Disclaimer: All characters… blah, blah, blah. We all know what's JKR's stuff and what's mine. Why waste bandwidth? Author's note at the bottom
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Romance in the Grand Manor
1959
His hands reached through the steel bars, roughly gripping her thin shoulders. The rage left him as his large hands, hard hands that could be kind as well as cruel, slid down her back, to her tiny waist… With surprising swiftness, he jerked her toward the bars, crushing her against the cold metal. His mouth closed over hers, taking a soul-searing kiss…
The witch melted against the bars, against him… Her own tiny hands reached through the bars, feeling the muscles in his shoulders, the broad firmness of his back…
He loves me…
Angelina kissed her lover back, feeling his tongue gently exploring the crevices of her mouth… As their ardor increased, their caresses became more frantic, more demanding. He moaned against her mouth…
"Angel…" he breathed.
You could have me right now, darling, if only you would let me out of this cage…
* * *
December 1946
He swept into the commons room, looking like a man meant to rule, like a king. His forest green robes only emphasized the green of his eyes and the black of his hair. His delightfully unruly waves were calmed that night, either with copious amounts of grease, or with a very effective spell…
Whatever it was, the boy looked like a million galleons.
"Hey, Princess," Tom greeted easily.
She sat in her chair by the fire, silently staring at him. Could any words do justice to the young Lord Voldemort as he stood before her now?
He softly chuckled in response to her silence.
Heat flooded her face, shocking her out of her silence. "Hello…" Her voice was whisper soft, like a gentle breeze.
"Why so shy, Princess?" he asked, stepping closer to her.
"You… I… Have fun at the ball, milord." Still, that tender whisper… Such an intimate sound, one meant for his ears and his alone.
He floated closer to her, stopping just before her chair. Easing down into a low bow, he asked, "Would you like to dance, milady?"
Slowly, a pleased smile stretched across her lips. "But there's no music," she protested.
He extended his hand to her. "All the music that we need is here."
Hesitantly, Angelina slipped her hand into his. The little girl easily rose to her feet and suppressed a sigh as he pulled him against her. She closed her eyes and felt the rhythm of the silent music as he led her through the slow steps of a waltz.
* * *
1959
Without warning, he pushed her away.
Her breathing was ragged as she grasped at the bars of her cell for support. Stunned, she touched her lips and looked up at him with glazed blue eyes. He wanted her… She could feel it in his touch. Why did he stop?
His eyes were equally glazed, and filled with a longing for more than a stolen kiss between steal bars. "Witch!" he hissed.
"Yes," she responded, her voice breathless. "I am a witch… I am the witch that you cannot give up…"
"I can give you up anytime I want," he protested fiercely.
"But you won't… You don't want to," she replied. With the quiet certainty of a woman who had been loved, she stated, "And you never will."
"Don't tell me what I want," he spat.
"I don't have to tell you. All I have to do is look at you, and I can see it, even if you deny it." Her fingers gently brushed against his chest, knocking loose a speck of dust that had clung to his robe. "All I have to do is touch you, and I can feel it…"
* * *
December 1946
He held her hand gently as he led her through the waltz… She felt like a precious treasure in his arms.
"Are you ready to go?" a feminine voice interrupted.
The silent music stopped, almost as if someone had harshly ripped up the needle on the phonograph.
"Sally," Tom greeted, a wolfish smile on his face.
Angelina glared at the other witch as she took in her appearance.
Sally looked like, in Angelina's eyes, a high-class whore. Her burgundy robes clung to her all over, hugging her heaving bosom, accentuating her curves. And, Angelina thought cattily, her fat roll on her stomach. Maybe you should put on a little more lipstick… then you'd fit in with the die Dirnen in Whitechapel… She sneered at Riddle's girlfriend and mentally corrected herself. Prostitutes. In England, Angelina, we speak English… Especially if you want these fools to understand you.
Sally's gaze shifted from Tom and landed on Angelina. The seventh year student glared at the little girl, treating her like a cheap interloper.
Angelina's face hardened, her sapphire blue eyes narrowed. You would have to show up now, wouldn't you? Have you no sense of timing? Or better yet, couldn't you just go away? Angelina's own glare became more and more hateful as her thoughts continued on.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked, his attention directed at Sally.
Sally smiled sweetly at the Head Boy and slipped her arm into his. (Angelina found herself carefully watching for Sally's face to crack. Much to her disappointment, it didn't.) "Let's go, lover," she purred.
