Tom glanced at Hermione as she anxiously awaited his verdict. He smiled slightly as he considered how her considerable brain was now his to harness, his to own, his to work with and through. And yet, despite all of the many bonuses to replacing inferi with golems, she was undoubtedly meeting her goals as well. The dead would not be disturbed and their remains would be respected, while sanctity of life for a broad group of people would be guaranteed.
Still his crown jewel, and the best acquisition Tom Riddle had ever made.
"Well played, Little Gaza," he murmured.
Hearing Tom's acquiescence to her arguments caused Hermione's face to split into a small and shaky grin. Of course, she was very pleased that he was willing to listen to some semblance of reason. If she could successfully sway him entirely towards golems instead of inferi, she could have already effected change in the running of his organization in a very real way.
Why then, she wondered, did her sweet success still leave her tongue just a little bitter?
Although, she already knew the answer to that question, didn't she? It was because regardless of whatever goals she was realizing during the course of this meeting, she was also fighting the very real craving to plant herself on the Dark Lord's lap and purr just to feel his fingers run along her spine.
She had threatened to gut him with her own entreaties but already his were accomplishing the opposite. This need was a compulsion, working on her every nerve to crave the touch of him. It was abhorrent, really, and she knew that logically speaking, this was manifesting because she had been too stubborn earlier to allow herself to soak in the contact he had offered. If only he weren't so infuriatingly pleased with himself when he offered such!
This was a problem, a disorder in her body, which he had created and he had looked positively smug about her need for him! He broke her and then he reveled in it and that made her mad enough to spit nails and curses until he bled all over his perfectly pressed slacks. Not that she would be capable of such, what with the devotion entreaty beating at her as well.
'Bleeding is not what would be best for him, after all,' she thought sourly.
When she had fled from the sight of Livius and Tom in her personal study, she had retreated to the bedchamber they shared to attempt to get a handle of the different emotions and compulsions the bond had created. Surely there had to be a way to lessen the effects of them? Her first thought was to utilize additional occlumency shields but that turned out to be no help and she wasn't entirely surprised. After all, Aeternum Adstringo worked on a soul level, not a mental one. But what, exactly, could one do to shield their very soul?
Nothing. The answer to that question was absolutely nothing, barring an additional and contradictory binding, and layering bonds like that came with unpredictable complications.
Livius cleared his throat and Hermione realized both she and Tom had been sitting silent for far too long in the middle of a business meeting. She blushed.
"So then," Hermione ventured, glancing back down at the parchment she held in hand. "The rest of this seems fairly sound theoretically, although I do believe relations with the giants will be a bit more difficult than securing the support of the vampires and werewolves."
Tom blinked, clearly forcing his mind back on task as he met her gaze. "Naturally," he agreed. "Vampires and Werewolves are half-humans and therefore seek many of the same rights and privileges all human beings hunger for. Giants, on the other hand, are nothing of the sort. None-the-less, they must be won."
Livius ran a hand through his hair. "Tom, who exactly do you intend on providing with the details of your recruiting pool for these armies?" He asked uneasily. "Some of your inner circle would be... displeased to see your criteria."
Tom grinned maliciously. "Oh? You do not suppose that Abraxas or Orion would be thrilled to welcome half-breeds into our ranks?"
Livius swallowed and averted his eyes. "No, my Lord. They would not."
"Clearly," Tom said with a smirk. "Allow me to enlighten you. The full scope of my plans is not for public consumption; in fact, not even to be revealed to my inner circle in its entirety. I am splitting them into teams to work on those things which will most assuredly suit their unique talents, as well as to remove them from any understanding of necessary stepping stones that they, as individuals, may find distasteful. I'd rather not have to deal with the inconvenience of murdering and replacing followers if they were to grow defiant because of ridiculous personal bias. The whole picture, as it were, will stay betwixt the three souls in this room."
