Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Hermione had never thought she would come face to face with Lord Voldemort, at least not individually.
Even though the war centered around this man, not many members of the Order had faced him directly. Harry, obviously. A few of the older members who fought in the First Wizarding War, but of the new generation? Hardly anyone.
Thankfully.
Hermione supposed that during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, she had glimpsed him, right there at the end, along with Ex-Minister Fudge and the rest of the Wizarding World. But that did not count, did it?
She had always assumed, Merlin willing, that if the war ever finished, she would face him in a flank position with Harry and Ron. Perhaps it was childish, but in the back of the mind, that was the way it would come to an end.
It was a silly thought, from when they were children fighting a war of adults. Now here she was, twenty-years old herself, but when those snakelike eyes met hers, she might as well have been a child scared of the monster under the bed, her mother rushing into her room when she woke up screaming after a nightmare.
Reality was her nightmare now.
"Miss Le Fay," the Dark Lord hissed, twisting his body away from the fire to face her fully. Did he have a body? Or was it just smoke, drifting to the floor from his suspended skull.
Could a man who had his soul ripped apart seven times have a body?
He flicked his wand and the lamps lining the walls flurried to life. They added no light, only cast shadows, dancing figures from hell. Daemons on lifeless brick.
Hermione kept her eyes on Voldemort, trying to ignore the snake curled around his feet. The snake.
It occurred to her suddenly how close she was. Could she risk it? One spell, one moment, and she would be a Horcrux down. Would she be able to get out afterwards? Would she be able to tell Harry and Ron she had done it? Would it give away her secret?
For a moment, she felt the pressure in her head and remembered Snape's warning.
With all her energy, she forced her walls up around her conversation with Snape and the secret she must keep. Imagining a shelf at the back of the library, she placed a book into the stacks at random, before turning in her mind and moving as far away as possible.
She took a deep breath.
He would never find the book in her library.
And with that last piece of courage, she finally responded.
"Tom."
He laughed, a bone-chilling, humourless sound that filled the room, forcing gooseflesh to appear across her skin.
"I was told of your wit, Miss Le Fay," he said, his voice like ice. "But your nerve. Here I am trying to be polite."
He won't find the book. He won't find the book.
"I'm not quite sure forcing me to choose between giving myself or my friends up is considered polite."
His red eyes danced over her face. "Compared to the alternative."
The barely concealed threat.
He took a few steps towards her, his eyes never leaving her face. She could feel him prodding gently at her mind. Perhaps, had she not been warned, she would not have noticed.
Perhaps, if she wasn't who she was, she would not have noticed.
"I'm surprised we have not met before," Tom Riddle said, appraising her for a moment. "As you unfortunately chose to consort with my dear Mr. Harry Potter."
"Consider this meeting long overdue," Hermione said back, finding a bit of Gryffindor courage in her voice.
"Yes, on that point, you are correct," he said, watching her. It was unnerving, the way his eyes flitted over her face, switching between prodding at her mind and reviewing her person.
"It's uncanny," Riddle said, voice low. "You do look quite like Celia."
The mention of her mother on Voldemort's snake-lips threatened her carefully concealed walls, her passage through the library to the book. She felt her mind shake, as a few tomes fell off their shelves.
She took a deep breath, forcing them back into their place. "So, I've been told."
Riddle watched her for a moment. "It speaks to the utter idiocy of your Order that none of them were able to recognize you for what you are. For who you are. The resemblance is obvious."
"Your Death Eaters didn't notice either," Hermione snapped back, crossing her arms. Holding it in. "They had met me before."
"Yes, but no one has ever argued that the Malfoys are high intellectuals," he said. "Not Lucius. And certainly not Draco."
Without her permission, her mind filled with images of him. His face when she first saw him at Grimmauld Place. His body in that bed, eyes glancing up at her before she crossed the threshold.
She felt the familiar pressure at her mind.
He won't find the book. Let him look.
"Quite a master plan you had there, Tom," Hermione said, trying to push it back, banishing any emotion from her voice. "Sending Draco Malfoy of all people to convince me to come join your side. You do know our history, right?"
Voldemort smiled, and she felt any joy left sucked quickly from the room.
"You're here, are you not?"