Riddle smiled at her and shook his head in a seemingly affectionate disapproval. But he still led her out of the dungeons.
With heavy heart, Angelina watched the armor cover the entrance. He was gone.
"I saw you dancing… You were beautiful," a voice said from behind her.
Startled, the witch whirled around. "Gregory… I didn't know you were here."
He smiled sadly. "You didn't notice anyone else in the room at all, except for Tom."
He was right, and she knew it. As soon as Tom entered any room, the other inhabitants faded to oblivion.
She bit her lower lip and looked up at her friend. "We may not be allowed to go to the ball, but… Would you like to dance?" she asked.
"There's no music, Angelina. And there's no music in my head, either." The boy looked defeated, as if a rival had trumped him, and he'd never be able to recover.
"Gregory…" she pleaded. "You're my friend… Don't be like that."
"Disappointed? Every time I want to ask you something, Riddle comes along and spoils it."
The witch looked at the boy, confusion etched across her pretty face. "What are you talking about?"
"I asked you to come home with me for break. And you were going to say yes, weren't you?" He paused, just waiting for Angelina to say something, anything. He didn't seem surprised when she remained silent. "You were going to come home with me and spend the holiday with my family. Then he came along and asked you to stay here for him."
"Gregory, you don't understand!" Angelina protested, resting her tiny hand on his arm.
"No, I understand. I understand everything. Just like tonight. I was going to ask you if you wanted to play a game of chess with me, and he comes down here and dances with you without music. It was like… the only music that you two needed was the music in your head. How can I compete with that?"
She remained silent for a moment, her blue eyes downcast. Finally, she admitted, "You can't."
"But can you compete with Sally?" Gregory countered.
"Yes…" Angelina flopped down in her chair and propped her face up on her fist. "Yes, I think I can."
"How? Sally is beautiful…"
"If you like cheap," Angelina sniffed.
"Obviously, Tom does. He's at the Ball with her, and not you."
The thought stung her. He couldn't have been more vicious if he had slapped her. "Tom and I… Tom and I are just friends," she protested, albeit unconvincingly.
Gregory's eyes reflected the hurt that he felt within. "Then why can't you come home with me, Angelina? Aren't I your friend, too?"
She sighed wearily. "Gregory, please… You know that you are. Who else keeps me company in classes? You're the only one that doesn't shy away from the evil Herr Grindelwald's daughter… I'd be lost without you, and you know it."
"How lost will you be when I go home without you tomorrow?" he asked quietly.
She bit her lip, her eyes downcast. How to answer that question? Do I tell him what he wants to hear, or what I really feel? She remained silent.
"Come on, Angelina, it's not that difficult of a question," Gregory pushed.
"Gregory, when you leave Hogwarts for break, you'll go home and you'll be with your family. Tom won't. Tom will stay here, alone. He has no family to go home to," she explained gently. "I'll miss you while you're gone, and I'll send you an owl every day…"
He smiled sadly, feeling the familiar tug of being the loser…
* * *
1959
"I don't want your feelings," he sneered.
"And I don't want to be in this cell, caged up like a damned animal, either! But, of course, you hold the keys. If you don't want me, then just let me go!" she screamed.
"I can't just let you go, Angel…"
"No, of course not. Better to keep me trapped down here like nothing, rather than to let me go, and to let me live," she responded bitterly.
His green eyes narrowed. "You're down here because you've earned it. Feel lucky I haven't tortured you, and made you beg for my mercy."
She laughed derisively. "You, my lord, have no mercy left to give. It would be a waste of my breath, and give you far too much satisfaction for me to ever beg you for anything. Besides, I am Angelina Grindelwald. My father taught me long ago to never, ever beg my opponent for mercy or kindness. 'Twould be a sacrilege to my family name to do something so… so very common." She looked him up and down and sneered. "And to beg for mercy from a lowly half-blood like you? Please."
* * *
December 1946
"Angelina, it's nearly midnight… Don't you want to call it a night and go to bed?" Gregory asked, stifling a yawn.
"No," the witch replied firmly. "You can go off to bed if you'd like, but I'm not ready for bed, yet."
"Tom and Sally could be out all night, you know. Waiting up won't bring them back any faster…"
"Gregory, please… If you want to go to bed, then go, but don't start."