"Now that I've secured my seer, we have a huge boon to remove previous obstacles and reasons to proceed more cautiously." Tom's eyes flitted to Hermione and he offered her a knickers-melting smile that she valiantly strove to ignore. "The time has come to begin in earnest, Livius. I expect each of my Death Eaters to rise to the occasion."
Livius bowed his head. "Of course, My Lord."
Tom flicked his fingers dismissively and whispered a charm under his breath that caused the parchment in both her and Livius's hands to flair momentarily as each of Tom's minions were listed. As he spoke, the papers changed to reflect his explanations and Hermione had to forcefully bite back the curiosity that demanded she find out immediately what, precisely, that handy bit of magic was.
"Moving forward, we will be focusing on three main objectives," Tom explained, staring intently at his audience. The look in his eyes, like that of a snake who was finally ready to devour a long-anticipated mouse, forced Hermione to repress a shiver. "Firstly, Malfoy and Rosier will continue with their work securing the ministry. Abraxas will remain as Ignatius Tuft's handler and Bastien will work to secure us more Aurors."
"The second grouping," he continued while Hermione watched her parchment change to reflect his words, "will consist of Avery and the Black brothers. They will be working towards securing Hogwarts and, in doing so, the minds of the upcoming youth. This will require a great deal of... charisma, as well as control of the board, which is why I am setting Orion and Cygnus to the task. Where those fail, fear may be required, which is why Corvus has been placed there."
Hermione opened her mouth to immediately protest Corvus Avery being allowed anywhere near her precious alma mater but Tom cut her off with a dark look that clearly demanded she not interrupt. She narrowed her eyes but decided to allow the subject to rest for the moment, if only to give herself time to shore up proper arguments as to why the man was not suited to the position. Grimly, she noted that 'because sadistic psychopaths should not be allowed to meddle in the affairs of children' was not a point Tom was likely to lend any credence.
"Lastly, Dolohov, Lestrange, and Mulciber will work to secure the aide of my coveted police forces," Tom said, taking a sip of his fire whiskey before continuing. "Antonin and Rad are the most, shall we say, 'open-minded' of my Death Eaters and Thad is unconcerned with the details of much of anything so long as there is an opportunity for him to get bloody. There is bound to be a few such instances when we reach out to minority groups."
Livius bit his lip and seemed to be considering the placements before he nodded and helped himself to a drink of his own glass. "Very well, Tom. I'll see it done."
"Yes, you will," Tom stated flatly, moving to stand as he vanished his fire whiskey. "I believe another dinner party is in order to assign roles in an official capacity, however, and touch base with all of my-" he paused, shooting Hermione a wicked smirk, '-lackeys, as my lovely wife refers to them."
Livius, she noted, seemed to be swallowing a smile as he looked at her from his place behind her husband's back and winked. "But My Lord, surely you haven't forgotten that we already have a gathering planned for next weekend?"
Hermione watched with interest as in a rare moment of unguarded emotion, Tom's eyes flashed with something similar to horror as his head rolled back on his shoulders and he groaned.
"What gathering?" she asked curiously.
Livius smiled. "Rabastan Lestrange is turning 8 years old, and Rad and Angua are having a birthday party."
Hermione was aware that her mouth was gaping open in a way that would likely have Elspeth and Walburga whispering about her 'atrocious manners' but she could not find it in her to care as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. They had arrived at Lestrange Manor and been led into a large ballroom by a fleet of house elves before walking in on a combination of chaotic childhood shenanigans and exasperated, restrained adulthood.
The ballroom itself was decked out entirely in garlands of fall leaves, pine cones, and apples, with weavings of sage and sandalwood forming the ropes on which they hung. On one side of the room sat tables covered in forest green table cloths with staghorn and candle centerpieces, bursting with pitchers of cider and butterbeer. There were serving plates full of honey cakes and lemon cream cookies for everyone to snack on. Hermione watched with barely concealed amusement as Druella Black (who she had failed to notice at the dinner was evidently heavily pregnant) attempted to hand a little girl with wild, black curls a cup of butterbeer only to have the child jump excitedly and spill the liquid down the woman's silk party robes. The woman shrieked and began to berate the little girl (which stalled Hermione's amusement entirely) before Cygnus Black swooped in from the side, scooping the small child under his arm while simultaneously spelling the mess away and sending her running off to the other children.
