.

XXXIX.
Confrontation
[London | September 1997]


"Do you hate him too?" Dark asks. V glares at him, and Dark immediately apologizes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep. It just would follow, logically I mean, that if you hate his politics and his choice of associates, you would…"

"You're right." V says blankly, then shakes her head, puts her glass down, and stares at Dark. "You're absolutely right."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Dark hastily apologizes. "It's none of my business…"

"It is your business." V says, rising from the armchair and sitting next to him on the couch. "I've made it your business, haven't I?"

"Well, in a way…" Dark says.

"What do you think I should do?" She sighs deeply, sinking into the couch, and resting her head on his shoulder. There's such an easiness about their interactions.

"Come here." He wraps his arm around her and pulls her close. She relaxes into him, nestling her head on his chest. "It's going to be ok. These things happen. Worlds fall apart, and they're rebuilt again. Such things are temporary. That's the way it is with humans."

"He is temporary." She says, the truth of it stinging her lips, but at the same time, lightening her heart. "No matter how hard he tries…"

"Humans are not made to live forever." Dark says. "They're not equipped to manage it."

"Am I?" She asks.

"I don't know." Dark smiles. "You've made a lot of mistakes."

"Am I making a mistake? Right now, I mean?" She locks eyes with him, their faces a mere breath apart.

"Right now? You mean this very moment?" He brushes his nose against hers. And there's a long pause, one that feels like ages, because he's still too nervous, to polite, to kiss her first. But after several moments of serious contemplation ,V places her lips upon his, and, crazy as it seems, it really does feel right. How can this be the right thing? She loves Tom. She has since the moment she met him. But as Dark kisses her, places his sturdy, strong hands on her small, delicate frame, she feels something she's never felt before this moment: safe. Completely safe. There's a strength that comes with safety, and the freeing ability to completely relax, to become herself, truly, to be just completely at ease. That's it. Trust. She doesn't know how she knows it, but there's no question about it, she can trust him, no matter what.

"We're drunk. We shouldn't be…I don't want to…You're married…" Dark stammers, retrieving his hands from V's lower back.

"You've never shown me your tattoos." She says, undoing the top button of his shirt, and then the next, and the next. "Did it hurt?" She asks, pushing the shirt off his shoulders to reveal a saturated canvas, every square inch of his skin covered in ink, designs ranging from humans to monsters to symbols to landscapes, all blending together like a wild, epic tale.

"Yes." He says as she places her hand on his chest, on top of an image of a dragon spraying deadly flames upon a small town. "Very much so." He places his hand over hers." Even more when it actually happened."

"Every one of these…" She starts.

"Part of my story. I've lived a long time. Sometimes it's hard to remember. Sometimes you don't want to remember. But we all carry our story around with us, whether others can see it or not."

"But why?"

"A long time ago, I was cursed by a wizard who I'd deceived, ripped off for a large amount of money. He cursed me to bear a depiction of every evil thing I've done on my skin. Sometimes they fade with age, and new ones replace them. I only have so much surface area available…" She runs her eyes over him, and he feels uncomfortably exposed, so he pulls his shirt back on and rises from the couch. "It's getting late, I should go…I'll be back in the morning to do the tidying up."

"Could you stay?" She asks, her voice soft now, not the hard, harsh, demanding voice she usually uses with him. "I'm always alone at night, and I'm starting to get…nervous… It's just…I haven't been sleeping and I'm only able to relax when you're around…" She looks at the ground, feeling guilty for asking. He also looks at the ground, feeling guilty for hearing.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mrs. Riddle." He says, putting emphasis on her title.

"Just…sit beside me as I sleep. I've got books—you can read if you want. Just for a few hours. Please." He can't resist her smile. He selects a book from the shelf behind him, a large text on the history of magic in Africa, and follows her to the bedroom. He's still unsure whether she's tricking him into unseemly behavior, but as soon as he sits down on the bed, she wriggles under the covers and shuts her eyes. He keeps the light on and reads for a good while before his own eyes become heavy, and he sets the book down on the nightstand. She's lying next to him, still, breathing slowly. He reaches to pull the covers up over her bare shoulder. She feels his hand and places her own on top of it, takes it, and laces her fingers through his. He lays down beside her, pulls the blankets up, and spoons up against her from behind, kissing the top of her forehead. He turns out the light, and they both fall sound asleep.


