A/N: Just realized I didn't get around to explaining the connection between V and the Weasleys, but I will! In the next chapter. You'll learn a little more about her family, the scandal, and other things. Thanks for all the reviews, A regrettable decision, SlytherclawQueen, fowlgirl19, and Lednovasne! And also thanks to all of you who've favorited and/or followed! Glad to know you're all reading along, and I love hearing your thoughts.


CHAPTER XIX

The Reunion

[London | December 1995]


The streets of London are bathed in the soft grey light of the cold December moon, aided by the harsh glare of fluorescent street lamps, buzzing and hissing from their perches above, illuminating the path of two cloaked figures. One of the figures is clutching a bag of steaming roasted chestnuts. She reaches into the crumpled paper sack and pops one in her mouth before offering her companion a snack. He declines. She shrugs.

"Honestly though, we just ate dinner." Severus Snape scolds.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." Victoria Spektor half-sings gloomily. "Jack frost nipping at your nose..." She grabs at his large nose and he swats her hand away as if it were a wasp, regarding the old witch with befuddlement.

"What's gotten into...wait...you're drunk aren't you?"

"Always." She winks.

"Then we're going back. You have a job to do, and you're..." He halts abruptly, salt crystals crunching between his thick-soled boots and the pavement beneath. She keeps walking, shoveling chestnuts into her mouth. "I said we're going back now." He calls after her.

"Can't do that." She says, her mouth full. "Too late now." Snape sighs heavily, kicks a lump of snow that's more solid than anticipated, and winces in pain. He limps to catch up with her.

"You're not taking this seriously." He whispers sternly. The reaction he gets from her is even more disconcerting than her state of intoxication—the delicate old woman starts laughing madly. Severus grows visibly concerned.

"I'm so nervous." She says between bursts of laughter. "I think I'm going to be sick..." The look of concern on Severus' face quickly transitions to horror. Her suspicions are correct, and Snape's standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Great. It's...fine... Calm down. Just...here...take a seat..." He leads her over to a low wall and brushes away some snow to clear a patch for her to sit down. She sinks onto the wall, heaves a sigh, and looks up at Severus, who's dripping with her dinner.

"Sorry..." She says. "Really though—I don't understand why you keep electing to spend time with me. All I do is get drunk and make you uncomfortable." Severus whisks his wand over his cloak and cleans the mess up quick.

"I happen to believe you are a good person. Deep down...very deep..." He says. "And you remind me a little of my mum, Eileen Prince."

"Eileen? I always liked her." Spektor says, smiling at the memory of getting her ass kicked by Eileen Prince at gobstones on several occasions. Snape smiles.

"Did you ever really love him?" Snape asks, sitting down next to her.

"Yes. Very much so." Spektor says.

"And still?"

"I don't know. It's been a long time...We're both very different people, I'm sure..." She says, twisting the ring around her finger. "We'll find out soon, I guess."


"But how did they know?" A cloaked man rises from his seat at the end of a long table, thudding both hands forcefully on the surface, looming over another cloaked man with long blond hair.

"I d-don't know m-m-my Lord. No one else was th-here." The blond man stutters.

"Did he die?" The high-pitched, nasal voice of a woman with black curly hair, followed by a sinister cackle. Lucius shakes his head. "Pity."

"Quiet, Bellatrix." Lord Voldemort snaps. Her laugh grates so harshly. "Are you sure we have an accurate count? Everyone must be monitored." He turns back to Lucius.

"That's a question for Severus..." Lucius says. "He's supposed to be here by now." Deflecting, as usual. And right on time, Severus Snape walks into the room. Nobody notices the snake gliding silently beside him over the polished floorboards, coiling out of sight under the table.

"Sorry I'm late, my Lord." He says humbly, approaching the table and taking the seat to Lord Voldemort's right. He casts a quick glance around the room.

"We were just discussing your friend Arthur Weasley." Voldemort says. Bellatrix does that awful laugh again.

"Ahem...speaking of friends..." Severus says. Voldemort narrows his eyes at Snape.

"What?" He snaps.

"Someone's here to see you." Snape says, looking at a point just over his shoulder.