This brought Hermione's attention to the other side of the room where a number of little beings were roaming around a play area that had been set up on what looked to be a bed of conjured grass. The vast majority of the children were tiny, probably around 2 or 3, although the little girl who had spilled her drink looked to be slightly older and there were two older children (maybe 7 or 8 years of age) off a bit by themselves. All of them had ribbons attached to their wrists that streamed behind them when they walked (or toddled, as the case may be) and most of them were happily plucking candies from flowers that had been charmed to grow along the field. The older children, one of whom must have been Rabastan Lestrange, were bobbing for apples behind an age line in an oddly dignified fashion while Angua and Calliope looked on from a little bit away.
The men were seated primarily around two separate tables and ignoring the children entirely, although they did immediately rise and move towards herself and Tom as they entered the room. Tom led her in their direction with a hand at the small of her back that caused her spine to tingle and she couldn't help but drag her feet ever so slightly to get maximum contact, even if it was diminished through the fabric of her dress.
The past week and a half since the official meeting with Livius had been spent adjusting to living with the Dark Lord and while he turned out to be a surprisingly easy roommate, coming to terms with their entreaties and bonding was proving more difficult. Most mornings Tom was up before dawn, devoting some time to his morning ablutions before joining her for breakfast and tea (or coffee), prepared by Gilmy. They split the daily prophet and vaguely discussed current events before he left for either work at Borgin and Burke's or he retreated to his study to organize his plans further.
On the days he stayed home, Hermione, with his invitation, would join him in his study and research while he worked, occasionally answering questions regarding the future and allowing him to use her as a sounding board for his ideas. It surprised her, based on how dismissive he could be, that he would bother to ask her opinion about much of anything, but he did none-the-less and she craved the days she was able to utilize her vast intellect to hone his less distasteful plans. Since the main goal was currently the political coup on the ministry, Hermione found their immediate goals aligned and spent the majority of her time while he worked, whether in the house or out, working to compile information to aid them in securing positive relations with vampires, werewolves, and giants.
While she enjoyed her time, days where he worked outside the home had brought with them the knowledge of how long Hermione could function without Tom's presence before the need entreaty began to make her feel ill and she was less than pleased with the results. When he was home, they had become accustomed to holding hands or leaning against one another while settled on the couch so that the entreaty itself never really began to manifest symptoms, aside from her urge to be in constant contact, which she chose to ignore. When he left, however, she only had approximately 6 hours before a headache began as the first sign of an emerging issue. There were 10 hours before additional dizziness and weakness began, and 12 to 14 hours before unconsciousness threatened her.
After her first bout of need induced illness, Tom had charmed her emerald necklace to act as a locator and summoning object so he could apparate directly to her if she began to feel ill. While he could choose to ignore the summoning, all she needed to do was tap her wand on the emerald itself and say his name aloud, and regardless of knowing her location, the jewel and charm would call him to her. In addition, if she were to lose consciousness, the necklace would send a much stronger pulse outwards and alert him to her need immediately.
She hated it. It made her engagement present feel even more like a collar than he had already suggested it was and yet, there really was nothing for it. Her entreaty induced illness made it necessary and she supposed that she should be thankful he had taken steps to keep her from suffering. It had taken her two days to muster up the courage to thank him for at least attempting to fix his appalling mistake. In response, Tom had simply continued with his reading, casually dismissing her while murmuring about how he always took care of what was his, and she felt her gratitude wither in the face of his continued dismissal of her autonomy.
In good news, her rage and hurt at his attitude had caused her own empathy entreaty to spike and he had spent the next hour growling at her for the pain in his chest. That had been satisfying.
