Disclaimer: All you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling

Summary: In the bowels of the Ministry of Magic is hidden the biggest enigma of the wizarding. No, it is not some weapon, or a spell or even a secret doorway to other words. It's a simple golden goblet with the power to find soul-mates. And every week it produces a list of names, creating a tight contract between the soul-mates and itself. A contract so powerful that breaking it will cost your magic or ever your life.
So what happens when the day after her seventeen birthday, Ivy Potter's name is called out, matched to the one and only Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin? Hell breaks loose, of course.

Rating: M
Main pairing: Fem!Harry/ Tom Riddle
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, violence, sexual situations

Saints and Sinners
Chapter One
Announcement

"Children!" Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice called from inside the house. "It's almost ten! Get in here!"

Ginny, Ivy, Ron and the twins, who had been amusing themselves with a friendly game of Quidditch in the field in front of the Burrow, groaned in unison but landed anyway, knowing it was not wise to antagonize Mrs. Weasley further.

Hermione, who'd been reading on the grass nearby quickly shut her thick book and joined them on the trek back, worming herself between the only other two girls in the group while murmuring angrily under her breath. Ivy was well aware of her friend's stance on the Soul-matcher, having offered an understanding ear on many of Hermione's rants on the subject.

"Don't let mom hear you," Ginny cautioned as she caught a few less than favorable words. "She still gets starry –eyed when she speaks of the time her and dad's names were called."

"Your mom thinks Celestina Warbeck is the best thing that's happened to music in the last century." Ivy pointed out with a smirk, knowing the other two witches shared her passionate dislike for the crooning, overly-sweet Singing Sorceress.

Truth is, Ivy partly shared Hermione's dislike for the whole soulmate thing, as did many other muggle-born and muggle-raised witches and wizards they've met. After growing up in a world where feminism was on the rise and traditional marriage was on the low, the idea of an arranged marriage to a person you might have never met before seemed archaic or even barbaric. Of course, there were many who romanticized the idea of having one true love and no one could deny the simple convenience of having your soul-mate pointed out to you. It certainly saved you the hustle of dating and having your heart broken if it didn't work out.

Not that witches and wizards couldn't – or didn't- date until their name was called, but it was more about experimenting and having fun, than a quest to find love. Though some blood purists and extreme traditionalists didn't even do that, preferring to save themselves for their match. That explained why most of them were grumpy, stuffy old bats, at least in Ivy's opinion.

Back to the Soul-Matcher, Ivy was not naïve enough to believe that whatever power controlled the damned goblet had any noble and romantic intentions, like some people liked to think. In fact, in her opinion the whole deal was nothing more than an arranged marriage between people who were sure to produce healthy, powerful wizarding children.

Magic, in its purest form was not truly a sentient being. I wasn't good or evil, it didn't have any hidden agendas. It was a force driven mainly by the intention of the caster, but it was also inherently self-persevering. If threatened, it would rise to protect its owner without the need of a spell or even conscious effort, purely to defend itself.

The sole exception of that rule was when a child was threatened. Only then the parent's magic would react to protect the child rather than the parent, like Lily Potter's magic had done when Ivy had been in danger.

It was not far-fetched to believe that the point behind the Soul-matcher was virtually the same – it was magic's way of protecting itself by ensuring the birth of more and stronger witches and wizards.

Ivy could not deny the results though. In History of Magic they had briefly touched upon the time before the finding of the Soul-Matcher, when the inbreeding and inter family marriages had led to a rapid decline in the size of the wizarding population, with high rates of miscarriages and squibs. But now, after generations of soul-matches, the population of magical Britain, and the magical world as a whole, was flourishing as never before with every generation giving birth to stronger magicals than the one before.

But if you ask Ivy what the best thing about the Goblet was, she would tell you it was the terms of the contract it formed between the two parties. While it was absolutely binding and somewhat restrictive, the bond unequivocally forbid any kind of violence among the couple, at the risk of death. For someone who had been physically and verbally abused for most of her youth, the knowledge there was not risk of that in her marriage was welcomed.

Flicking her wand over her body so she didn't bring mud into the house, Ivy carefully placed her beloved Firebolt, a gift from her late godfather, against the wall of the hall and made her way towards the kitchen where the rest of the Weasley family was gathered along with Bill's soul-mate – Fleur Delacour.

Taking a seat at the table, Ivy absently fiddled with the loose threads hanging for the sleeve of her sweatshirt while waiting for the program to begin. The chance of having her name called out tonight was slim to none, considering she had turned seventeen only yesterday, but she couldn't help the feeling of unease which settled in the pit of her stomach.

Their world was ravaged by war she herself was in the center of; the last thing she needed was to draw someone into the mess her life was and put them right in Voldemort's path. Honestly she couldn't imagine anyone who would be happy to be matched with her. True, she had fame, money, titles, power but any person with more than two brain cells would realize that being connected to her would put their whole family in mortal danger. And there was no amount of power to make that risk worth it.

A low static hum broke through her thoughts as the ancient radio sparkled to life, attracting the attention of everyone in the room.

"Good morning, Magical Britain!" The surprisingly chirpy voice of the Unspeakable tasked with announcing the revealed names broke the utter silence of the room. "Let us see who the lucky couples today are!"