"Hello Tom." Victoria's now standing, on her own two feet, mere inches behind his chair. He flinches at the sound of her voice, a shard of glass shot from the shadows. The expression on Voldemort's face, if you could call it that, is one that none of the others in the room have ever seen him display before. Nobody's even quite sure what it is... He's a mess of confusion.

"Victoria." He doesn't turn to look at her. He doesn't know what to say to her. "I trust you've been well."

"Never better." She says. Neither wants to be the one to move first. She's staring at the back of his head. He's staring straight ahead. Bellatrix and Lucius sit tensely, silent, holding their breath. After a few excruciating moments, Victoria steps forward, and, after all these years, sets eyes on what's become of Tom Riddle. She gasps. It's the face she'd seen in her reflection. The face she'd for years taken as a bastardization of her own. But no. It's him. It's always been him. He turns sharply and their eyes meet—glowing red slits, gazing into her deep black pools. Out of the corner of her eye, Victoria can see Bellatrix reaching for her wand, her brow furrowed in jealous frustration.

"You look awful." Victoria smirks. Tense silence, then, unexpectedly, Voldemort laughs—the same cold, high-pitched laugh she remembers so well.

"So do you." He laughs, cracking a smile.

"Thanks." She winks.

"Who's this then?" Bellatrix interjects, voice squeaking anxiously. Voldemort completely ignores her, and instead pushes his chair back and rises from the table, not once taking his eyes from Victoria's. He holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he spots the ring on her finger. She kept it. His hands are as cold as hers now, his skin as sallow. They are more alike than they've ever been, but he can sense there's something different about her. Hmmm. Without a word, to Victoria or the others, he begins to walk away, and Victoria accompanies him out of the room.

In their wake, the three Death Eaters seated at the table look at each other quizzically.

"Well? Who is she?" Bellatrix whines. Nobody says a word.


The Dark Lord closes the door tightly behind him, then turns to face the woman now before him, standing in the center of the dark room, her body blending with the shadows, a ghostly presence which, if he didn't know better, he'd doubt was really there at all. He is completely unprepared for this moment. A deep breath, a step forward. She's still as the statues that lived in her family's garden. Another step. He can't get inside her head. She was always impossible to read. And one last step before they're face-to-face. Instinctively she reaches out a delicate hand and, frowning, grazes the greyish skin stretched over his once-handsome face. He flinches.

"So...'Lord Voldemort' stuck then." She says.

"I remember you had your doubts..." His voice is breathy, strained.

"Guess I can't be right about everything. Nobody's perfect."

"You're pretty close." He smiles creepily.

"Heh. Really... Didn't think so when you turned me in, did you..." She sneers.

"I felt threatened." He says, frowning. "I was young, foolish—please, forgive me."

"Are you apologizing?" She asks, her eyebrows raised. He scowls. Difficult to drag an apology out of this one—even more so than Black...

"Why are you here?" He demands.

"Just to check in. See how you're doing. You know..." She shrugs.

"Oh I'm doing well...Got a body again, so that's always nice..." He says sarcastically.

"Not as good as the last one, but whatever works, I guess."

"Not as good as the last one, huh?" He sneers, "I suppose you're a qualified judge...seen a fair few in your day, haven't you?" His words burn her skin like acid.

"I told you none of that was true! I don't know why you want to believe..." She says, hurt, and unable to conceal it. That's right, convince me that none of it was true. That you were, and remain faithful. To me.

"You are the only person I will ever love." He says, a hint of anger in his voice.

"I know." She says, eyes cast down, trying to remain calm and level-headed. She feels the love there, it's never left, but there's also all this hate now. Just looking at him she feels the hate—for what he's become, for what he stands for, for what he did to her... But she'll put that aside now, because she had a job to do. She takes a deep breath. This is gonna hurt.

"I feel the same way." She says.

"You do?" He says, surprised.

"Let's not dwell on everything that happened. I love you, Tom. I always have, and I always will." As she smiles, she starts to cry—something she certainly doesn't want to be doing right now. But it is sincere. She's fooling herself, and she knows it. But if things were different—if he was not the monster before her but the seventeen-year-old boy she first fell in love with—there's nothing in the world she'd want more than to be reunited with him. She'll just have to live in that little fantasy world for a while, until everything falls into place. He wipes the tears from her cheeks with a cold, bony hand, and traces her cheekbone gently with his thumb. He's going to kiss me. Oh shit he's going to kiss me... And sure enough, he leans in and kisses her forcefully, his lips dry, his breath stale. It's the most unpleasant kiss she's ever received, but to keep up the act, she reciprocates—soft and tender.

