AN: There is a pinterest board for this story, and I've added pictures of the Cast as well as a few other references from this and previous chapters. Enjoy!
www .pinterest avajunewrites/the-pendulum-of-the-mind/
Tom arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron at exactly quarter to seven to escort Hermione Mortenson to dinner. He had spent much of the day working on an acquisition for Borgin and Burke with the younger son of the Selwyn House but he had found that his will and intellect weren't really turned to the task. Instead, his mind wondered constantly to the little treasure waiting for him in an old pub in Diagon Alley and just how that girl would handle breaking bread with his followers.
He imagined tonight would be fascinating in any number of ways.
Hermione had made it perfectly clear that she expected protection as a contingent of their upcoming bonding, but Tom had mused with not a small amount of delight that until they were bonded, no such vow was in place. Of course, he would not let any serious harm come to her; it would not do to let anyone damage or truly upset something of his own. However, the girl wanted to play with the big boys and while most people, in general, were of questionable intelligence, he had more than one follower who was rarely matched in wit and cunning.
He also had followers who could barely put on their trousers but it wasn't those whose interaction with his Gaza he wished to observe.
Hermione emerged from the front door and glanced around before her eyes fell on him. She was dressed impeccably in silk fitted witch's robes the color of pomegranate and slightly less sensible heels than anything he had seen her in previously. The scoop neckline revealed just enough cleavage to be enticing without crossing over into vulgarity and with sleeves that extended only to her elbow, her rune carvings were on full display. She pulled on a cloak to shield her from the chill in the October air and hurried over to him.
As usual, Tom brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles, lingering perhaps a bit longer than necessary this time, and he watched with satisfaction as she blushed.
"Hello Ms. Mortenson," Tom greeted her as he straightened. "You look exquisite this evening."
The color on the girl's cheeks deepened and he bit back a smirk. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle."
"Please," he told her coolly as he brushed back a stray curl that had escaped from the braided up-do atop her head. "Call me Tom. We are, after all, soon to be wed."
Hermione paled ever so slightly and he had to bite back a laugh.
She nibbled her lip as she looked up at him through her lashes. "Then you should stop calling me Miss Mortenson as well, should you not?"
"You never asked," he pointed out.
She took a quick deep breath and glanced around before meeting his eyes once more. "I'm asking now."
"Noted," Tom conceded easily with a cold smile. "On the subject of our bonding, however, I have something for you."
Tom reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out the long box holding his selection from the shops which he had acquired earlier today. He did not hand it to Hermione but rather flicked the lid open and held the piece out for her to study as her eyes widened and her mouth fell agape.
"Oh Tom, I don't think-" Hermione protested as she took a small involuntary step back, much to his amusement. "Why would you buy me jewelry? This is far too much."
Tom chuckled as he removed the necklace from the box and yanked her arm to bring her back in front of him. On a rose gold chain that he suspected would lay nestled between her breasts was a 15 carat, twisted briolette cut natural emerald. He didn't ask for permission as he steered her to face away from him and he placed the necklace around her creamy neck.
"Hush, Gaza," he said, speaking over the sound of her protests as he fastened the chain. "It is entirely customary for your fiancé-" Tom paused, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the word, but continued, "-to present you with an engagement present. Furthermore, I tend to brand my things as my own and I suspect you would object to wearing my mark on your skin."
He turned her around to face him and watched as she gaped at him, mouth moving with no sound coming out as her mind fought to break through her surprise and if he wasn't mistaking the look in her eyes, her panic.
"Of course, if you'd prefer, I'd be happy to return the necklace and give you the dark mark just like all the rest of my 'lackeys' will one day wear."
Hermione clutched at the emerald and shook her head, finally finding her voice. "I am not a thing and I am certainly not a lackey. I don't 'belong' to anyone."
"Of course," Tom answered smoothly, albeit ambiguously. "So then, the necklace or the mark?"
He fought back a smile as he watched her lift her foot as if she was going to stomp it and instead take a few deep breaths, setting her foot back down deliberately.
"Fine, Tom," she said through gritted teeth. "I will wear the necklace. But I will not concede that it means what you seem to think it does. It's an engagement gift, not a- Not some sort of collar."
