they were both on their side again, crushing her back to his front. His hand that had been on his shaft, went to the apex of her thighs, and the arm that had curled around her waist, travelled up so he could pinch her nipple hard, enough so that it woke her.

"Ah!"

He pressed kisses along her shoulder in an apology, and she craned her head in the pillow more, to give him more access to her neck. She whimpered as he inserted his fingers into her, giving her a few thrusts, and as she began moving on his hand, he removed it. Having an idea, he reached into the drawer nearest to him and pulled out a glass dildo, before manoeuvring her onto her stomach and pulling himself to lie over her.

"Hold your ankles," he murmured, kissing her shoulder, pleased when she complied with only a whimper. He cast the lubrication charm on her backside, allowing him to slowly insert the glass phallus, listening to her groan lowly once it was in. He then positioned himself at the entrance of her cunt, rubbing his precum along her lips, before sliding himself in.

He groaned low in his chest, feeling the other object against the thin membrane, and began pumping, earning a low cry from his witch with every thrust. So far, giving her his Horcrux had possibly been one of his better moves, as it had sky-rocketed her sexual appetite, especially on lazy mornings like this where she was practically insatiable, and he briefly wondered what the sensations would feel like if she were a Horcrux herself.

He moaned and picked up his pace, the thought driving him to incoherency. Hermione's legs started to shake and tense while she clenched around him sporadically as if trying to keep him inside, and he knew she was close, so he changed his position, instead, he knelt, pulling her hips until her legs were over his thighs, controlling her movements until his pumping became fast and hard.

She was chanting 'please', with her eyes screwed shut, clenching on him harder and harder, until she finally came with a cry, and he felt her loosen. He kept going until he reached his own peak, slamming into her one last time with a grunt.

They stayed like that, panting, for a few minutes before he removed the dildo, and then, carefully, his own softened member. She let go of her ankles and pulled her legs together until she was half on her side and back. She looked at him, still kneeling as he reached for his wand, casting the contraceptive charm on her womb, and reached out to pull him into her arms silently, to which he tossed his wand to the side once done with it and complied. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her chest, listening to her breathing as it evened. He glanced at the clock to see that it was half five, and though he would have preferred to stay like this for hours, he needed to be in the Wizengamot chamber by half-six for the final Chief Warlock election.

He gave himself another ten minutes, listening to her sleep, as her heartbeat thudded softly against his ear, before he untangled himself from her, determined on his decision for the day. He silently showered, so as to not wake her, charming the facial hair from his face, and dressed. He finished drying and styling his hair, before taking one last look at his witch in bed, who was now holding his pillow against her and left.

Ministry of Magic

Tom exited the floo and into the Atrium, charming the ashes from his robes without stopping, making his way to the lifts. Today was the day they'd see a new Chief Warlock elected, and between the four candidates, it was the two he was least thrilled about, that he'd have to vote for one. The two delegates to choose from were Albus Dumbledore and Ramsey Lestrange, which had left Tom stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He had closely followed the public elections, trying to put out feelers to which way the vote would slide, Dumbledore had won the popular vote through the public, of course, being the benevolent deputy-headmaster, transfiguration professor and defeater of Grindelwald, he was the most familiar of the candidates, as he'd taught a good deal of the public, at least, for those who went to Hogwarts.

Lestrange, on the other hand, had more power than Tom initially thought, as he'd come up behind Dumbledore in the popular vote, and he didn't doubt that they were garnered through galleons and the tip of a wand. He entered the lift and bade the operator go down to court level, where the election would take place in the same chamber he'd won his seat in.

He thought of all the possible scenarios to the outcome of this election, he wasn't too worried about himself, but he'd be lying if he'd say he hadn't thought that Hermione might be affected. Though it had been a month since he'd gotten to test her skills for the first time, and though he'd won, he had actually been impressed with her capabilities, which were considerable for a witch that had spent the last two years cruising one trauma after another. That first fight had been informational, he had observed her and had been pleased that she had known exactly each of his moves, though his casting had been silent, which had proven to him, that she'd had the knowledge already, and what he almost didn't want to admit was that he'd won mostly because he had the practice and technique, while she did not.

