A/N: I don't do author's notes often, but I felt this one was necessary.

A guest asked whether Tom killed Viktor or someone else when he appeared to Hermione with blood on him in Chapter 3. He did, indeed, go on a killing spree. I imagine he felt it when Hemrione experienced losing her virginity (since it's such an emotional thing and they are soulbound) and he went into a frenzy and demolished the closest thing he could get his hands on. It was probably a creature that lived in the fae lands, and its death by Tom's hands will probably come back to bite him later on.

my heart lingers in your hands

Chapter 4

The touch was soft, but the hand was dangerous.

—tumblr

The creature had ebony wings when she walked into her room and saw it standing at the foot of her bed.

Its wings were beautiful, all pitch black and downy feathers with sharp points on either end. They were more befitting of an angel than the devil she knew the creature to be.

(Perhaps it was another part of its allure, another part of the elaborate trap that is the creature itself.)

This form of his had to be the most breathtaking she'd seen. As she looked at its otherworldly face, she thought about Lavender. Her promiscuous honey blonde friend would have melted into a puddle at the very sight of those high cheekbones and dark, dark eyes and that mouthwatering lean physique.

"Brat," he greeted, much warmer than any of the previous times they'd faced each other. (Not like Hermione had cared for those encounters so what did his new-found politeness matter?)

Hermione rolled her eyes and brushed past him to her desk. She'd been expecting a visit soon, but she was peeved to see that he was still every bit as annoying as he had always been. Fae were such stagnant creatures.

"It's been ten years, I'd think you knew my name by now." She dropped her bag and picked up her brush to keep her hands busy. She could feel the trembles starting to take hold of her but damn if she was going to cower and hide like the little girl she'd been at nine.

"I have always known your name, I just haven't seen the need to use it." (There was that warmth again. Did he have a fever or something? Could fae be affected by mortal sicknesses?)

The brunette rolled her eyes again but didn't reply. He seemed to be awaiting an answer, but she was content to let the silence ensue.

Finally: "You know why I am here."

Hermione's hand stopped mid stroke. She swallowed, inhaled deeply, and continued running the brush through her curls. Stroke. "Uh, yeah," she said condescendingly. Stroke. "I've known since that night in the clearing. Not to mention your grating voice in my dreams didn't really give me a chance to forget – thanks for those, by the way." Stroke. Keep calm, you can get through this.

Voldemort loosed a breath that grazed her turned back. Hermione suppressed shivers of an unwanted kind. "Your grandmother made a bargain. I have waited ten years and now I am here to collect."

Hermione faced him in a flurry of wild hair and ice daggers. "Listen Voldemort," she began, a hand pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Tom," he interjected quickly.

The brunette narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"My name, it's Tom." His face was carefully blank, guarded and, dare she name it, unsure.

"Tom," She said slowly, unaware of the shudder that went through him at the sound of his name on her lips. "Like your mortal father."

He flinched and Hermione had to suppress a smile. Being friends with a Whisperer had its many perks, learning carefully hidden truths relayed by passing nargles and wrackspurts were only one of those perks.

Voldem—Tom scowled. "My father is dead."

"So it's okay to claim the name you've avoided for years?"

His scowl deepened. "I am Voldemort to my court and enemies. My bride should refer to me more…intimately."

Nostrils flaring and temper rising, Hermione stalked towards him. "I am no bride of yours," Hermione seethed, jamming a finger into his chest in the heat of the moment. She gasped when her hand did not immediately pass through him.

"Not yet," he said with a smirk, showing amusement at the terror that now coursed in her veins, whereas his chest ached that his mere physical presence had caused such a visceral reaction in her.

"You're corporeal," she spoke through gasps.

"Yes," he replied, curt, irked. He needed to curb this irrational fear of him out of her.

"But—the wards, and the barriers and—how?" Hermione's heart no longer resided in her ribcage, the organ had promptly dropped to the bottom of her stomach and remained there as stomach acids ate away at its outer wall.

"I'm king now, darling," he responded, taking her trembling hand in his own. His eyes flashed as his grip tightened. "And nothing in this world can keep me from you."

Crack!