Tom shrugged and extended an arm. "You are free to think whatever you wish in that pretty little head of yours," he acceded. "Now come along. We're already a bit late and I'd rather not keep everyone waiting much longer."
He watched her bristle at his refusal to acknowledge her little rebellion and stare at him with fiery denial even as she took his arm. That, of course, suited him fine. If you allowed people their notions and they still did exactly what you desired, what mattered it what they told themselves so they could fall asleep at night? He did not bother to hide his smirk as he pulled her side-along on to dinner.
They landed just inside the gates of a property holding extensive gardens, orchards, and a large manor house. Hermione, Tom noted, was paying little attention to her surroundings as she fingered his gift and eyed it as if it might bite her.
"It's not cursed," he told her with a bit of annoyance.
"I know that," she murmured absentmindedly. "I'm just wondering how you could afford this."
Hermione's eyes widened and she paled as she seemed to realize what she had just said aloud, but Tom could not stop the laugh at her mortified and slightly nervous expression. He supposed another man might be sensitive about a perceived insult to his Gringotts vault, but Tom had never been very concerned with money except as how it related to power. It was a plebeian concern, and he was above it.
He could, however, understand her immediate concern at offending him. It tended to be a mistake with nasty consequences.
"As amusing as your discomfort is, allow me to soothe your concerns," he said. "Why would I ever worry about wealth? I own a Nott, a Malfoy, and two Blacks, among other men. Everything that they are and that they have has been given to me freely, galleons included."
Hermione groaned as they walked up the front steps arm in arm and approached the large double doors. "You can't own PEOPLE, Tom," she protested.
Tom put a hand on the door and studied her for a moment before he pushed it open and ushered her in with a hand on the small of her back.
"I do believe, Gaza, that you will find that I absolutely can."
A gnarled house elf waited to take their cloaks and usher them into a parlor where it seemed that all his followers were milling about. His people were well aware he despised to be kept waiting and therefore always tried to gather early. Arriving after Tom was tempting fate and a mistake one was not likely to make twice.
The master of the house approached them as the room quieted down, slight bows and murmurs of 'my Lord' rising from the couches and where a group stood by the fireplace.
"Good evening, my Lord," Livius Nott greeted him with a bow of his own. Livius glanced at the woman standing at Tom's side but said nothing, looking towards Tom for direction on how to proceed. Instead of speaking, Tom simply indicated the love seat with a raised eyebrow and Livius obediently retreated and sat down.
Reaching over, Tom rested his hand on the small of Hermione's back once more as he pulled her further into his side. "Gentleman," he began evenly, as utter silence descended on the room at the sound of his voice, "And Ladies, it is my duty to introduce you to a new face in our midst. This is Hermione Mortenson, of the Danish Mortensons."
He glanced over at the woman at his side to gauge her reaction to being under the scrutiny of his lovely band of killers only to see her face set in a bland, aristocratic expression. 'Good girl,' he thought with the tiniest bit of fondness.
"Hermione is to be an unmatchable asset to our cause-" Tom bit back a smile as she stiffened under his hand and her eyes widened ever so slightly "-for her knowledge and insight is unparalleled. Our Ms. Mortenson is a seer."
His Death Eaters, the ones in his innermost circle at least, were outwardly stoic men, to a one. The only other people here, their wives, were by necessity blessed with the ability to adapt the same cold demeanor as their partners. But Tom watched carefully for reactions among his followers as a few hands spasmed almost imperceptibly, eyes widened, and mouths twitched up slightly at the implications.
Hermione sucked in a short gasp of air, but to her credit, remained silent.
"This information is completely confidential. It is my desire that no one but those in this room be made aware of her gifts." Tom smiled coldly at his Death Eaters and noticed a few were unable to repress their shiver. "You will all take an unbreakable vow before you leave here tonight to guard this information, on pain of death. And I assure you, I do mean pain of death, but you are all viscerally aware of that already. I'm sure you hardly need reminders?"
"No, my Lord," Livius answered for them as the de-facto mouthpiece for the Death Eaters. "We understand."
