This piece was written for the Dark Lords Poison's Halloween Fest. All canon characters, plots, dialogue, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work. Thank you to Pamela RR for their work on this piece.
The sound of approaching feet prompted Hermione to swiftly sneak out of the large empty room. The beat of her heart against her chest caused her pause, but only for a brief moment. She needed to move and quickly. Calming her fear to the best of her ability, she looked down the corridor hoping to find a hiding spot until whomever it was left the area. She didn't want to be caught. Luckily, she was able to complete her mission. Unluckily, her Polyjuice potion only lasted an hour. Making sure her masquerade mask was in place, she quickly made her way down the corridor. She was grateful for the silencing charm on her heels as she stealthily made her way into another room. The room was dark, with the only light coming from the glow of the fire that comfortably warmed the area. She slid to the floor needing a minute to relax before heading back to the main entrance. Removing her mask and lowering her head she snickered at herself, cursing the pile of light blue taffeta from her dress that gathered on her lap like a fluffy cloud. Not only was she sneaking about the Riddle House tonight, but she also did so while dressed as a bloody princess, a costume she would never have chosen on her own. "Happy Halloween, indeed," she said to herself, pulling down her mask and standing on her feet.
Voldemort curiously watched from the shadows as the intruder invaded his private room. He could taste the smell of her scent in the air when she entered the room. Her scent was very much female. The mixture of night jasmine, musk, and excitement made him smile. He watched from his spot while the young woman tried catching her breath and oddly laughing at herself as she pressed down the shimmering material of her costume. The sound of her snicker made his stomach roll. Perhaps the feeling was brought on by the holiday spirit or the handfuls of sweets and red wine he'd been consuming while avoiding the grotesque Halloween ball downstairs. Voldemort mimicked the young woman from only moments ago. His eyes looking down at the costume chosen for him. He'll be damned if he walked around dressed in a ruffled white shirt and red velvet coat. "Prince charming, indeed," he silently sneered. The sounds of the woman moving got his attention as she stood on her feet and placed her hand on the doorknob.
"Leaving so soon...your highness."
"Son of a bitch," Hermione shouted before turning towards the voice with her wand stretched in front of her. The masked man raised his hands showing he was unarmed. Hermione hastily lowered her wand. "Please, do forgive me. I thought I was alone."
"No harm has been done," Voldemort replied with a hidden smile.
"Well, yes. I think I'll be going now. Excuse me," said Hermione, turning her back and reaching for the door. As she pushed down the handle and pulled, the door refused to open. After two failed Alohomoras the door continued to stay locked. Hermione turned around and faced the man behind her. "If you could please let me out, I would be most appreciative. I really must be going." Voldemort could hear the tension in her voice. Her panic caused him to get excited and so he continued.
"Join me," he said, motioning his hand towards a small round table between two chairs. Hermione's eyes followed his gesture to the table, covered with a small spread of sweets, fruit, and wine.
"I really must-"
"It was a demand, not a question." Hermione swallowed and followed the man to the chairs by the fire. She knew he was staring at her, but she made sure to keep her head slightly down, not wanting to meet the stranger's eyes. The man uncorked a bottle of wine, pouring the deep red liquid into two glasses before handing her a glass. Hermione accepted with a slight nod of her head. "I know the reveal is not until midnight, but I think this can be an exception." With that, Voldemort removed his mask, and the sound of shattering glass echoed through the room when the cool glass slipped through her fingers.
"Must you be so dramatic?" Hermione forcefully pulled the mask off her face meeting the eyes of her husband.
"Dramatic? Now that's calling the cauldron black. Shall I simply place it on the table going forward?"
"No...it wouldn't be the same."
"Then why do you complain?"
"I love watching you get irritated. It always tints your cheeks the perfect shade of pink," smirked Voldemort. His serpentine face displayed pure delectable sin then morphing to confusion. "I also don't recall you shouting son of bitch."
"Well, apparently I'm dramatic, so I guess it was fitting," she replied with a smile and shrug of her shoulders. The movement caused Voldemort to laugh as he watched Hermione's puffed sleeves bounce from the motion. "What?"
"You look ridiculous and absolutely lovely at the same time." Hermione stood from her chair and sat on her husband's lap, straddling his tights. Taking the glass from his hand, she sipped, keeping her eyes on his.
"Why didn't you kill me that night?"
"You ask the same question every year."
"Then perhaps this year, you'll reveal the truth," retorted Hermione.
Voldemort pushed a chocolate strand of hair behind his wife's ear. He supposes that on one of these Halloween nights he will confide in her. Tell her how their conversation over glasses of red wine and sweets had ignited something within him that he repressed for years. Her bravery, confidence, intelligence, and in all honesty her beauty overwhelmed him terribly. And the thought of killing the woman and never experiencing that feeling again would have eaten away at the small piece of soul that lived within him still. In their twelve years together she had stood by him in his victories and his dominance over the Wizarding World. She had given him advice, saved numerous people - which he despised, but accepted and given him immortality stronger than any Horcrux. His children.
"Inebriation."
Hermione smiled and shook her head in response before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. She knew her husband was a complete and utter liar. But the night was still young and the bottle of red was half full.