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 4
Meeting

Ivy critically inspected her reflection in the mirror, head titled to the side as she tried to take in how different from usual she looked.

After she'd told the Weasleys about the meeting with the Dark Lord (and the consequent shouting match between her and Ronald) Fleur Delacour, to the surprise of all, had offered to help her choose an outfit for it. Which had turned into a two day long shopping spree in the magical district of Paris, after the French witch saw that Ivy's wardrobe still consisting mostly of Dudley's hand me downs and the occasional school robe.

"Appearances are more important than you think, Ivy," The half-veela had told her, passing her a pile of the nicest clothes Ivy had ever seen. "Use them to influence the way others see you. People will judge you by the way you look, especially in your position. Learn how to influence that judgement and you'll hold more power than you think."

Ivy had been skeptical of Fleur's words at the time, but now, seeing the end result made her reconsider. While she had never been a vain creature – being chased by a maniacal serial killer left little time to worry about looks – she could appreciate the sight in the mirror.

Fleur had chosen to dress her in a cream colored silk top and a fitted blood-red skirt, which made her feel more feminine than she ever been in her life. Somehow, along the way, her body had changed as if in instantly, leaving behind the lanky limbs and knobbly knees of her childhood for the softly curved waist and flaring hips of a young woman. She was not perhaps as curvy and soft as she knew it was currently fashionable – the years of Quidditch and Defense training had toned her body, melting away the little amount of fat she had – but the overall effect was hardly unappealing, Ivy concluded.

Even her hair had been tamed by an ungodly amount of Sleekeazy, pulled back in a high ponytail and revealing the sharp cheekbones and arched eyebrows she'd inherited from her Black grandmother. She'd been often told that those features when relaxed, made her look proud and unapproachable, belied only by the expressiveness of her green eyes.

All in all, Ivy thought she looked older, and most importantly, she looked like a woman who knew what she was doing. If only she could feel that confident!

Taking a deep breath and checking everything one last time, Ivy tucked her wand in the glamoured holster on her right forearm before making her way downstairs, where Remus and Hermione waited.

Everyone else had left an hour earlier in accordance to the plan they'd forged the previous night. Because apparently she couldn't be allowed to meet Voldemort without back-up (as if she'd had a small army of wizards at her beck and call during all their previous encounters), the entire Order of the Phoenix would be stationed along Diagon Alley in case help was needed. It seemed Ivy was not the only one fearing today's meeting would turn into a bloodbath.

Remus and Hermione were talking quietly in front of the fireplace when she entered the living room, both looking as wan and nervous as Ivy herself felt.

"You have your necklaces?" She asked as she reached them, receiving confirmative answers from both.

The necklaces were, in Ivy's opinion, Hermione's most genius idea to date. Charmed with the same Protean charm the DA had used, they gave the Order an easy way to pass along secret messages. They also acted as an emergency, password-protected Portkeys, leading straight to one of the Order's bases in case of danger. It had taken her and Hermione months to make enough so every member could have one, but it was worth it if it meant lives could be saved.

"Let's go then."

The Leaky Cauldron was much emptier than Ivy remembered ever seeing it, most patrons probably scared away by the ever looming danger of Death-Eater attack. Finally the British society had accepted Voldemort's return and had reacted accordingly – with blind fear and indiscriminate suspicion. It had taken only one physical appearance of the man himself and dozens of deaths. No, she was not bitter at all that they'd spent years calling her a liar and then not even bothered to apologize after she was proven right.

Tom, the old bartender, offered a toothless smiled when they walked out of the fireplace, obviously warned to expect them. Though, judging by the lack of fear in his eyes he obviously had no idea about the illustrious company he was entertaining. He greeted Ivy by name, always pleased to have her in his bar, before leading them to one of the rooms on the first floor Ivy knew were kept for private meetings. There was burning curiosity in the man's eyes as he left them, but whatever questions he had were left unasked. After all, he would hardly be a good pub-owner if he badgered his patrons with questions about their personal business.

Staring at the peeling paint of the door, Ivy tried her best to clear her mind. She had spent most of the morning meditating, trying to strengthen her Occlumency shields, even if they wouldn't been able to stop a full-fledged mental attack from the Dark Lord even at their best.

There was a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder and she silently thanked whichever deity was listening for Hermione's presence.

Finally, when her control no longer felt like it would slip like water through her fingers, she forced herself to press a hand against the worn bronze handle and enter the room where her destiny awaited, melodramatic as it might sound.

The short hair on the back of her neck rose immediately as she stepped inside, her magic's way of warning her about danger. It took Ivy a lot of will power to go against every instinct she had honed over the years and keep her wand in its holster.

