Chapter Two: Dreams
Her lips connected with his in a passionate kiss, his arms locked around her trim waist, her hands in his messy brown hair. He tasted like chocolate with a hint of mint – sort of like the after-dinner mints in those fancy hotels. He kissed right down her neck, to her sweet spot, sucking and nipping. His mouth returned to hers, swallowing her gasp. She unbuttoned his shirt, her hands revelling in his muscular splendour. Her hands played patterns on his chest and Harry picked her up, carrying her to the bed. She gazed into his emerald eyes before returning to those passionate kisses.
The door slammed open with a bang and a flash of blue and gold light. A tall, bald man with red eyes, cattish pupils, snake-like nostrils and too pale skin stood in the door, shrouded in a dark cloak and black mist.
He stepped forward, putting one foot into the room and raised his left arm, which held a wand, and pointed it at Harry.
"She's mine!" He yelled furiously, blasting away the end of the bed. Harry froze, his body falling away into ashes.
Hermione screamed without waking up, turning fitfully until she settled, engulfed in another dream…
The sky flashed with brilliant colours. She leaned back against a strong chest; glad to be watching this sunset with the one she loved. She smiled shyly up at him.
He had neat brown hair and brilliant blue eyes that gazed into hers lovingly.
"I love you, Tom." She whispered.
"I love you too, Mya. I would burn the world and die a thousand painful deaths, rather than see a single tear on your cheek."
"Oh Tom… you couldn't do that! Where would all the witches, wizards and Muggles live?"
His face hardened. "The Muggles can go to Hell for all I care!" He pushed her off him and stomped away.
Hermione muttered in her slumber, turning to find a more comfortable position. She tossed and turned through four days worth of dreams, each containing either Voldemort or Harry. Sometimes Voldemort was bald, with red eyes and snake nostrils, but more often he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the neat-haired brunette with icy eyes who hated Muggles. Sometimes it was her and Harry, watching the sea, or the sky, or talking, or at Hogwarts, or kissing. Sometimes, Voldemort or Tom barged in, killing Harry and claiming Hermione to be his, and his alone. Sometimes it was her and Voldemort or Tom, and Harry would barge in. Upon seeing them, his face would crumple. "How could you?" He'd ask. Sometimes he'd run away, or occasionally, he would kill all of them. First it was Tom, or Voldemort, then Hermione, then himself. From time to time, when he ran away, Hermione would push Tom away and cry, or chase after him. But, two or three times, Hermione gave Harry a look that plainly told him she didn't care. "What, did you expect me to choose you over him!" She'd exclaim.
Hermione sat bolt upright in bed. "No!" She shouted. "Never, I won't, they can't, I didn't, they shouldn't, I refuse, it won't happen!" Hermione kept on, until she ran out of breath.
"Honey?" A voice asked softly. She turned slowly towards it. "Honey, are you alright?" Next to her bed sat the monster from her dreams. He had no hair, red eyes, snake-like nostrils and skin far to pale.
Hermione screamed. She kept on screaming, and screaming until she could scream no longer. She started to sob, crawling away from her nightmare come true. She spotted a blonde man with cold grey eyes and headed for him, stumbling out of her bed and running into his arms.
She turned her face up to him. "Please, please, make it go away, don't let it hurt me…" She sobbed, burying her face into his chest.
Voldemort's face hardened from behind the sobbing girl's back. "Honey, look at me. Please look at me?" Lucius turned her to face him. Voldemort, who had just muttered three words he never thought he'd ever say, pulled off his face, leaving behind the Tom Marvolo Riddle he would've grown up to be if he hadn't taken the steps to become a monster. The trademark Voldemort face peeled away like a mask, and Hermione's eyes widened.
He was a head taller than her, slender, with reasonable muscles and soft, wavy brown hair. His eyes were icy blue, and sparkled as they looked upon her. He appeared to be no more than twenty and as he stepped forward, he took Hermione's hands in his own, smiling as her sobs subsided.
"Wh-who are you people?" She whispered.
Lucius stepped out of the room, tactfully closing the door behind him. The click of the door made Hermione whip her head around to see what it was, but Tom tugged on her hands, pulling her to her bed, where they sat side by side.
"Who are you?" Hermione repeated.
"It's sort of a long story. But, here we go…
"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, but to my closer friends and followers, I am known as Lord Voldemort. I was born the bastard child of a witch and a Muggle, who abandoned my mother as soon as he realised what she was. The day I was born, my mother haemorrhaged, discharging so much blood, that by the time the doctor realised, it was too late. My mother named me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Tom Riddle, after my father, and Marvolo, after my grandfather. She died soon after.
"I was sent to a Muggle Orphanage, and when I was eleven I received my letter to Hogwarts, and there I was! But as I grew older, I started to understand that there are greater things to want and need. All I had ever wanted was someone who loved me for me, and the Head Boy position. When my best friend died, I realised that I did not want the same fate. I set about becoming Immortal. But, to do so, I had to murder someone. Whether by my hand or one I command, it had to happen. So, by the time I had the courage… the nerve to do so, I was in my fifth year. The girl, Myrtle, she was called, died when my pet basilisk looked into her eyes.
"I graduated from Hogwarts and became a notorious Dark Lord, He-who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, The Dark Lord, and, to a very small few who were brave enough – or foolish enough – to call me Lord Voldemort. Even my followers, Death Eaters, called me 'My Lord' and 'The Dark Lord'. I tortured many, murdered more, and kept few hostages.
"But that is all you need to know of my past. I wish to talk of the future. Our future, Hermione. I am the Dark Lord… and all I need is a Dark Lady… you, Hermione."
"Me?" Hermione inquired. "Why me?"
"You are the descendant of Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time. You are beautiful, enchanting, intelligent and you are best suited to the job."
Hermione blushed. "I know this sounds crazy, but, although I remember Hogwarts, and learning… I don't remember my friends, my family… my appearance… even whether I have a boyfriend or not!"
"I can answer that, Hermione. You are a Gryffindor, but you're friends with Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zambini, and all of their crowd. Your family died when you were young, you have pretty much always lived with the Parkinson's. If you look in the mirror in that corner you will see your reflection, and you do… I'm hurt you don't remember me."
"You… Us?"
"Yes, Hermione! Of course! Yet another reason that I want you to be my queen."
A stricken look crossed her face. "But – have we ever… well… you know…"
"What? Oh, no. Never. You wanted to wait for the wedding."
"Have you proposed?"
"You wanted to wait until you graduated before we went that far…" He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away.
"I'm sorry, Tom." She placed her hand on his arm. "But, if you don't mind… I want to get to know me before I get to know you… before we start where we left off. Please?"
"Only for you, Mya." His eyes gazed into hers lovingly.
"Thank you."
He stood up, and after one longing look, turned and left the room.