"What is this?" A harsh, cold voice booms from the doorway. Dark wakes with a start, sitting bolt upright clutching the blankets to his chest, not out of modesty (he's fully clothed), but out of sheer embarrassment. To be caught in a man's own bed with his wife…very unseemly.

"What are you…?" V asks sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Tom, what are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?"

"I have every right to visit my wife whenever I want." He says icily, drawing his wand and illuminating the candle on the bedside table. "Who is this, then?" He demands, pointing his wand at Dark, who winces slightly, not because of fear of the wand, but out of mild disgust for the man who's pointing it at him. He just imagined V's husband would be…not so horrendously ugly.

"This is Mr. Dark, our housekeeper. So nice of you to finally stop by and meet him." She says, rising from the bed, her diaphanous white nightshirt giving her the quality of a ghost.

"Housekeeper? You expect me to believe…"

"I hired him over a year ago. The exiled devil I met in east end. I told you about him, you were just to busy to care." She rolls her eyes.

"And so this is one of his duties?" Voldemort roars, his wand still on Dark. "I knew it was about time you'd get bored, move on to a younger model…" At this, dark starts to laugh. "Something funny?" Voldemort glowers.

"My good man, I recognize the absurdity and unorthodoxy of the situation but I must insist, you have no idea what you're talking about." Mr. Dark says, standing up as well. "I'm Jerome Godfrey Dark, and unless you're over six hundred years old, there's very little chance of me being younger than you, sir." Voldemort blinks.

"Six hundred…" He says under his breath.

"If you'd put down your wand, I'd greatly appreciate it." Dark says, stepping forward, and offering his hand for Voldemort to shake. He notices the man does, indeed, have six fingers. "Pleased to finally meet you, sir. Your wife has told me a lot about you." He smiles warmly.

"Yes. I'm sure." Voldemort sneers, looking apprehensively at the hand. "So you're exiled. For what?"

"I believe that's none of your business, sir." Dark says, his hand still outstretched. Voldemort does not shake it. Meanwhile, V has slipped on a thick warm robe and has made her way to the kitchen, where she's unstopping a bottle of firewhisky.

"How dare you tell me what my business is! You're in my home!"

"I've never seen you here before." Dark drops his hand, but still smiles at the ugly man standing before him. "I apologize for overstepping my boundaries as a housekeeper, sir." Voldemort doesn't respond, turns, and leaves the room to find V. Dark follows, extinguishing the candle.

"V's seated at the kitchen table, on which a bottle of firewhisky rests, half full, as well as three cups. She's sipping out of hers and looks exhausted and angry. Voldemort sits right beside her on the bench, and Dark, still slightly nervous and embarrassed, sits opposite them.

"So what have you been up to? Catch your favorite boy yet?" V sighs, pouring Voldemort a generous serving.

"No. Not yet. But, oh do I have some news. We've taken Hogwarts!" He says, cracking a smile. A weird laugh escapes Dark, who then quickly takes a sip of firewhisky.

"Something funny?" Voldemort glares at the handsome man opposite him, and for the first time notices the tattoos underneath his partially unbuttoned shirt.

"It's a…silly name…" He says stupidly, looking at V, who wrinkles her nose and gives him a little smile.

"He doesn't know what Hogwarts is?" Voldemort asks V, incredulously.

"I'm not a wizard." Dark raises his eyebrows, although not entirely surprised at the man's assumption that every knows everything about wizards. Clearly they're the most important. "It's some sort of school, right? Where they teach you how to use those wands you all wave around so enthusiastically?"

"Yes." Voldemort hisses. "Anyway, Severus has taken over as headmaster and…"

"And you've conceived a child with Bellatrix Lestrange." Says V casually and drains the last of her firewhisky, clunking the pewter cup noisily down on the tabletop. It would be appropriate to say all the color drained from Voldemort's face if his face did have any color to begin with. But V could sense a faintness about him.

"What?" He says, his voice catching in the back of his throat.

"I understand. You want an heir. But you could have told me instead of going behind my back." She says, quietly, seriously. Dark casts her a nervous look. He can sense the intense anger building up inside her. "Why her though? Why not somebody more sensible, like Narcissa?"

"I…um…" He doesn't know what to say.

"You still want me to give you that potion? I finished it. About a month ago." V says, still with that unsettling, empty tone.