"Not because of Draco," she hissed. "Because of Harry and Ron."
"So, the young Mr. Malfoy took the roundabout route," he said, unconcerned, barely glancing up at her mention of his nemesis. "Le Fay magic is a complicated thing. It's tricky, and not something I fully expected Mr. Malfoy to be able to master. However, to become your Other without your discovery of his deception… Perhaps I should have paid that boy more mind."
"He left you," Hermione said, forcing her voice to stay neutral, to not display the wave of emotion that coursed through her veins and centered on her mark.
"That's where you are mistaken, Miss Le Fay," he responded lazily, his red eyes trained on hers once again. "He did not leave me. He followed you."
She opened her mouth to offer a retort, an attack, anything.
Nothing came out.
"You are young, Miss Le Fay," Voldemort said, drifting back towards the fireplace, Nagini slithering on the floor behind him. "And you were never able to learn from your mother about your role in all this, in the power you hold, in the elements that you can control. And one of those elements is men."
Hermione couldn't help but scoff. "Control men? You cannot be serious."
"Men enjoy power," Voldemort said, his voice deathly soft. "And you radiate it. All the Le Fays do. Your mother was the same. I remember the old days when Tiberius and Celia would appear at meetings or events. Your mother would always drift into the background, cover herself in shadow. I realize now, as I should have realized then, that she was trying to hide… but all eyes were on her."
"Why was she trying to hide?" she asked, curiosity about her mother's prior life betraying her.
"Like I said," Tom whispered. "The Le Fays are complicated."
There was a pause and Hermione felt the prodding once again.
"Why am I here?" she asked, closing her eyes for a moment.
Voldemort appraised her for a moment. "I want to offer you an opportunity."
"An opportunity?" Hermione nearly laughed. "An opportunity to do what?"
"To take your rightful place in the new world that we're building," Voldemort responded, facing her fully. "You are a Le Fay. The prized jewel of the pureblooded world. You have power that other wizards and witches could only dream of."
"And you want it," Hermione said, pulling herself up to her tallest height, trying desperately to radiate her so-called power instead of the fear overtaking her body.
He laughed. She was lost in moving bookcases in her mind and he laughed.
"Miss Le Fay," he replied, smiling his terrible smile. "I do not want your power. You may be the most powerful witch of this generation, but I am still the most powerful wizard."
An image of Albus Dumbledore filled her mind. He narrowed his eyes, and she felt the prodding stop for a moment.
"What I want from you is much more material," Voldemort said.
She watched him for a moment, as puzzle pieces clicked together, her brain solving the mystery.
"You want the sapphire."
Whatever surprise Voldemort might have felt at her answer, he did not show it. Instead he smirked.
"I know they call you the Brightest Witch of your Age, but even so. I'm impressed."
"I live to please, my Lord," she said sardonically, bowing into a curtsey.
"The Dark Lord does not take mockery well, Miss Le Fay," he replied, eyes narrowed.
"You want something from me," Hermione replied, crossing her arms. "If you could have tortured it out of me, you would have already."
"The Dark Lord is merciful," he answered, his tone betraying her accuracy. "Do you think so little of me that you wouldn't expect me to at least meet with you?"
She hoped that his subtle prodding into her mind with Legilimancy answered that question for him.
His eyes narrowed.
It did.
Did he know she realized what he was doing? She wondered briefly.
"Of course, I do," he replied to her unasked question. "However, I need answers that only you can give me, and as you have pointed out, if I could have tortured it out of you, I would have."
"I thought I was your pureblooded princess. Aren't I supposed to be uninjured?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"As you are," Voldemort replied. "However, I require my answers first."
The nervousness she had felt since the beginning of the meeting overwhelmed her for a moment.
His eyes narrowed. "You deserve reverence, Miss Le Fay. And in the new world, if you make the right decision, you will get it. You will be seated at my right-hand side, the shining example of perfect blood. You will have the power to get whatever you want, from anyone at any time. You can even have Draco Malfoy. And you can lie to yourself all that you would like, but that is what you want."
The book opened again in her mind. Draco in her bed. Draco by her side.
She slammed it shut.
"You're lying," she whispered back. "I was there, I remember what you… what you and Quirrell said to Harry. You promised him glory. You promised him his parents back. But all you wanted was the stone."