A single feather floated down and rested where their feet had been a second earlier.

She had been in the faelands for weeks, imprisoned in a lavish chamber and denied every time she requested to be let out.

Voldemort – Tom – visited her every day at least once. He'd bring lunch if he imposed on her around midday, or he'd come into her room, without permission, and sit in the highbacked chair and attempt to make conversation with her.

There were only so many excuses Hermione could concoct while stuck between four walls before she ran out of plausible things and resorted to blunt rejections (and he didn't seem to take those well).

He also brought bright jewelry set with rare stones. They lay collected on the dressing table, untouched. These were much more extravagant, but she'd rather have the treasures that still lay hidden under her floorboard at her parents' home.

During the many days she'd been stuck there, her only consolation was the sight of the sprawling gardens under her window. She'd gaze out and focus on all the different exotic flowers when he visited, or sit on the sill as she read.

There was always bustling about, fae running around pruning and collecting and arranging the flowers into elaborate vases.

They were preparing for something, that much she could tell, but she did not yet know what the occasion was.

She'd asked the fae that attended her, but they would not answer. One bold fae with shining purple hair had suggested Hermione ask the fae king.

Hermione stood with her decision to not interact with him for all of one day before she gave in.

"Why am I here?" Hermione exploded as soon as the doors had closed behind him.

Tom gazed at her steadily, taking in the long, rose blush dress she wore and smiling slightly at the gardenias Narcissa had weaved into her hair. She was lovely to behold, and she did not even know it.

He walked to the small table and poured himself a glass of wine before taking a seat in his customary chair.

"I assumed you knew why your presence is required in my lands," he said, raising the glass in her direction.

"Don't be vague!" Hermione snapped. "All I know is that you are collecting on my grandmother's bargain. I have no idea what that entails."

That brought Tom's dark eyebrows together. "The crone never told you?" he asked, tone incredulous.

Teeth grinding together, the witch bit out, "Told me what?"

He ignored her question. "The bargain, what do you know of it?"

"I know that you saved me – after you shredded my heart, that is – and that my Nana promised you Basilisk."

Raven tresses brushed his forehead as he shook his head. "No, that's not it at all. Basilisk was my goal, but the crone promised me something much greater than my wand if I were to save her heir."

Hermione's heart thundered. She did not like where this was going. "What?" she asked, fearing the answer she suspected.

Eyes as intense as liquid fire and pointed right at her, "You."

Her heart plummeted for the umpteenth time in his presence. "Me?"

Tom stood and put his empty glass down. "You were there that night. How can you not remember?" He was no longer looking at her, but his question hit Hermione with the full force of his gaze.

"I was barely lucid and only seven. I had no idea what was going on except that I was in agony and a monster stood no less than five feet away from me!"

His shoulders hunched and his voice quietened. "A monster…is that truly what I am to you?"

"You kidnapped me!"

"I took what was rightfully mine!" he shouted, facing her.

Anger and frustration clouded Hermione's vision as she stormed to the dressing table and pulled the top drawer open, rooting around inside until her hand clutched around what she was looking for.

She threw Basilisk at the fae king and he caught it in one hand. "There! I willingly give you back your ancestor's wand, so mote it be." A flash of light extended from the wand and latched onto Tom's right hand, transferring ownership.

As the full effect of her actions caught up to her, Hermione's whole body slumped in loss. "You have what you were after. Please, let me go."

Tom stood in silence as he relished in the feel of Basilisk in his hand for the first time since the night of the Ritual of Renewal seventeen years ago when his soulmate's grandfather had stolen it form him in a duel.

Hermione watched him close his eyes and soak in the feeling of the wand. Her lips parted unconsciously and her throat felt dry. How could someone so beautiful be responsible for such horrid things?

"This was unnecessary," he said softly, eyes still closed. "I had accepted that Basilisk would remain yours."

"Well now you have it back." Hermione turned her head away. She'd grown to care for the wand as if it were a sentient being, and at times it seemed like it was. Although she had no need for a wand, Basilisk had been with her for the past ten years and to not have it anymore…

No matter, if relinquishing her claim would earn her freedom, she was glad she had done it.

"Thank you for the wand, but I'm afraid I can't let you go."