"Where are you staying?" He asks, running his hand down her back.

"At Hogwarts." She says, thinking it best not to mention anything about the Order of the Phoenix.

"That's too far to travel tonight. You'll stay here." He says. When he notices the skepticism cross Victoria's face, he adds, "I insist."

Under the hem of his robes she spots a silver chain strung around his neck, and hanging upon it—a green eye. Gotcha.


The next morning she wakes up before the sun and stumbles down the long sweeping staircase wearing his dressing gown, and pokes around the labyrinthine house for a kitchen. This house is huge, probably the biggest she's ever been in, and ridiculously fancy. Once she finds the kitchen she's almost afraid to touch anything—all the dishes, cups, and various utensils look so delicate she's bound to break one. She finds a hunk of day-old bread and some cheese, and she's just about to make some tea when someone else enters the kitchen. She freezes, completely embarrassed. The realization hits her that she actually has no idea whose house this is.

"Professor?" A sleepy young voice drifts from the edge of the room.

"Who's that?"

"What?" The voice is confused. "I...It's Draco...Malfoy..."

"Oh, hi Draco." She says awkwardly.

"I don't mean to be rude but...uh...what are you doing in my house?" He's still very cautious around her, a behavior that has been reinforced by his father, who has advised him that she is someone he wants to remain on good terms with.

"Your house?" She thinks out loud. "It's very nice. I like your selection of cheese—looks like you've got cheese from every country around the world in here..."

"Yes but...it's five o'clock in the morning and you're in my kitchen...and you're..." Draco's eyes widen. He recognizes the dressing gown, of course.

"I don't know what to tell you." She shrugs, "But I just put the kettle on— want some?"

"Umm...sure..." Draco says cautiously. He can't stop thinking about how strange this is. She pours him a cup of tea and they sit at the table, Draco watching while she devours half a loaf of bread and nearly a pound of cheese.

"Did you really kill fifty people?" Draco asks.

"Fifty? Merlin's beard is that what people think?" Professor Spektor spits.

"Is that a 'no' then?"

"Fifty..." She muses. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Father thinks all the mudbloods should be exterminated. There's a lot more than just fifty of them."

"You've got a point." She says, chewing the crust. "Just muggle-borns? What about half-bloods?"

"Dunno." Draco shrugs. She's not looking at Draco anymore, but at another person entering the kitchen.

"Ah, we were just talking about you." She says to the new arrival, cheeky as ever.

"I thought you might have already left." Says a high, cold voice that causes Draco to tense up.

"No, I just got hungry." She says brightly, "They have a lot of cheese, if you're interested. This cheddar has been aged for thirty years or something..."

"Of course you've already taken inventory of the kitchen." He says, rolling his eyes. There's a weird lightness in his voice Draco can't help but notice. The Dark Lord takes the seat next to Professor Spektor and she offers him the cup of tea she had poured for herself, which he takes gladly. "So you've met Draco already."

"He's one of my students at Hogwarts." She says, looking back at Draco now, who's nervously surveying the pair. "He used to think my class is...what was it...useless? But he's come around." She winks.

"What are you teaching? They're mad to not give you potions, but I believe Severus is still the Potions Master..."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts." She says with a laugh, nudging him in the ribs.

"Of course." He says, laughing. She sticks out her tongue. What the hell's going on here? Draco thinks.

"May I be excused? I have to pack..." Draco mumbles.

"You're excused." The Dark Lord grants. "He's a good boy." Draco hears him say as he leaves the room. He takes the stairs two at a time, strides quickly to his room, and closes the door behind him. Not only did he have Snape to deal with at Hogwarts, but now she's involved? And pretty heavily involved, it seems. He shudders to think—what kind of a person is she, to be that close to the Dark Lord? And he thought Bellatrix was crazy... He shivers in the morning light leaking through his window.