So far, since then, they had only duelled twice, and he was pleased to find that her repertoire of spells had increased (which had aroused him more than anything, causing him to use his two favours for more sexually driven activities) so, regardless of how the vote turned out, he was generally satisfied that she could (as she previously claimed) take care of herself, at least while she was alone. He thought back to Leta's newest letter, which he'd complied after ruminating on the situation, eventually sending her the desired text requested in her previous letter, to which she'd written back promptly explaining Rodolphus's 'plan' for Hermione. When he'd read it, a fury like no other had rolled through him, and it clarified what he'd already suspected: that Ramsey Lestrange had decided to move against him.

He exited the lift, taking long stride towards the election chamber, considering all the pieces on the board. Ramsey Lestrange was a fool if he thought he could herd Tom around like a piece of cattle to the slaughterhouse, and that he wouldn't retaliate viciously upon knowledge of his plans for Hermione, because what he didn't know, was that cunning, ambition, and self-preservation were in his very blood and that he would do exactly the opposite of what was expected of him.

He nodded his head in greeting to a few members of the Traditional Party, climbing the steps to take his seat. He let his gaze wander, taking in the filling seats of the opposition, his mind turning back to the meeting he'd had a week ago.

"What do you know of Leta Lestrange?"

He heard the gavel hit the podium, and his attention was brought back to the current Chief Warlock, Griselda Marchbanks, who would be retiring today after the preferred candidate had been chosen. He watched as she introduced the session, and announced the election, as well as the candidate's names, and soon, it would come down to a vote.

First, were a session of questions for Lestrange and Dumbledore, their plans for the Wizengamot, what type of legislation they preferred, as well as addressing concerns to the ICW and how they would go about it. They were asked their purpose for running, what laws they would like to see implemented, and oh, how it tickled him, as these questions were but a farce, as every seat in this house already knew who they were voting for.

"She is a clever individual, cunning, even. At her core, I've no doubt that she is a good person, and tries to see herself as so."

There were fifty Wizengamot members of the regular persuasion, which was not including Tom's seat, that had ten votes itself. So, the vote could be split twenty-five to twenty-five, and whichever way Tom voted, could sway the election. Now, there were sixteen in the Progressive Party, sixteen in the Traditional Party, and eighteen in the Swing/Neutral Party, so depending on how many votes Lestrange bought (something Tom did not doubt) he could potentially win this even without his input.

Tom was broken out of his reverie by Marchbanks gearing up to call the vote. His dilemma had been that even if Tom voted for him (which he might have done if he hadn't suspected the subterfuge), there was the absolute certainty that Lestrange would raise the vote to strip him of his political power, especially considering the amount of power he had as Lord Slytherin. It was likely that now that he refused to fall in line, Lestrange was beginning to see him as a threat, and was no doubt looking to neutralize him.

"Let's make a deal."

"Raise wands in a vote for Albus Dumbledore for Chief Warlock," Marchbanks called out, and slowly wands began to raise.

"What do you have in mind, Tom?"

Tom raised his wand.

He'd be lying if he said the incredulous looks on some of the faces around him wouldn't keep him warm for years to come. With his wand up, he glanced subtly at Lestrange, who regarded him with murder in his eyes. Now, Tom, without a shadow of a doubt, hated Albus Dumbledore with every fibre of his being, but Lestrange (whether he knew that Tom knew or not) had made the mistake of threatening him, of threatening Hermione, and though this would drastically change his position within the current social hierarchy, Tom had every intention of wrangling that respect back where it belonged. This was but a minor setback, and for now, he had to play at being the snake he was, to keep his power, to fight another day.

It was certainly one of the bigger gambles of his political career, but after reading Leta's letter, and finding out for certain the final candidates for Chief Warlock, he'd gone to see Dumbledore, asking the questions that would finalize his stance, finding out if Leta Lestrange was leading him around by the nose. Once his old professor had confirmed that she was likely a genuine person, he had decided to show him the letters, and he'd watched as Dumbledore's eyes had switched from wariness of himself to disgust when he read the letters. With that, they had struck a deal, that Dumbledore would not raise a vote to strip Tom of his seat, and Tom would vote for him to keep Lestrange out of the position of Chief Warlock.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that tosh.