"Potter never gave me the chance to make good on my offer," Voldemort replied. "And I'm not asking about something as trifling as the Philosopher's Stone. We're beyond that, Miss Le Fay."
That caught her attention.
"As trifling as the Philosopher's Stone?" she asked, disbelief in her voice. "You mean the stone that would have offered you eternal life and returned you from needing to stick out of the back of my professor's head?"
"Child's play," he hissed back at her. The sound from his mouth was so snakelike that Hermione could have sworn it was Nagini.
"So, if the Philosopher's Stone is trifling compared to the sapphire," she continued, averting her eyes from the snake on the floor. "Then what is the sapphire?"
"The sapphire," Voldemort started, glancing back at the fireplace. "It belonged to your ancestral matriarch."
"Morganna Le Fay," Hermione responded. When she said the words, an image flicked across her mind's eyes.
A dark night. The moon casting shadows. An owl.
When she blinked again, the image was gone.
"Wizards have fought for a long time, Miss Le Fay," Tom Riddle explained. "Even back in those days, there were wars. That's what we seek to obliterate in our new order. All pureblooded wizards and witches will live in harmony. With blood above all."
The phrase echoed in her head.
"But that was not the case back then," Voldemort continued, his voice still low. However, the more she listened to him speak, the less it seemed like an icy spear. Her skin was no longer covered in gooseflesh, but instead, vibrating, electricity shooting through her like wires.
Whatever physical reaction was wracking her body, Voldemort did not seem to notice. For the first time since she had arrived, he was focused elsewhere.
His eyes were on Nagini.
"There was a war, Miss Le Fay," he said. "Between Morganna and her most powerful adversary, Merlin. All the great wizards and witches of the time thought Morganna would win, and Merlin and the pathetic muggles he was working with would forfeit. But he prevailed."
Hermione thought back to the legends she had heard. "I thought she reconciled with Merlin and brought Arthur to Avalon…"
"Muggle nonsense," Voldemort hissed, spinning on her suddenly. She did not flinch. "No, Morganna would not have rescued Arthur."
"How would you know that?" she asked. "You didn't know her."
"Merlin receives all the glory nowadays," Tom Riddle continued, his eyes faraway for a moment. "But he was a coward. A fraud. A traitor. A wizard who gave himself up to muggles as their play-thing, to fight their battles and win their wars. Morganna was a witch in the purest sense. She was made of magic. She would never have compromised for a muggle."
Hermione listened to the pureblood vitriol as the Darkest Wizard in history spewed it at her. It sounded like the fantasy of a madman. However, it seemed to bounce off her body. The walls she had been holding up so carefully in her mind seemed to be floating now.
Her mind had locked the library without effort. The book was safe.
She felt her mark tingle. Without sparing it a glance, she turned her forearm inward, blocking it from view.
"So why was she defeated then?" Hermione asked, her voice suddenly strong. "If Merlin was a coward and she was magic incarnate, then how did he win?"
Tom Riddle looked at her again, his red eyes narrowed.
"You know, Miss Le Fay. She was your blood after all."
And Hermione did know. She didn't know how, but she did.
"She gave herself up."
He nodded.
"Why?" Hermione asked, her tone demanding. "This story makes no sense."
"She gave herself up for several reasons. Firstly, because she had accomplished her task," Voldemort answered. "She had hidden the sapphire."
"Then why are you asking me about it?" Hermione asked. "Last I checked, I haven't been in contact with Morganna Le Fay as of late to ask her where she put it."
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed at her comment, but he said nothing.
He said nothing.
"Blood above all, Miss Le Fay," he whispered. "A lesson you should have learned well by now. As the last living Le Fay, you are the only one able to find the sapphire. It's tied to that little willow tree on your arm."
At his words, she felt her mark burn.
"You are tied to that sapphire," he continued, stepping towards her. "You can hone onto it, discover it, take it from its hiding space. It belongs to you."
"What is it?" Hermione asked, feeling pressure in her brain again, but this time, only for a moment. "Why is it important?"
"It's a piece of magical history," Voldemort responded, his lie delivered smoothly. "It holds great magical power, power that will be incredibly useful to me in the new world."
"And why on earth would I get it for you?" she asked. "Why should I do that?"