Nighttime was when she got the biggest dose of her 'medicine,' as he had called it, as she spent the entire night with Tom's body pressed against the length of hers. He had not left her at night again and while during the day he would occasionally behave ever so superior about the way she unconsciously moved to caress his body, at night he was asleep and silent and unaware and she could simply revel. It was glorious and made her feel dirtier than sin.
She was enthralled by the touch of Lord Voldemort. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
It just- it felt so good to touch him and be touched by him! It didn't even have to be sexual. In fact, despite Tom's obvious willingness to engage in those sorts of activities, Hermione had willfully denied any interest in such since that first night because the need for touch was bad enough without adding in lusting for the man. She could feel the walls already crumbling and while she knew and Tom knew it was simply a matter of time before she stopped fighting a losing battle, Hermione simply wasn't ready yet to give in to the way her body and soul craved his every hour of every day. When she did surrender, it would give him more power than anyone had ever possessed over her and he was quite possibly the person she should trust the least with it.
Worse was that thanks to the bond, her soul was crying out that she could and should trust him and that just made her feel all the more stubborn about the whole thing.
Radolphous moved in front of the rest of the men as they approached and offered a nod to Tom before reaching for Hermione's hand and kissing her knuckles lightly.
"My Lord, my Lady, welcome to my home and to my son's party," he greeted. "We are honored you could join us to celebrate Rabastan's birthday."
Tom grimaced beside her but Hermione smiled warmly, glancing over to where the children continued to play, oblivious to the power games that were beginning in the background.
"We are, of course, thrilled to be here," she told him, clasping his hand in her own before stepping back and linking her arm with Tom's. "Lord Riddle here was simply delighted at the idea of a party for a little one."
Most of the Death Eaters seemed to tense unconsciously, though she noted Livius coughed out a repressed laugh and Orion bit his lip to hold in a chuckle.
Tom looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Indeed," he stated coldly, shifting his gaze to Radolphous who was still standing in front of them and watching the interplay. "Children are-"
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a shriek from the play area followed by a streak of black as the little girl with the wild black curls ran full tilt in their direction. Druella stiffened visibly and yelled for her husband who attempted to grab the child before she reached her destination. Ducking agilely, the girl dodged her father's grasping arms and slammed into Tom's waist, knocking him off balance with a grunt as she clung to him.
"Lord Riddle!" she shrieked, looking up at him with adoring eyes as Hermione watched on with glee. Tom held his arms up out of reach as if he'd be infected if he touched the child and looked down at her with annoyance.
"I'm so glad you're here!" she continued, unaffected by his lack of enthusiasm as she rubbed her face against his robes. "I asked Papa if you'd be here and he said of course you would, OF COURSE YOU WOULD, but I was still so afraid you wouldn't be and here you are and that's just exactly what I wanted to happen! It's a party you see, and I have this candy, would you maybe like some candy? Because I have sugar quills and a few cho-"
Druella, who had approached them quickly from the side immediately pushed her hand into her daughter's curls and grasped the back of her neck firmly, attempting to yank the child away.
"Bellatrix Alexia Black, release him at once!" She snarled at her daughter. She opened her mouth to continue berating her, but Hermione heard none of it over the ringing in her ears as she stared slack-jawed at the girl who would be the woman who tortured and maimed her.
She was...
The girl was...
Innocent. Bellatrix Black was cute and innocent and hanging onto the Dark Lord with her skinny arms for everything she was worth. Her eyes were clear and light and it was incredibly difficult to imagine the insane adult the little girl would turn out to be. Unlike Dolohov, who was already grown and therefore easy to see as a threat, this child was not one and it was impossible to reconcile her memory with the scene in front of her.
Perhaps feeling the weight of Hermione's gaze, the girl turned her eyes and studied her carefully before she turned back to Tom. Druella finally managed to detach Bellatrix, but the child refused to be moved too far, planting her feet as she looked at Hermione once again.
"Who's that?" Bellatrix demanded suspiciously.