The older wizard had tried to wrangle more out of him, in that he wanted help in bringing down the Lestrange business but had become mum when Tom demanded to keep Hermione out of it entirely. This went to show that though he was disgusted with the Lestrange plans for Hermione, he was not above using them and her, for the opportunity it presented, and that, to Tom, was unacceptable.

"Raise wands in a vote for Ramsey Lestrange for Chief Warlock," Marchbanks called out, though it was merely a formality at this point, as Dumbledore's count was already at a thirty-five, while Lestrange's was at a paltry twenty-three. And like he'd assumed, the gavel hit the podium once more, and the cameras were flashing from the media seating alcove above them.

"Illustrious Wizengamot, I present to you, your new Chief Warlock: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, all rise."

Bolt Hole – June 13th, 1947

Jas poured over duplicated copied of Ministry archives within the office that she shared with Hermione, hoping to finally close in on something substantial (and even if copying archives was illegal, who was going to stop her privileged pureblood arse anyway?). When Hermione had requested that she research Nobby Leach, she'd had no idea the difficulty of the task she'd agreed to, as almost everything to do with him had been scrubbed from public record.

She had spent months scouring every single archived newspaper available from the years 1860-1869, only to find whole days or weeks missing. She'd thought about speaking to said Minister, but had ultimately decided against it, as she'd no idea which of the other Minister portraits had others they could travel to.

She'd eventually conclude that the only potentially unbiased source she could consider, would be a literal historian, and who better than Bathilda Bagshot? Jas glanced at the clock, it was still only eleven in the morning, and she'd requested a meeting, to which she was expected to floo over in about an hour.

The older witch was practically ancient, having been born in 1799, she was a hundred and forty-eight years old, and so she theorized, if anyone knew anything, it would be her. She looked down at her other copied files that were specifically of every muggleborn from Nobby Leach's birth year of 1830 to the year of 1851, averaging that the youngest muggleborn to be about eighteen on the year Leach disappeared in 1868.

Of course, these files told her nothing if any of these witches or wizards had actually been associated with Leach, or this group of muggleborns that Hermione believed he led, so Bagshot was really her only lead to find out who these individuals really were, and what happened to them.

Separating the files by relevance, she glanced at Hermione's desk curiously, not for the first time wondering if she had written anything down of her conversation with Leach's portrait but feeling as if having a look would be intruding and neglectful of the trust her friend put in her. Hermione had often come by to use the office in the last couple of months since they'd spoken, assumingly to keep her research away from Riddle, and Jaismine respected her privacy, but...what if she had something that she could potentially use in conversation with Bagshot?

She glanced warily at the clock, seeing that she had only another forty minutes until she needed to leave, so she steeled her resolve and decided to take a quick look. Shuffling over to the other desk, she gave it a once over, and it was, of course, pristine, with quills laid perfectly straight and flat, while parchment paper was stacked neatly to the left, and there was also a photo of what she assumed was Hermione and her parents, though they were a bit blurred.

She tapped her nail decisively against the top of the desk, building her resolve, before opening the top drawer and picking up the stack of papers towards the back, behind the front section of knick-knacks. Flipping through them quickly, she found that they were mostly notes on her new bill, and put them back, and as she was about to close the drawer, something caught her eye. A glint of something red, frowning, she daintily pulled it out, however, she nearly dropped it when she realized that it was a vial of blood, with a very familiar lock of coils curled around it with a sticking charm.

Clearly, this was Hermione's blood and hair, and a curl of anxiety settled in her stomach when she considered the implications. If she knew her friend, and she did, it was possibly her version of a contingency plan, and it reminded Jas of how dire the situation they were tackling was. Glancing towards the clock again, she noted it was high time she left, so she tucked the vile back into the drawer, simultaneously tucking the knowledge of its existence away as well. She closed the drawer and head back to her own desk to pack her notes into her bag.

As she did that, her mind was preoccupied with this latest discovery, it concerned her about how truly dangerous this mission they'd decided to take on, was, and she hoped this venture with Bagshot was fruitful because she didn't want to consider the contrary. She slipped her bag onto her shoulder, and with one last wary glance at Hermione's desk, she heads for the floo.