The spoke-person continued talking but Ivy tuned out the vaguely familiar names being sprouted out. There were a few Hogwarts classmates in there as well as a relatively famous Quidditch player, but honestly the Girl Who Lived couldn't care less. Rather, her mind was busy mulling over the Order's next actions and her approaching Horcrux hunting trip with Ron and Hermione. She'd already put some plans into action, having written several letters for the members of the Order about what they should while she was gone.

It was the bruising grip on her upper arm which dragged her rather forcefully out of her thoughts. Frowning, she turned to scold Hermione but her friend shushed her quickly, motioning towards the radio where the announced was still spewing out names.

"Merlin what a surprise!" The cheerful announcer exclaimed. "It seems that the Chosen one, Ivy Dorea Potter herself is about to meet her match in Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin. My, my what a shock indeed!"

It took a moment for the words to register, but when they finally did, Ivy felt all the blood drain from her face. Her breathing quickened as she looked around, meeting the terrified and disbelieving eyes of those who knew exactly whom the name Tom Riddle belonged to.

And yet all she could think about was the continuous chant of Nonononono circling through her head. She saw lips moving, concerned gazes flashing in her direction, but she could not hear them above the thunderous beat of her heart. Her vision blurred and she felt the ground tilt beneath her feet as it rushed up to meet her falling body.

And then there was darkness.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, absently skimmed through the thick, ancient tome in his hands, the crinkling of the fragile old pages the only sound in his study. Even through the thick, stone walls of Malfoy manor, he could hear his Inner Circle gather in the sitting room around the still silent radio. Their meeting had been conjoined almost half an hour earlier, but most still lingered, using the time to speak with each other and plot their next political moves.

The hum of conversation ceased the moment the radio sparked to life and the grating voice of the announcer started spewing out names.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, he turned to another page, listening absently.

In his youth, Tom Riddle himself had been enthralled by the Goblet, if not for its purpose then for the sheer amount of magic it must contain to continue unfailingly completing its purpose even centuries after its creation. And if a young, orphan boy had been bewitched by the idea of a person who would be at his side forever, it was not something Lord Voldemort would ever admit.

He had religiously studied every single text on the Soul-Matcher he could get his hands on, but they were few and vague at best, so he soon abandoned his research for more fruitful endeavors.

Still, he tried to keep up with the program when he could, for political reasons if nothing else. It was intriguing how such little thing as marriage could shift whole votes of the Wizengamot and be so crucial to the passing of one law or another.

"And it seems that the chosen one, Ivy Dorea Potter herself is about to meet her match in Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin."

The book slipped from his grasp as he tore across the room and almost pulled the door out its hinges when he threw it opened. On the other side he was met with the shocked eyes of his followers, who unconsciously flinched back when met with his explosive anger. "What. Did. It. Just. Say?" He ground out angrily, eyes flashing red. Nagini, awoken by his abrupt departure, slid out of the study after him, hissing her displeasure to the world.

"M-my Lord," Lucius started haltingly, almost flinching when his master's eyes focused on him. He might be one of the few who dared call themselves friends to the Dark Lord, but still when those enraged ruby pools moved in his direction, he felt fear shoot through his being. "I-it seems that you soul-mate is-" He swallowed heavily. "-P-potter."

"I heard that, Lucius!" Tom snapped, running a hand through his short mahogany locks which had returned with the rest of his human attributes, thanks to Snape and his potions genius. "The question is how any power in this world could look at Ivy Potter, Dumbledore's Golden girl and decide she is the perfect match for me?"

"With all due respect, my Lord," Severus spoke up from the place he was standing on Lucius' left. "As much as it pains me to admit it, the Potter girl is powerful and resourceful when she wants to be."

"She is also Lady Potter by blood and Lady Black through Blood adoption, if the rumors are correct." Narcissa, ever the politician, added quietly, mind already plotting around the new circumstances in the ways only a true Black woman could. "Despite being a half-blood, her connections and political standing could be exactly what we need in the Wizengamot to push your propositions forward."

Anger slightly depleted, Voldemort almost collapsed on one of the settees strewn around the room, running a tired hand over his face. Nagini, sensing her master's distress climbed the back of the couch, wrapping herself around his shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

"So, I have to marry the girl then." The Dark Lord sighed. "Any chance of keeping the marriage in name only?" He asked looking towards Lucius who had sat next to his wife on the opposite couch.

Lord Malfoy smirked at his friend, much more relaxed now the storm had passed. "No. The contract of the Goblet acknowledges the marriage as completed only after it's consummated." There was a moment of silence. "You know that if possible, children are a requirement in the contract Marvolo."

Lord Voldemort cursed under his breath. "I don't even know if I could even have children." He growled out. "You know some dark rituals could affect the fertility of the caster."

"Well, now would be the time to get a healer and check, my Lord." Narcissa remarked, despite the half-hearted glare she received for her efforts. "Meanwhile, you should probably write to Potter and arrange a meeting."

"Why does our Lord have to write first?" Lucius complained. "She is in need of this marriage just as much as he is."

Narcissa had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at her prideful husband. "Because, Lucius, despite everything, she is only a seventeen years old girl who just learned she is to marry the man who's been trying to kill her for years. You can't expect her to take the lead! She must be terrified!"

Lucius opened his mouth to argue back, but his lord's glare stopped him in his tracks. "I will write the letter." Voldemort told them, pulling himself up from the couch. "Meanwhile, Lucius, you will write a marriage contract. And somebody find me a damned healer!"

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