"I cannot force you to get the sapphire for me, Miss Le Fay," he replied. "And besides, I would never abuse a pureblooded princess. You are royalty."
She barely had time to roll her eyes before he carried on.
"But," he continued. "I can convince you. I can offer you riches beyond your wildest dreams. You could be elevated to a level of society that you never thought possible. A new world, with you as its queen."
"I don't want riches or status," Hermione hissed back at him.
"Maybe not," he said. "But you do want Draco Malfoy."
"You know nothing about my relationship with Draco Malfoy," she said, a force of emotion behind it that surprised even her.
"But I do," Voldemort said. "I know that you have chosen him as your Other."
"How can I even be sure that's real?" Hermione exclaimed. "For all I know, you all could have made that up to mess with my head."
"It's real," he continued. "Each Le Fay for fifteen hundred years has had an Other. A man of wizarding ancestry, a few weeks after her twentieth birthday, who offers her a match that no one else can. Who gains access to the secret realms of her mind that she keeps hidden. Romances her. Reveres her."
"That's ridiculous," Hermione replied, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. "You...Draco wasn't the only man near me after my twentieth birthday."
"Perhaps not," the Dark Lord smirked. "But he was the only one your mark considered for the role. He's intelligent, powerful, and pureblooded. Who else could your mark have chosen?"
Hermione opened her mouth to retort when a sudden realization hit her like a battering ram.
Seamus was a half-blood.
Voldemort smiled at her. "No, whatever half-blooded lover you took up with could never fill this role. The Le Fays only ever mate with the sacred twenty-eight."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Then why didn't this mark place me with Ron?"
"I can only control the pieces to an extent, Miss Le Fay. The rest is magic beyond my reach."
"Beyond your reach…" Hermione started, raising an eyebrow. "What do you…"
It crashed down on her like a tsunami.
"You…" she gasped, mind playing through the last few months. "You didn't send Draco to collect me, to convince me to come back, or whatever his mission was. You sent him to be in the right place at the right time for when I chose an Other."
His snakelike lips curled up.
"Brightest Witch of Her Age."
"You knew that I would never leave with Draco because of…persuasion," her voice cracked on every word. "You… manipulated both of us so that I chose him as my Other, so that this ancient magic forced me back here. So that I would choose to come back with him. For him."
"I only moved the pieces, Miss Le Fay," Voldemort drawled. "You announced checkmate."
"Did he…" Hermione started, willing her voice not to shatter. "Did he know?"
"Of course not," he stated. "This is complex magic we're working with, and beyond Draco Malfoy's comprehension. He was under the impression that his persuasive skills alone would complete the task."
He didn't know.
"You played us both for pawns," she whispered, realizing the gravity of what had happened.
"And here you are," Voldemort stated. "Life is a game of power and magic is a tool. I used the tools I had to get what I wanted."
"But you haven't gotten what you wanted," Hermione whispered. "You don't have the sapphire."
"Not yet," he admitted. "But I will."
"You don't know that."
"I do, Miss Le Fay," he said. "Because your choice is this: you get your future with Draco Malfoy, and I get the sapphire. You can argue all you want, but no Le Fay can truly survive being without their Other."
"My mother did," Hermione said, her chin up.
"Barely," Voldemort responded. "And at a serious cost. A cost you don't have to pay."
"Morganna survived without an Other," Hermione continued, ignoring the shaking in her legs. "She didn't even have one."
"Oh, how mistaken you are," Voldemort said. "I would have thought you had figured it out by now."
"Figured what out?"
"She gave herself up, did she not?" Tom Riddle said, eyes narrowed on hers, pulling the answer from her mind. "Why would she have done that?"
"I don't know!" Hermione nearly screamed. "I didn't know her!"
"You know her as you know yourself. An Other can survive without a Le Fay," Voldemort said. "The opposite is not true. She gave herself up."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but before she did, it appeared to her. Like Providence.
"Oh, Merlin," she whispered.
Voldemort smiled. "We shall speak soon, Miss Le Fay. Consider my offer. You will only have one chance."
In a whiff of smoke, the Darkest Wizard who had ever lived disappeared from before her, leaving her alone with her realizations, her confusions, and her legacies.
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