As Tom's second, if it could be said that he had such a thing, Livius often spoke for the group and managed them in such a way that individual members could avoid Tom's aggravation over trivial matters. It was an arrangement that suited everyone, including the Dark Lord himself, who found most of his followers only slightly less annoying than the average person. A necessity, followers were, but a tedious one.
"Excellent," Tom agreed smoothly, turning Hermione and steering her towards the dining hall. "Meeting adjourned until after dinner."
His followers rose to follow in his wake and he paused, turning ever so slightly to look over his shoulder.
"I almost forgot," he said softly, watching every eye fix to him once more.
"In two days' time, Ms. Mortenson will become Mrs. Hermione Riddle."
There was no mistaking the stutter that ran through the group as shock cascaded in a beautiful symphony along the faces of those he kept closest to him. Tom did so love to shock the masses, even if it was only his inner circle this particular time.
"She'll be selecting a bonder from amongst you tonight, so keep that in mind if you yearn for the honor of participating in the marriage of your Lord."
Turning away he resumed walking towards the dining hall and returned his attention to the woman at his side. He noticed Hermione was biting back grimace and he quirked an eyebrow at the expression on the witch's face.
"Is something wrong, Hermione?" Tom murmured softly so only she could hear.
She grit her teeth then and leaned in so that her breath caressed his ear as she answered. "That's the same, you know. The way you are so very theatrical. You have always loved to watch people squirm."
Tom licked his lips and smothered the smirk threatening to take over his face at her observation. "What, you thought it was all Crucios and evisceration? Of course I strive to be entertaining, even while I entertain myself at their expense. What sort of leader lacks charisma and fails to stimulate the minds of his devotees?"
He shrugged as they crossed the threshold into the room where a long table sat covered in china and fancy napkins in the shape of rosebuds. "Regardless, there are different rules of etiquette for meetings than there are for social occasions, such as dinner."
Tom pulled out the chair to the left of the head of the table and she sent him a quizzical look as she sat and allowed him to tuck her in. He shook his head and shot her a slow, lazy smirk, enjoying the way her cheeks tinted despite herself in response. He had always enjoyed the perks of being attractive, of course, but never quite so much as when this woman fawned over him when she tried so desperately hard not to.
"You'll see," he told her vaguely as he seated himself to her right at the top of the arrangement.
His followers found their normal seats, although everyone to his left was pushed down a spot. Livius settled himself across from Hermione and glanced at Tom for a flicker of a moment before turning his attention to the woman in front of him.
'Here we go,' Tom thought to himself with a smile he concealed behind a sip of the fire whiskey that had appeared in front of him.
"Please allow me to introduce myself, my Lady," Livius started, rising ever so slightly so he could brush his lips an inch above her knuckles. "I'm Livius Nott, and this my wife, Calliope."
He indicated the woman beside him who smiled tentatively at Hermione. When Hermione returned the expression warmly, Calliope's own smile relaxed.
"It's truly lovely to meet you both," she replied. Tom watched as Hermione turned to her left at the sound of an annoyed sigh with her eyes hard and a somewhat smug expression on her face that he had not had the pleasure of seeing before.
"You must be Abraxas Malfoy," she stated blandly with an almost sneer that had Tom struggling not to snort in amusement in a very un-lordly way.
No one sneered at Abraxas, although Tom supposed he would if he ever bothered to sneer. That was usually Malfoy's own signature look.
Abraxas raised a single aristocratic eyebrow and eyed her with lightly curbed derision. "I am Lord Malfoy, yes, and this is Lady Elspeth Malfoy. Forgive me, I've never heard of the Mortenson family, although I admit I've never paid much mind to Danish pedigrees. Should I know your family name, or are you perhaps some... obscure line, relegated to history in the modern world?"
Hermione's teeth flashed in a sharp smile as Elspeth sniffed a bit disdainfully and took a sip of her wine. Tom took another drink of his fire whiskey as his Death Eaters watched the verbal sparring match, undoubtedly sizing up his soon to be bondmate.
"You'll find, Abraxas," Hermione told him, pointedly ignoring his indication that she was not granted leave to use his first name casually, "I put little stock in most-what did you call them?- Oh, yes. 'Pedigrees.' I put even less stock in those that seem to believe they can skirt through life on the strength of that claim alone."