Bagshot Cottage – Godric's Hollow

"Now, what brings you here, dear? Shacklebolt, is it? I remember now, your family came to the isles in the 1640s, after escaping the New World, taking the name Shacklebolt to celebrate their freedom," Bagshot droned, her voice gravely in the way only really old people were capable of, and Jas felt her eye twitch in irritation. She knew her family's history well, so it annoyed her to have it recounted to her face, especially when it was told in a way that undermined all that her family had contributed in terms of magical discovery within the last couple of centuries. She didn't voice her ire, however, as she still needed information that Bagshot potentially had.

"That's correct, however, I am actually here on my own noble cause, and that is to officially put to rest the reasons muggleborns exist, so that we may also put the discrimination they face to rest as well," she began, having decided to stay within the same realm as the truth, as there was no telling how sharp this old witch was, or how fast she could unravel any fabrication.

"In my research, I ran into some misinformation, or well, a lack thereof entirely. I've become interested in reading up on our only muggleborn Minister, Nobby Leach, but unfortunately, an alarming amount of articles and information from his time in office is missing from Ministry collection," she continued, and she witnessed a grave expression enter Bagshot's old eyes, which were a cloudy blue from diminishing sight. The older witch sighed, shakily placing her teacup back down onto her saucer, while Jas practically held her breath in anticipation.

"Norbert Leach, you say, funny how he came to be known professionally by a nickname originally meant for friends and family," she began, smiling slightly, "yes, I remember him, we'd spoken on multiple occasions, as he'd been interested in history in his youth, also with the same goal in mind as you, though he'd abandoned interest in simple academics when he became an activist and a politician," her tone became tired.

"I'm not surprised they tried to erase Leach's history from the Ministry, because what he'd managed to do, nobody had ever tried before, and his success had frightened them," she paused to bring her teacup back up to her lips, while Jas sat there enraptured.

"What did he do?" she asked, hoping she didn't seem impatient.

"He created an organization within our political system for muggleborns, for their rights, freedoms, and futures, to fight discrimination. You name it, and his group fought for it, and that terrified a lot of people who didn't want to change their ways," Bagshot relented finally, pausing for a moment as Jas sat there, shocked. She'd never heard anything like this before, how could it have been so thoroughly wiped from public memory? It hadn't even been a hundred years ago.

"You say it was a group, what was it called? What happened to it? Do you know who was in it?" she couldn't help the rapid-fire questions, but Bagshot hardly seemed to care, in fact, she seemed amused with her enthusiasm. In response, she shakily drew her wand and pointed to an armoire on the far side of the room.

"Accio box 1850 and 1860," she commanded, and from the aforementioned armoire, two boxes came floating over to gently place themselves on the table beside their teacups. Bagshot spelled the lids off and Jas was looking at more boxes shrunken within, titled by years.

"Hmm, I think it was...1859...yes, September 1859," she dictated, and Jas watched fascinated as the box floated out of the 1859 box, and with one more swish of her wand, it was back to its regular size. She waved for Jas to have a go at it, and she didn't need to be told twice, as she lifted the lid, looking in awe at stacks of newspapers for that month, all in mint condition.

She picked at the folded corners and flipped through them quickly, speed reading the main headlines until one caught her eye. It was a large group picture, and in bold letters was 'EARTH-BLOODS' with a tagline beneath that read, 'Radical Activists or Domestic Terrorists?'

She looked up, stunned, at Bagshot, who was busily making herself another cuppa.

"Ma'am, may I make a few copies of some of these?" she asked, to which the older witch agreed. So, that's what she did, for hours, discussing different theories and historical contexts with Bagshot while she mined slowly through the boxes, eventually coming to fill her bag with over a hundred different copies of different papers, mostly the ones she hadn't been able to find in the Ministry archives.

By the time she got home, it was well past five in the evening, and she had at least one hundred and thirty-three different newspapers piled on her desk, her visit with Bagshot proving invaluable in her research. Setting her cup of coffee down, she took one glance at the pile and cracked her knuckles, hoping to at least get through a quarter of them tonight.