He sighed. "I'll stay up. Do you want to play another game of wizard chess?"
"You always beat me, anyway…"
"I shouldn't. See, you're looking at the game the wrong way," he explained.
This got her interest. "What do you mean?"
"Chess is all about strategy. Didn't your father teach you anything about a good battle strategy?"
"Go in and kill everyone was pretty much how… how my father did it, isn't it?" Gods, how she hated to think of her father as Herr Grindelwald, die boshaft Killer… Or, rather, Master Grindelwald, the vicious killer.
Gregory laughed and shook his head. "Angelina, really. If that were the case, do you think that he would have made it as far as he did? Only Dumbledore stopped him, and that's because Dumbledore was prepared for the attack."
She winced. Dumbledore was a nice man, and she respected him a great deal… as long as she didn't associate him with the Dumbledore that killed her father.
Gregory rested his hand over hers. "I'm sorry, that was a dumb thing for me to say… And to use that example to explain a game? Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
Angelina smiled wanly. "It's okay, Gregory. People hated my father because they were afraid of him. If I run away and cry every time someone says something bad about him, then I'll spend my whole life locked away in the dormitory. Father would expect much more of me than that, and I won't disappoint him."
"You're amazing," he breathed, looking at the fair blond angel before him with unabashed admiration.
"I try," she replied, beaming at her friend. "Now, about that game… Strategy…"
"Chess is all about battle. Your goal is to conquer your opponent's kingdom by killing his king."
"I understand that…"
"No, wait," he interrupted. "Just listen to where I'm going with this…"
The two of
them were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not notice the last
remaining student heading off to bed.
* * *
1959
"Bitch!" he snarled. "I'll teach you to fear this half-blood!" His hand snaked through the bars, grabbing her by the hair and jerking her forward.
Don't scream, she panicked, feeling herself lift from the ground. Angelina was momentarily stunned when her head struck those cold bars.
His eyes held a contempt that mirrored her own. "No fear, my Angel… Remember?"
"Yes," she spat. "It's easy to torment me when I'm locked up in a cage with no wand, no weapon. You get your kicks from attacking an unarmed opponent? Pathetic. Give me a wand or a dagger, and then let's see who is left standing."
* * *
December 1946
"Checkmate!" she cried, delighted.
"Excellent! Now, are you ready to take away my thirty second limit on deciding my move?" Gregory asked.
"Nope. Not yet," she declared, an impish grin across her childish face.
"No fair," he protested.
"Perfectly fair," she countered. "Besides, who cares about fair? Does anyone ever play fair in war?"
"Good point," Gregory conceded.
"Are you sure you belong in Slytherin? I don't recall fair play ever being a requirement, here…"
In response, Gregory chucked a pillow at her. She ducked down with remarkable swiftness, just in time for the pillow to go sailing over her head. A purely childish gesture, Angelina stuck her tongue out. "Ha, ha! You missed!"
At nearly the same time, the two children jumped to their feet, knocking over their chairs. Warily, they stared at each other, not even blinking if they could help it.
He started to the left, then to the right, before finally dropping to his knees and grasping her ankles, pulling her feet out from under her.
The witch shrieked, giggling as her friend and opponent slid up beside her and tickled her.
"Beg for mercy," Gregory commanded, grinning broadly as the girl laughed helplessly beneath him.
"Never!" she protested, gasping between giggles.
They froze when they heard the armor slide open. Silently, the two stayed in their hidden spot and watched Sally and Tom stagger in.
"Sally, you're so beautiful," the head boy breathed, nuzzling Sally's neck.
"You're not so bad, yourself, lover," she purred, stroking the short hairs at the back of his neck.
Using his finger, he tilted her chin up and brushed his lips against hers… Once, twice, then a long, hard kiss that lasted for what seemed like, to Angelina, a sickening eternity.
The two moved closer to their favorite couch, punctuating every step with another kiss. They backed into the couch; Sally collapsed on the leather surface, pulling Tom down on top of her.
Tom's strong hands traced her curves as his lips moved down her face and down her neck… slowly gravitating towards her chest…
Angelina tried to close her eyes, tried not to watch but… but it was like staring at the ruins of Hiroshima after the bombing… Horrifying, terrifying, but still too enthralling a vision to ignore.