The room was very similar to the one Ivy had stayed in after blowing up Aunt Marge three years ago. With its garish, washed out flowery wallpaper which hurt her eyes and the faded furniture it looked like it came out of one of those eighties sitcoms Aunt Petunia used to watch in between keeping an eye on her neighbors.

The middle of the room was take up by a long wooden table, with six chairs arranged neatly along its sides. Three of the chairs were already occupied and no matter how much Ivy wished to delay it, her gaze was immediately drawn by the figure in the middle, avada-kedavra green eyes clashing against blood red ones, set in a face she had never expected to see in the flesh again.

She knew she had frozen in the doorway, but for the life of her Ivy could not force herself to move, as memories assaulted her senses. Memories of that same face, though perhaps a few years younger looking down at her, smirking as she pleaded for her friend to wake up. The same face which belonged to the little orphan boy with the cold eyes, who had been, from the moment he was born, punished for mistakes which were not his.

"I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

"Miss Potter," A familiar low voice drawled and Ivy was finally able to tear her gaze away from the eyes which held her prisoner long enough to inspect the other occupants of the room. On Tom's right was seated, in all his glory, Lucius Malfoy, his face twisted in a sneer at the sight of her companions. Of course, his tender pureblood sensibilities must be hurt by simply being in the same room with a Muggleborn and a werewolf. Suppressing an eye roll, Ivy turned towards the third man in the room, who'd been the one to call her name.

"It's Lady Potter now, Snape." She corrected him, not quite successful at hiding the snarl in her voice. It was hard, extremely hard, not to lose her composure when faced with three of the most hated men in her life.

"Lady Potter-Black, please, sit." Voldemort finally spoke, eyes alit with amusement as he motioned towards the chair opposite him. His voice was a smooth deep baritone, but underneath, the iron edge of a command lay, cutting even through the curtain of politeness.

Straightening her back, eyes flashing at the implicated command, she crossed the room with all the grace years on a broom had instilled in her and seated herself directly opposite him with her friends arranging themselves at her sides.

Ivy used the moment of silence to inspect her (hopefully? Probably?) former nemesis and his new both familiar and alien looks.

At fifteen Tom Riddle had been a ridiculously charismatic and beautiful boy, able to charm anyone he set his sights on. As an adult, he was sinfully attractive man.

His hair was as dark and slightly curled as Ivy remembered from her second year (and afterwards, when late at night she would think back on those moments, mentally listing all the similarities they shared) but it was perhaps a little shorter, swept back and away from his face. His cheekbones were what aunt Petunia would call aristocratic, high and sharp and elegant, now that the little baby fat he'd had at fifteen had melted away compltely.

The worst thing was that Ivy could easily imagine herself lusting after such a man, if the eyes were not a dead give-away of his identity. She had, in fact been attracted to the diary Tom Riddle, despite being only twelve at the time, at least until the Chamber of Secrets. How mortifying it was that even years after that he was still able to affect her, if only on physical level.

But seeing him like that, mature and confident and handsome, made her understood how he'd managed to inveigle so many people to his cause. It is after all, in humans' nature to flock to individuals who are perceived as beautiful or charming. Charisma is a powerful weapon in the hands of those who knew how to wield it.

"You look different" She remarked finally, grateful to find that her face had kept its neutral expression all through the storm in her thoughts.

"Courtesy of your potions professor," Tom replied, running long, slender fingers through his dark locks, as if to check if they were still there. "I cannot say I miss the old visage, useful as it could be."

Why, when it so correctly displayed the monster within. The response was on the tip of her tongue, teasing her tastebuds, but she swallowed it back. Judging by the amusement flashing in the depths of his eyes he was well aware of the effort it took to keep her biting tongue in check.

But Ivy was not there to exchange verbal swords and covert insults.

"You said you wanted to talk, Tom." She said curtly, emphasizing on the name she knew he hated, delighting at the slight twitch in his expression it provoked. She might not be a Slytherin but she'd learned how to wield words with the best of them. "Let's talk then."

"Of course. I expect you heard about the announcement?" As if it was possible to miss it. Even the Prophet had been on top of it, writing article after article about her union with the mystery Lord Slytherin. Ivy had read exactly three sentences before setting the whole bloody newspaper on fire.

Her expression must have been enough of a confirmation, because Riddle – she could not call him Voldemort when he looked like the boy she'd spent hours writing to – continued with the same businesslike efficiency, which seemed to have set the tune of the meeting. "Then by your presence here I understand you've chosen to accept the bond?"

The girl smiled bitterly. "Considering the only other option is death, I would not call it much of a choice."