Cygnus, who had been hovering somewhat uselessly, moved forward and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "That's the new Lady Riddle, little one."
Bellatrix looked at her once more, aghast, before her eyes flared with little, child-like anger and she moved to stomp a foot. "No way! I'M going to marry our Lord and-"
Druella slapped a hand over her small mouth and finally managed to drag her away while the rest of the Death Eaters looked on with amusement.
"You most certainly will not!" Druella chastised her daughter as she forcibly removed her from the adults. "You will marry Rodolphous Lestrange, as we have told you since the cradle, and you will NOT embarrass yourself in front of Lord Riddle again; am I perfectly understood?!"
Hermione blinked and glanced over at Tom who looked distinctly as if he had smelled something foul.
"Children," he grimaced, waving off Cygnus's apologies as he ignored the rest of his followers and drug her towards one of the tables. He sat down, looking strangely rumpled, as the Death Eaters took the hint to provide him with a moment of privacy and retreated back to their respective areas of the room. Tom called a house elf towards him, ordered a fire whiskey, and then sat back whilst running a hand through his hair.
Hermione watched him with a small smile on her face before he finally looked at her and quickly smoothed his face back into a blank look.
"Yes, Gaza?" he inquired.
"Lord Voldemort is intimidated by a grabby little girl?" She teased him, pouring herself a glass of butterbeer and watching the children continue to play.
His eyes flashed momentarily before he took a deep breath and looked at her coldly. "I am not intimidated by anything, as you well know. I do, however, have an overwhelming dislike for all things useless and loud, of which children are both."
As if to prove his point, across the room, one little boy pulled another's hair and they both began to cry. A pair of house elves moved forward quickly to soothe them.
"There is a muggle saying," Hermione mused, swirling her drink as she crossed her legs, "that states, 'Children are the future'."
Tom looked unamused. "Children, while unpalatable, serve a purpose. They are for heirs and legacies," he explained calmly, taking the fire whiskey from the elf who had returned with it. "As I intend to live forever, I find neither to be necessary."
He paused with his glass partway to his lips, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before he tilted his head ever so slightly in consideration. "Forgive me, Deliciae. I do not believe we have ever discussed the subject of children before. Did you yearn for little ones?"
Hermione choked on her butterbeer.
After she managed to hack and cough the liquid back out of the wrong pipe, she looked at him incredulously.
"Is that a jape?!" she asked incredulously, hand pressed to her chest as she stared at him. "I married you, of all people! You cannot possibly think I would ever subject a child to the bloody Dark Lord as a parental figure."
Tom blinked before his eyes narrowed slightly. "Careful, little wife. Your tongue is getting away with you again."
"It most certainly is not," she told him firmly. "I meant exactly what I said. You are most definitely not father material, and frankly, it's a moot point anyway. I am not what one would call 'maternal' and due to substantial exposure to dark curse magic, I couldn't have children even if I wanted them."
His eyebrows went up in surprise as he watched her. "What sort of dark curse magic?"
Hermione's eyes flickered over unconsciously to where Bellatrix was sulking at a table with her mother before moving to Dolohov. "Sustained cruciatus primarily, although I was hit with a specially crafted dark curse when I was younger as well."
"Were you?" Tom inquired calmly, eyes never leaving her face as he spoke. "It is interesting, you see, because the scar you have which intersects your abdomen reminds me very much of one of Antonin's specialties."
"Does it?" She answered noncommittally.
"Indeed," he continued, "Although, to my knowledge, no one had ever survived one of Antonin's curses. They tend to be rather nasty and consistently fatal."
Hermione hummed as she sipped more of her drink, trying desperately to hide the shaking of her hands as memories flashed before her open eyes and her leg began to bounce up and down. Tom stilled for a moment, bringing his hand to his chest, before sighing and reaching a hand out to grasp her free one. Her body immediately relaxed and her vision cleared.
To be so easily soothed by the presence of the Dark Lord was almost worse than the flashback and anxiety.
Almost.