1973

"She won't wake."

He asks about the woman they had tortured, had broken, had destroyed so completely, so fully, so painfully. And yet, had managed to survive. Had managed to keep breathing through broken bones and shredded skin after they dumped her in a lonely alley. She had been as good as dead, after all. The followers had seen no reason to kill her completely, almost found joy in knowing she would suffer a bit longer before finally falling into the warm embrace of death. Perhaps they found joy in seeing someone else be hurt, at inflicting the same pain that had fallen on them so many times before. But it matters not, for the pain will soon reach them again. Because she lived. For hours or days they are not sure, but a follower working at St. Mungo's reported her being brought in. He had done all he could to be assigned to her case, to make sure she would not live a moment longer, but St. Mungo's had just hired a herd of new, young, hopeful healers, desperate for something exciting, desperate to prove themselves, desperate to save every filthy life that came through the door. But, alive though she may be, she will not wake. She will never wake. And they have nothing to fear. She had been strong enough to live, but that's as far as her will and her body could take her. She will not wake and she will not speak, she can never condemn. Though, who would ever stand with her against the purebloods? The purebloods who so fully control every aspect of the wizarding world, who could end careers and lives and go home to their families at the end of the day, just like any other day?

And, somehow, this thought brings him back to Hermione. To seeing her on the ground, bleeding, and crying such angry, desperate tears. Cradling her stomach, and hoarse sobs surfacing and ripping through her body even as she keeps launching curses, keeps trying so miserably to protect herself, her baby, her life, this careful life so lovingly perfected.

The meeting today is in Alphard's house. Officially because no one else was available and their previous meeting place was destroyed to cover their tracks after one of the prisoners managed to escape. But in reality, no one could hope to guess their lord's motivations for anything.

Hermione is resting somewhere upstairs. Tom tries not to picture it, tries not to run up to her, to see her again after so long, to take her in his arms, to steal her away.

Instead, he nods at Alphard and asks after her well-being lightly. It's framed as a statement, but he's sure Alphard can hear the question in his voice, and, as much as he hates it, perhaps he can hear the concern, the worry, the desperation. Alphard does not comment on any of it and shields his thoughts well, Hermione and he must practice together. Alphard only nods, though Tom feels the anger radiating off him. Maybe because Tom had the audacity to ask about her at all, or maybe because he's done it for himself. Not because he wants to know she's okay, though he surely does, surely does miss her still, but because he wants to know if they're okay. If their relationship survived this, if they're still going strong, if he can steal her away yet. It is not for Alphard, not for Hermione, certainly not for the family they are trying to, hoping to, build. But for him. For what he envisions for his life, for his world, for his family, if he's even bold enough to call it that. If he's bold enough to call whatever relationship he can hope to have with Hermione anything at all, after everything he's done.

Tom asks about children, and Alphard's heart stutters as his burning anger meets the hard shards of ice that make up his mourning and he's left melting in the center.

He smiles tightly, "We're trying again."

And a kind of lightness reaches his eyes, even through his obvious discomfort, obvious sadness and pain, the thought of Hermione, of her light laughs and lighter touches, her warm skin and hot breath, her smooth hands and satin legs. Alphard's smile loosens, just a bit, becomes almost real.

A sudden heat comes over Tom's cheeks. He's not sure if from anger or jealousy or if. If from memories. From remembering muddy kisses and frozen noses. Chapped lips and hushed words in a forest on a day that feels so very far away.

This burning blush takes him over at the thought of a life that was never his, of one he wanted so badly, that he tasted so fleetingly. And a brilliant smile overtakes Alphard thinking of the woman he loves, the life he would have wished, and everything he was given instead. At the thought of the brilliant woman he loves and that loves him. At the life he's building, at the future he longs for and that gets closer and closer every day.

Tom stares at him, his thoughts and his magic barely restrained, moving in a great whirlwind. Every moment he considers leaving everything, abandoning his plan to only end Alphard here and now, find Hermione and take her away. Abandon everything he has worked for so that Alphard could never have claim over such joy, over his Hermione.

But, Cygnus arrives and the moment is broken. Tom is powerful and will only continue to grow more powerful still. His plan is steady and he can wait. He can have it all. He will.

Keeping his head bowed for a moment, "Apologies for my tardiness. Last minute preparations for my daughter's wedding."