While his expression displayed little emotion, something in his eyes made her wonder if he'd been unsure of her choice. It wouldn't surprise her. After all, her martyr tendencies were well known to anyone who'd met her. He seemed satisfied by her answer though, leaning back in the rickety chair with all the majesty of a king on his throne. "Then, I suppose, we have a wedding to plan."

It seemed to be a cue of some sort because Malfoy suddenly shifted, arranging a small pile of papers in front of himself. "I don't know if you are aware, Lady Potter, but I have formally and extensively studied Magical Law and as such, Lord Slytherin has asked me to prepare you Marriage Contract and write down any clauses you agree upon today." Ivy had to admire the way he managed to sound both strictly professional and condescending. She hadn't known about all this, of course, but it shouldn't surprise her that a man so able at evading the Magical Law system was intimately acquainted with it.

Ivy had been aware of Marriage Contracts, though. While they were considered outdated even in the old fashioned Wizarding World (and wasn't that a surprise), they were still used sometimes, especially in higher stake unions between powerful houses, where riches and Wizangemot seats were in question.

There was a moment of silence as both sides measured each other carefully, daring the other to speak first. In the end it was Riddle who folded, giving her the stage. Ivy took a deep breath, thinking back on everything she and Hermione had listed the night before.

"I will not give up the Order of Phoenix." She started, firm and authoritative. It was the same tone she used to argue the more headstrong members of the Order into submission. "Our marriage and subsequent inability to act directly against one another does not in any way mean that I will offer you the world on a silver platter. As long as Death Eaters exist, so will the Order, with me at the helm." She did not give anyone time to argue before barreling forward, barely taking the time to breathe as she spoke. "I will be able to come and go as I please without any obstacle from you or you lackeys. I might be your wife, but I certainly won't be your prisoner. If you or one of your Death Eaters moves against me and those I hold dear, I will retaliate and believe me, it won't be pretty." The two Death Eaters looked ready to draw their wands at her implied threat and probably would have, if Riddle wasn't looking her with raw curiosity, as if he'd never seen her before.

"What exactly are you asking for Ivy?" He asked slowly, leaning forward on his chair. Having Tom Riddle's attention focused solely on oneself was a heady feeling. For a single moment, it made her feel small, like an antelope in front of a hungry lion, or maybe a mouse in front of a snake was the better analogy. It brought back memories from her childhood, when she'd always been too weak against her uncle and cousin, but instead of making her cower it had the opposite effect on the girl. Her spine straightened even more and her chin lifted challengingly as she reminded herself that she was a predator as well and not anyone's victim. She'd made sure of it.

"A ceasefire." She said finally, meeting the eyes which haunted her nightmares from the moment she could walk. "We can't kill each other, which makes the prophecy null and void if it was even legitimate in the first place. A continuation of the war as it is will only result in meaningless deaths and spilled magical blood."

"And do you really believe I will give up what I've been fighting for the last fifty years?" He didn't sound angry. In fact something told her he'd already made a decision in regard of her demands and was simply humoring her, like her argument amused him greatly.

"Don't take me for a fool, Tom. I am well aware you have enough influence in the Ministry to push your agenda forward without unnecessary bloodshed. Any battles we have could be fought in the Wizangamot just as well as on the field."

He smiled at that, all teeth and little warmth. "I would expect to be shown the same courtesy, of course." He said finally. "If any of the members of Dumbledore's beloved group of misfits dares to rise a wand against me and mine, I can promise you Ivy, I will find them and I will skin them."

Ignoring the way the way the hairs on the back of her neck rose at the familiar sadistic glee in those bloody eyes, Ivy nodded, well-aware it was the best she could hope for. It would be a whole other battle to make every member of the Order to agree, though. "I can accept that."

At the sign of his Lord, Malfoy immediately started scribing everything they had agreed on, the sound of his quill scratching against parchment deafening in the silence. Ivy took the small reprieve to check with her own companions, despite the feeling of Voldemort's gaze burning into the side of her face. Hermione was glancing between her and the man, a frown on her face. No doubt her observant friend would later relay anything Ivy might have missed during her battle of wills with the Dark Lord. It only confirmed that Ivy had made the right call by taking her along.

On Ivy's other side, Remus looked just as pale as Hermione, though he had managed to keep his neutral expression better than the younger witch. Ivy felt a stab of guild at putting him in this position. She knew very well what he felt, sitting across the table from the man who'd single handedly killed two of his best friends and indirectly caused the death of another. Watching her argue with him with no care of her personal safety probably hadn't helped matters as well.

"Now, that is done," Malfoy started, his eyes glancing between her and Voldemort, like he couldn't decide who was more likely to explode. "Let us move onto other matters: Children?"