Abraxas smiled coldly. "Surely you understand the viewpoints of the group which you aspire to join and the importance we place on such."
"Aspire to join?" Hermione bit out a mirthless laugh and took a drink of the wine in front of her. She wrinkled her nose at her glass and deftly stole the fire whiskey from in front of Abraxas, leaving the man to raise both eyebrows as his mouth tightened. "I don't know if you heard, but I'm about to be bound to your Dark Lord entirely. Aeternum Adstringo, you know. No aspirations here, my new friend. I'm in."
Livius met Tom's eyes with a banked sort of amused incredulity and Tom nodded imperceptibly. As enjoyable as watching her spar with Abraxas was (and really, it was entertainment of the best sort,) it was time to move this little tete-a-tete along to include the rest of the table.
"So you're obviously familiar with our key politician," Livius interrupted before Malfoy could retort. "Allow me to introduce the rest of our esteemed colleagues."
He turned to point to the man sitting beside Calliope. "This is Radolphous Lestrange the third. He's a master of Runes and puzzles as well as a curse breaker at Gringotts. And next to him is his lovely wife, Angua."
Tom watched as Hermione's eyes shuddered and her hand convulsed slightly around her pilfered glass before she forced herself to relax and grant the couple a polite smile. "A prestigious career, indeed, Radalphous."
"Please," Radalphous demurred with a small upturn of his lips. "Call me Rad, everyone else does. And thank you, I am quite proud of my achievements both at Gringotts and in using my skills to further our aims, of course." The man inclined his head politely to Tom before turning his eyes back to Hermione. "Do you have an interest in curse breaking?"
An unfettered laugh rang from Hermione's throat before she answered with a small smile. "Goblins and I have historically had a bit of a conflict of interests. But I have always had a love of runes."
She held out her arm for Radolphous to study and Tom watched as at least 3 of the wives flinched backwards from the table. Any respectable pureblood woman would glamour away any scars that she had and would certainly not purposefully mar her own skin. The men, however, seemed torn between fascination and restrained arousal.
Tom's eyes narrowed momentarily, but he restrained himself from acting impulsively. It was true that his followers had a rarely replicated attraction to all things violent and bloody but no man at this table would cross him by touching a woman he claimed, even if she presented herself nude and begged to be taken. It went without saying that if he thought Hermione was a woman who would do so, he would not have claimed her in the first place. He suspected the time period she came from was more sexually liberated, but he also knew his Gaza was not one to give away her power easily. She also was far too intelligent not to understand that sex was power.
Radolphous reached a hand out and traced over the runes on her forearm without touching her skin, clearly intrigued by the pattern before he sat back in his chair and eyed her with new-found respect.
"A love of runes, indeed," he said with a raised glass.
Introductions were interrupted briefly as the house elves arrived with the soup. After everyone had settled and began eating, Livius turned to the next man in line and resumed.
"This is-"
"Antonin Dolohov," Hermione interrupted, eyes on her soup as she spooned a mouthful between her lips.
Antonin glanced at the woman in confusion then at Tom for some indication of how she knew him, but Tom was not watching his Death Eater. His eyes instead were fixed on the nervous flutter of his Gaza's eyelashes and the way her leg was bouncing under the table.
'I am painfully familiar with what your lackeys are capable of,' she had told him not a day ago. Judging by her current response, when she had referred to his lackeys, she certainly meant Dolohov.
Tom made the decision that he would explore that particular weakness later. There was no need to expose her in front of a pit of snakes and no matter how much he enjoyed watching her parry with his followers, he had no intention of leaving her truly vulnerable.
Tom met Livius' eye and made a gesture that indicated the man should move along.
Livius inclined his head and pointed to the last couple on his side of the table. "Down there we have Bastien Rosier and his wife, Jocelend. Bastien is the captain of the Aurors."
Jocelend smiled widely and gave a small wave towards Hermione at his introduction while Bastien simply nodded to her. Hermione smiled back and Jocelend leaned in front of her husband to speak, while the man eyed her with amused fondness.
"Miss Mortenson," Jocelend said with open earnestness, "do you need any help picking out things for the wedding? I hate to interrupt the get to know you portion of the evening, but I hope with a bonding in two days that you have everything ready."