"You finished it! I knew you could figure it out." Voldemort embraces her, but she remains still as stone, a statue, staring straight forward. Dark rises from the table and retrieves at ray, then sets it upon the table before Voldemort. It has three bottles, all identical, all filled with thick red liquid. Voldemort looks at the bottles, then up at Dark. "What's this?"

"Choose wisely." Dark says, sitting back, "Wouldn't want to pick the wrong one."

"But they're all the same…one for each of us?" Voldemort asks, looking from V, to Dark, then back to V.

"I've already taken it." She says. "And he helped me test it."

"I'm not here to play games!" Voldemort roars.

"What are you here for then?" V asks, picking up one of the bottles, unstoppering it, and pouring it out on the floor. Voldemort flinches. "To use me?" Sue picks up the other two bottles, and holds one in each hand, holding them both up to the light. "To toy with me? String me along until you've finished your little battle? And then what?" She throws the bottle at his face. He ducks and it smashes on the wall behind him, red streaking down the stone. She twirls the last bottle in her fingertips.

"Victoria, please! We've waited so long for this! For us to rule, together! To be invincible, to be immortal…"

"To what end?" She stares at the liquid in the bottle, not even sure whether it's the real potion or the poison. She sees dark staring at the shards of broken glass and red potion pooling in the corner, itching to fetch a broom and sweep up the mess. "I give you this, and what else do you need me for?"

"Victoria, I…" Voldemort stares at her, trying to say the words.

"You loved me before I was done. Now that I'm finished, what use am I? It's not me that you love, it's my potential. But you shouldn't love that either, dear. You should fear it." She grasps the bottle tightly in her hand and squeezes it, the glass shattering, the potion leaking through her fingers, dripping onto the floor. Voldemort watches, furious.

"There must be more." He gasps, rising from the table and starting to ransack the kitchen.

"Why? What's the point? It was for me, and I've already taken it." She says, rising from the table, and striding towards him. Dark leaps up as well, nervous that a fight is about to ensue. "Touch another thing in this house and I'll remove both your bloody hands." She says, grabbing Voldemort's wrists tightly in her own bloody hands. A few shards of glass still stuck in her palms dig into his wrists.

"You have no power over me!" He spits in her face. "You stupid girl. You think for one moment…" Looking down at her, his eyes meeting hers, those lightless black holes, he loses his words.

"Stupid girl." She mouths, then smiles deviously. "Tell me again, Tom, how stupid I am. Because it seems to me like I've not only achieved my own goals, but, incidentally, yours as well. And what've you done? Killed a lot of people? To what end? Fucked a crazy bitch in hopes of having an heir before you die because you're too ugly and cruel to get anyone of quality? We'll see how that works out for you." He blinks rapidly at her, not sure what to say. She's much stronger than he remembers, and he can't seem to break from her hold. He looks down at her hands, streaked with blood, and notices she's not wearing his ring.

"My ring…where is it?" He demands.

"You mean my ring? I'm tired of wearing it. It's not like it meant anything anymore, right? I mean, this marriage isn't real. It's a joke."

"What did you do with it?" He asks through gritted teeth.

"That's none of your business. You gave it to me. It's mine." She says. "You want me to start wearing it again? Then you should start treating me like your wife."

"I don't have time for this!" He bellows, "Let go of me! I don't know if it's occurred to you that what I'm trying to do is very difficult and time consuming, but I'm not exactly at my leisure to sit around with you and get drunk in the middle of the morning and do nothing all day! This is serious work. It must be done."

"You're right. You're wasting your time here." She says, releasing him. He rubs his wrists. They hurt like hell. "Go back to Malfoy Manor. You might want to keep an eye on Bellatrix. It would be a shame if she has a miscarriage."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Are you accusing me of something?" V blinks. In a huff, Voldemort turns his back on his wife and her housekeeper and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. V scurries to the door and watches him through the peephole while performing enchantments to seal the entryway. Dark places a hand upon her shoulder and she shudders, turning around quickly.

"He's really ugly. I didn't expect him to be that ugly…" He says, a concerned look on his face. V bursts out laughing.

"Want to go on a vacation?" She asks. "I think I need to get away from here for a while. What do you say?"

"As long as it's not the beach. I don't like all that hot sand." Dark says.

"Let's hope Harry Potter isn't throwing a beach party then." She says, walking back to the bedroom and dragging an ancient suitcase from beneath the bed.