Ivy's composure almost slipped at the mention of kids. Of course, she had been made aware of the fact that they had to have sex at least once to establish the bond and complete the contract, but the thought of having children with Voldemort disturbed her on a whole new level. Even aside all that, the thought of having children at all frightened her. "Children?"

Surprisingly, it was, Lupin who explained in a gentle, matter-of-fact voice she remembered from her Defense lessons. "Ivy, the whole point of the Soul-Matcher is to produce magically-powerful children. It's part of the magical contract the Goblet creates between the soul-mates."

"I'm only seventeen." She whispered through suddenly numb lips. Having children had always seemed like a far-away dream to Ivy – pleasant yes (after all, having a family was her deepest, dearest desire) but vague and unreachable. For the better half of her childhood she hadn't even been certain if she would live to see her majority, let alone to marry and become a mother.

"There is no time limit on it Ivy," Remus soothed empathetically. "The bond won't try to force the issue until several years into it, I believe."

"There is also the matter of inheritance, of course." Malfoy took over the conversation. "You two are the sole descendants of several very old and influential houses. In a perfect situation, you would be able to provide heirs for all of them, but of course a person is able to inherit several titles with some minor exceptions."

"Exceptions?"

"The Slytherin and Gaunt Lordship could be passed only down the male line. The Potter and Black titles are gender neutral, as far as I'm aware."

"So we'll have to keep having children until we get a boy? Like some kind of messed up lottery?" In her mind's eye, Ivy could see the Weasley family, who'd produced six healthy boys until finally getting the girl they've dreamed of.

"This is all, at this point of time, far in the future." Riddle interrupted her horror-filled thoughts, shutting the topic down with casual finality. "We should rather concern ourselves with more urgent concerns, like living arrangements. As you are probably aware I am currently residing in Malfoy Manor," Ivy suppressed horrified shudder at the thought of sharing a living space with Draco Malfoy and the rest of his Death Eaters. "However, I believe you would appreciate some more privacy and as such, I have made arrangements to prepare Slytherin Manor for us." For a moment, Ivy had feared he was speaking of the great house on the hill in Little Hangleton, the one still sometimes featuring in her dreams. Still, the relief which followed warred with the fear of being alone in the same house with him for the rest of her life.

"I can live with that." She allowed finally, swallowing back the lump of nerves which had settled in the back of her throat.

After that major point had been cleared up, they spent the next hour discussing smaller nuances like the kind of wedding they wanted (traditional hand-fasting, Riddle insisted), where it would be held (the gardens of Malfoy manor) and who was invited ("I swear to Merlin, if I see Bellatrix Lestrange there I will murder her myself!").

It was surreal experience, to discuss her own wedding day with the man who'd spent the bigger part of her life trying to make sure she would never live to see it. But in the end everything was settled peacefully and Ivy and her friends were allowed to leave with the promise to visit Malfoy manor the next day to start wedding preparations with Narcissa Malfoy, of all people.

Ivy managed to hold herself in check until they were back in the still empty Burrow – the others had been called back and would be here every moment, demanding to know everything – where she finally allowed her mask to crumble. Her whole body trembled with dissipating adrenaline as she leant, panting, over the worn kitchen table and fought to keep the tears back.

The meeting her exhausted her, body and soul, and the power it took to consciously monitor her Occlumency shields left her head aching. She didn't know how she would manage to do this every day for the rest of her life, though she was keenly aware she'd have to if she wanted to keep her loved ones safe.

A glass of familiar amber liquid was placed in front of her, the smell of alcohol burning her nostrils and she felt a sudden wave of gratitude towards Remus. "No chocolate this time?" She managed to quirk her lips in his direction in a pitiful imitation of a smile.

Her effort at levity was appreciated though, because the man smiled, before turning forlorn once more. "No," He told her quietly. "Chocolate is for Dementors and what you faced today is an entirely different type of monster."

Snorting in tired agreement, the girl leant her head against the back of her chair, savoring the few moments of peace, before the hoard descended to demand answers she wasn't sure she had.

AN: Hello again guys! For those of you who haven't read the Author's Note I had in place of this chapter, you should know that the first three chapters of this story have been, if not exactly rewritten, then at least heavily edited so you should go back and read the new versions if you haven't.

The other important news I have is that I've managed to write ahead, so hopefully I will be able to post somewhat regularly, though it would probably take me a few chapters to work out a schedule – I have to see how long it takes me to write a new chapter so I can keep my lead, so to speak.

Please read and review! I would love nothing more than to hear you opinion on this story and where it's going!

Stay safe,
Just A Drop In The Ocean