It was now six hours later, she had definitive notes on the muggleborn group called the "Earth-Bloods" a name clearly coined from the slur purebloods had for them. She had a vague list of main members, while there were at least a hundred sympathizers of different blood statuses. She had Norbert "Nobby" Leach (born in 1830) as the presumed leader, and twenty other muggleborn members, but as of 1865, seven in the "inner circle" that went as so:

Mason Harper – Born 1832 – presumed second in command.

Ella Jackson – Born 1836

William Carter – Born 1837

Grayson Jules – Born 1841

Aubrey Niels – Born 1850 (the youngest member, joined while still in school)

Abigail Bancroft – Born 1830

Carlisle Bronson – Born 1843

Looking at the clock, and seeing as it was close to midnight, she began packing all of her research away into a warded drawer, it was still Sunday after all, which meant she had work the following day, but she felt like she'd made some decent headway so far. It was once everything was packed away, when she got up, that she felt something attack her wards.

Instantly, she placed her empty coffee cup down, which she was going to bring to the kitchen, and ran out into the sitting room, already muttering incantations to strengthen her protections. Her effort was futile, however, as just minutes later, they came crashing down, hearing a crack, she turned around to find Riddle standing in the middle of the room, having apparated in.

Disoriented from the shattering of her wards, that before she could lift her wand to hex him for breaking and entering, she was bound and, on the couch, her wand in his hand, and he was kneeling forward onto his knee, with his leg propped up beside her, eyes glowing a furious red.

"Where is she?" he asked, tone low and menacing, confusing Jas, until it dawned on her. He was looking for Hermione, suddenly, a spike of fear gripped her spine, settling heavily on her chest and it was not because of her current predicament.

"What do you mean? Are you talking about Hermione? Isn't she with you!?" she asked, her urgency and volume rising with every question, struggling against the bindings that kept her arms tied in front of her chest.

"If she was, would I be here?" he sneered, eyeing the room disdainfully, and she restrained herself from snapping at him. Hermione had decorated the sitting room, and he'd know that if he gave actually gave a troll's behind about her, to Jas it was further proof that Riddle didn't care for her friend as a person, but only as an object that orbited around him. She bit down her fury and indignation on Hermione's behalf and willed herself to work with the bastard because chances are if she wasn't with him, then something was clearly not right.

"Well, she isn't here, when did you see her last?" she asked, hoping to build a timeline, but he merely stared at her, unbelieving, and irritated by his audacity, she snapped.

"For Merlin's sake, I'm telling the truth, and if you don't cooperate, we aren't going to find her, so will you answer the damn question!?" she snarled at him, "we need to determine how long she's been potentially missing, did you go to the Aurors?" she asked and watched as his jaw twitched, which told her that he hadn't.

"Well, do that, and let me out of this!" she sneered, and surprisingly, he did, and she held her hand out for her wand, glaring at him when he stalled in giving it back, "You go to the Aurors, and I will check with the rest of her friends to see if they've seen her today, I'd rather you not go, since Géraldine is pregnant, and if you bust in there like you did here, you'll probably cause her to miscarry," she grumbled, glancing at her watch, cursing as she noticed it was actually midnight, and that nobody would be up to answer a floo call at this time, but when she looked up again, he was gone.

She cursed again, and began redoing her wards, once that was done, she tried to calm her worry and think of her happiest moment. But it was as if at that moment, she'd absorbed what was happening, and her eyes began to burn, anxiety darkening the edges of her vision. She sat down and gathered her wits about her, breathing deeply until she could think straight, bringing multiple happy memories to the surface, one of her latest ones being Hermione smiling at her while petting a silk moth, she breathed once more.

"Expecto Patromum!"

The formless silver light pouring from her wand eventually took the form of a type of albatross. She looked at it, fascinated, she'd never been able to cast a corporeal patronous before, but her need to get a message out, to ensure her friend's safety, had given her the strength to see it through. She lifted her wand to her face and spoke against the end, where the grip once, as she'd read about, picturing the recipient in her mind. Harry's face flashing in her thoughts, she spoke against the handle, willing the message patronous to find him, three crucial words.

"Hermione is missing."

Authors Note: Hope you enjoyed :)