Tom says nothing, still bringing himself back, still reeling and trying to recenter himself and his ambitions, so Cygnus continues, albeit a bit more nervously than before, "My wife just refused to let me leave, and my Narcissa was getting desperate."

A moment of hesitation, a slight bow, and, "Apologies again, my lord."

"Did you bring Bellatrix?"

Cygnus straightens quickly and beckons his dark-haired daughter over, who beams at Tom.

She curtsies neatly, her eyes shining brightly, "My lord, it's been too long."

Tom nods stiffly and Bellatrix takes this as invitation enough to bound over to his side, clinging to his arm.

Tom wants to throw her off, and even Alphard seems amused. But Cygnus is still powerful, still influential, and he can't do that to his daughter, at least, not in front of him. And if Cygnus thinks his daughter isn't exercising proper decorum, he does not say it, and makes no move to stop her.

Bellatrix hits Tom with a flurry of questions, hanging on to his every word and never releasing her hold on him.

More of his followers arrive and Tom is finally given the chance to escape her hold as they begin discussing the Ministry of Magic. What positions of power they have gained, who must absolutely be removed, and all the other progress they have made to topple the institution, to finally take it over and make such an important step towards achieving everything. Towards becoming the ruler of all, towards finding immortality, to finally mean something in this world, to be more than his mother, his wretched father, than all those who belittled him, who—

Cutting through all their discussions, all his intense concentration, a groggy voice rings out loud and clear, as if it were booming through the room and right into his chest. His breath stops. He thought he had imagined the sound of a door opening, hardly paid it any mind in the middle of everything, but this is her. Her voice.

"Alphard?"

And if he just looks up—

Yes, there she is. For the first time in so long. After so many lives have been lost, after so many futures and possibilities have died and so much has gone.

Her soft footsteps shuffle forward and suddenly she's in the light and everything arounds looks so much softer with her here. The cold, dark stone walls suddenly not so menacing and cruel, but a place where she might sit to read when it's too cold outside, a cup of warm tea at her side, and a warm sweater wrapped around her.

He's suddenly ashamed of how he looks. He knows his pale skin must be sickly now, his dark eyes slowly lightening into a shade of red, his hair losing its sheen, dark circles under his eyes, his skin sagging from lack of food and sleep and far too much darkness everywhere. Especially within.

But she doesn't spare him a second glance. Her eyes flit over him and his followers as if they were nothing more than décor as she searches for her husband.

Once her eyes land on him, she smiles warmly and immediately transforms into the bustling wife of a powerful pureblood.

"Can I get you anything?"

She offers them tea, biscuits, perhaps a meal after their meeting if they're feeling particularly peckish.

Tom feels lightheaded, he's not sure if he's taken a breath since she came in. He knows that as soon as she looks at him, as soon as their eyes meet and he can see those most precious gems in her halo of light, of clouds, of love and warmth, all the breath he will ever need will come to him, immortality itself will be reached if she just turns her head, looks at him. He will live forever.

But she never meets his eyes. She gathers drink orders and the men joke with her and she smiles warmly at them all. But she never speaks to him. She grants Alphard a small kiss on the cheek and they hold each other's gaze for too long, exchange all the words they cannot say through their eyes. Alphard wraps his arm around her loosely, kisses her on the forehead.

Tom needs to sit down.

She steps out of the room again and Tom's mind rushes back to him. He feels so tired. All there is is Alphard and Hermione playing in his mind, over and over again. Their touches, their kisses, their wedding, their love, their home. All the world she shares with Alphard instead of him. He feels sick, his stomach twisting and a dull headache building in him, feeling things he thought were long lost to him, his chest feeling hot and full. He feels sick and tired and it's not fair. This should have been his life. Why did she pick him. He shouldn't have to feel like this and maybe, just maybe, he can give it to Alphard instead. He can make him sick instead. It's true he's tried before and it's never worked, but what more does he have to lose. Just for now, for a bit, he can do both. He can have Hermione and the world, but, and he fears even thinking it, but the latter means nothing without her. He can do both, even if it will take a bit more work, a bit more time. He doesn't even want to think it but maybe he loves her, maybe he cares more about her than anything else in the world. He banishes that idea from his mind, for what is his life if he's wasted it like this, wasted it without her. And maybe this isn't the kind of care she wants, the kind of love she deserves, but it's all he can give her, all he has, and he's going to do whatever he needs to to make her know it.