Hermione choked on her soup and Tom snorted before he could help himself, ignoring the glare the girl shot him as he eyed her pleasantly and waited for her response.
"Um, Jocelend, was it? We aren't -and please, call me Hermione- We aren't having any sort of big ceremony. Just the two of us and the bonder, I believe."
Jocelend frowned but quickly recovered herself. "And your robes?"
Hermione stuttered and took a drink of her pilfered fire whiskey. "I hadn't actually-"
"Oh, DO let us help you, in that case," Jocelend insisted with an easy grin. "Myself and Calliope would love to, I'm sure, help you find something suitable. Any of the rest of you would be welcome, of course."
Her mouth tightened at the end and she didn't actually look around in invitation as Elspeth sniffed disdainfully once more and the Black wives exchanged a look that said in no uncertain terms they would not be attending that shopping trip.
Hermione smiled tightly. "Of course," she said through a slightly clenched jaw. "That would be lovely."
Livius broke the moment with a slight cough as he moved along the table. "Lastly on this side, is Thaddeus Mulciber. He's-" Nott paused, then continued on vaguely. "He works independently."
Mulciber looked up from his soup to Tom, clearly searching to see if he was required to respond in some fashion. When Tom simply looked back at him, Mulciber turned back to his soup without comment, and Livius opened his mouth to continue.
"Another face I know," Hermione interrupted, waving her hand down the table flippantly, "or family, more accurately."
Hermione glanced down to the seat past Elspeth. "You're a Black."
Orion smirked and tilted his head as if studying her. "I certainly am, my Lady. Orion Black, at your service. Pray tell, how do you know that?"
"Black hair and grey eyes," Hermione answered, smiling at the Eldest Black almost wistfully, "mischievousness practically pouring off of you and that strong jaw. You look just like him."
Orion smiled and leaned around the Malfoys. "Do you know one of my relatives?"
Hermione's eyes clouded over and she turned back to her now empty place setting, just as the elves emerged with the main course.
"In a manner of speaking," was all she said as she began to pick at her roast beef.
Orion's smile widened but his wife cut off whatever he intended to say next.
"The most Ancient and Noble House of Black has many branches, some more rotted than others," she intoned dismissively. "It is no surprise that this girl would have come across some distant, likely less savory, relation."
Hermione's eyes flashed with an unexpected rage and she turned on the woman who was eying her as if Hermione was something on the bottom of her expensive shoe. "Quite the opposite, Walburga. I was referring to the son you will bear who will resemble his father physically in many ways but resemble you in so very few."
A collective breath was sucked in around the table and Tom grit his teeth in annoyance as Hermione let her temper get the better of her. Another weakness that would need addressing, and one he did not need everyone at this table to learn too terribly well. Punishing those who displeased you was one thing, but allowing your mouth to run away with you was another thing entirely.
It was so painfully Gryffindor.
"He will not be unsavory at all," Hermione continued, "but rather noble and good and a great many things I suspect you will fail to comprehend entirely."
"No prophecy at the dinner table," Tom cut in dryly, eying Hermione with a warning inherent in his gaze. She opened her mouth to protest but as his eyes darkened further, closed it with an audible snap.
Future knowledge was to be used to further his ends, not to taunt his followers in an impulsive battle of wits. Not that he minded if his Gaza wanted to play with them; that was a perfectly acceptable pastime and she was, after all, to be second only to him. However, Hermione had revealed herself to be far too emotional of a being to be counted upon not to reveal herself if he allowed her to explore that route at the current moment.
The final Death Eaters at the table, Cygnus Black and Corvus Avery, could be introduced after the meal, Tom decided. After all, there was still an entire strategy meeting to attend to before the evening was over.
He glanced over at the girl as she ate her potatoes with an exactness born of a woman concealing a fury that roiled under the surface. He could see the control she exhibited in an attempt not to force his hand or undermine him in front of his followers and while he found that to be a sound decision, it was obvious that her restraint was not going to hold.
Tom sighed as he realized he'd have to find her an outlet for that pique before she made the poor and impulsive decision to vent her aggravation at him.
He would be thoroughly vexed if he was forced to damage his favorite jewel just when he was starting to truly enjoy her.