Sally moaned as Tom's lips paused at her cleavage, his tongue stroking the depths of that crevice, leaving no surface ignored. Her head lolled to the side as her breath quickened. Her eyes opened halfway, glazed with passion, and staring right in the direction of Gregory and Angelina's table…
"Freak!" Sally shrieked, pushing Tom off of her.
The head boy fell to the floor as his paramour sat straight up.
"What the Hell?" Tom demanded, pushing himself off the floor. He got back to his feet and gave Sally a glare that commanded explanation.
"That!" Sally howled, pointing at the table.
Tom's gaze shifted to the area that she pointed and found the two first years, hiding under the table. Gregory was still covering Angelina with his body. Both of them peered up at the Head Boy with guilty expressions.
"What are… what did… God damn it!" Tom shouted.
"We weren't doing anything," Angelina snapped, shoving Gregory off of her. "You two, however, should have kicked Hagrid out of his hut for some alone time or something," she sneered, looking at Sally with utter contempt.
"You sniveling little brat!" Sally snarled. "You waited up all night just so you could spy on us, didn't you? Pathetic little maggot!"
"Sally!" Tom barked.
"You! Look at you! You…" Words in English failed her, but the idea had to come out… "Die Hure!"
"That's enough!" Tom bellowed.
"No, it's not!" his offended girlfriend burst out. "That little brat has been endlessly following you around all year, always underfoot, lurking around every corner! I've had it!"
"So have I!" Angelina countered. She pointed her wand and pronounced with chilling precision, "Petrificus totalus!"
"Angelina!" Tom reprimanded. Although he spoke with anger, his eyes reflected admiration.
"I'm not going to stand here and let that thing insult me! Do you think my father would allow me to behave that way? No! He'd kill me himself, before he allowed any daughter of his to be abused by trash like that!" Angelina shifted her gaze to the stiff and blinking Sally. "I might be an easy target for you to pick at, but remember where I come from. I am the daughter of Helmut Grindelwald. Don't you think that the Dark Lord himself would have taught me how to handle things like you?"
Sally blinked in response.
"Don't underestimate me again." Angelina dusted her robes off and flounced off for the dormitories.
* * *
December 1946
"Angelina!" Tom shouted, catching a glimpse of the child rounding a corner.
She paused and turned back, waiting for him to catch up with her. "What do you want?" she demanded coldly.
"About what you saw last night…"
The girl cut him off. "I know what I saw last night. I saw why you date her."
"What about you and Gregory?" he countered. "He was all over you."
"Gregory is my friend. No more."
"That's not what it looked like" was Tom's dour response.
"I don't care what it looked like. I didn't insult you for your behavior. Your girlfriend did enough insulting for all of us." Angelina turned to walk away when she felt rough hands grab her shoulders.
"Don't walk away from me," he commanded.
She stared up in his green eyes, burning with fury and felt the heat slowly creeping up her spine, up the back of her neck, flooding her face. The witch slowly lifted her tiny foot as if to shift her weight and brought her heel down on his foot, hard.
His jaw dropped, stunned by the painful blow that the child had delivered.
Angelina took advantage of the moment and flung his hands off of her. "Don't touch me. Don't ever raise another hand against me." The girl stormed off before Tom could even recover enough for a response.
I just realized that I haven't credited my titles… Gotta stick with my habit of filching from the classics. J
Heart of Darkness: Joseph Conrad
Beyond the Pale: Just a good ol' fashioned colloquialism. This one actually isn't filched that I know of.
A Tell-Tale Heart: Edgar Allan Poe, of course.
Romance in the Grand Manor: It's the title of a classical piece by PDQ Bach. (I seriously recommend his stuff… it's fun classical stuff, light hearted and energetic, for the most part. Check out March of the Cute Little Wood Sprites and Grand Serenade for a Whole Lot of Winds and Percussion.)
Tempesta, my love of all loves, thanks so very much for being my beta and the nitpicky little snot that you are. I love you, darlin'.
W&M_law, it's only beginning.
Princess Luna: Thanks so very much. J
Tessie: A pleasure, hon, since you and Amy are the ones that got me writing again.
Rushumble: She's behind bars at the moment. That can mess with someone's head a bit…
Morrighan: *I'm the dolt. The date thing was a typo that I never even caught until you mentioned it. You can review me anywhere you want. J And thank you.
Everyone else: I'm begging, here… Please don't shatter my ego by neglecting to review… Fanfic authors crave it to validate our existence. ;-)
Review? Please?