Hermione's head whipped back to him. "What?"

"When I took you from your room, I told you, you were to be my bride. That still stands; you are mine."

Regret swam in Hermione's gut as she realised she had given Basilisk up for nothing. Her panic spilled over her lips in a cry. "I DO NOT WANT TO BE YOUR ANYTHING!"

Hurt curled in Tom's chest but he refused to show it. "Your personal feelings play no part in my decision. Like I said: you were promised to me and I am collecting."

"I will kill you before I let that happen!" She screamed and her magic reacted, shoving him away.

He slid back a few steps but quickly regained his footing. "I doubt that."

That only made Hermione push harder. She drew on her grandfather's and Nana's magic to aid her own in surpassing the power of the fae king. It was a bad time to not have Basilisk.

Hermione's witchwind opened cuts in his exposed arms and face, still Tom persisted in his attempt to get closer to her.

In the blink of an eye, ropes shot out of Basilisk's tip and restrained Hermione.

"I will drag you to the alter if I have to. You have no choice, Hermione." He snarled, eyes flashing red with his malignant power, teeth clenched against the growls of possession trying to claw their way out of his throat, heart aching and aching and feeling as if he'd shred it with his own talons.

His emotions threatened to bubble over and that never proved to be a good thing for any fae, let alone the fae king. Before he could do something he'd later come to regret, he left.

As soon as the door closed the ropes fell away. With nothing to keep her restrained or supported, Hermione slid to the floor and let her sobs of anguish flow into her hands.

Trembling with the residue of his amalgamation of feelings, Tom barely made it outside Hermione's door before his hold on his glamor dropped. His horns and wings sprung out, dark as obsidian and with wicked curves. The pressure on his magical core lessened and he breathed easier with his true form unconcealed.

He pressed his back against Hemione's door. He could hear her cries through the door. The pain in his chest grew. It had been festering from the moment she'd confronted him and now it was agonizing, robbing him of his breath. He had to get away from here – her.

"My Lord!" Malfoy shouted in alarm as he came upon his king leaning heavily against the witch's door. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Tom snapped, batting away his knight's hands. "Inform the others, I wed in two days."

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but Tom fixed him with a warning look.

The blonde gulped, "Yes, my Lord, right away."

Tom watched dispassionately as Malfoy scampered away. He leaned his head back against the door and listened to his heart's despair being echoed by the woman in the room.

Hermione slept through dinner and most of the next morning. Even when she woke she lay despondent in bed and wondered when her life had gone so wrong.

She hadn't spoken to her parents or friends in three weeks and she had no way of knowing whether they were looking for her. How worried they must be. She hoped Luna had told them where she was, if anyone knew, it would be her Whisperer friend.

Since the day before, the bustling outside her window had increased to a frenzy but she didn't have the energy to observe the change.

A striking blonde fae by the name of Narcissa, who had been her main attendant during her stay, tried to cajole her out of bed. It was a futile attempt.

Hermione was one the verge of falling asleep when another fae came in to talk to Narcissa.

"Have you fitted her dress?"

"Not yet, Astoria."

"We don't have time, Mother. Draco is running around trying to make sure everything is in order and Lord King is nowhere to be seen. None of the knights can find him."

"My son, your husband, will make sure everything is in place, and Lord King will return at his own time. But I'm afraid my Lady is out of sorts, more so than she has been since her arrival."

Astoria's voice grew quieter. "Do you reckon she knows the wedding has been moved up? I hear Lord King had to bring her here by force."

"Hush, Astoria! Begone with you. Send in Pansy with the Lady's meal."

"Yes, Mother." Astoria curtsied and left.

Narcissa shook her head and resumed setting out the peach and rose gold gown that Hermione wouldn't wear.

"What did she mean?" Hermione croaked.

Narcissa startled. "My Lady, you're awake!" She hurried to Hermione's side and helped her sit up.

"What did she say, about the wedding?"

Narcissa cast her eyes downward and seemed reluctant to answer.

Hermione grasped the fae's hands tightly. "Please. I've been denied so much, don't refuse me this as well."

"Lord King," Narcissa began but then stopped. She looked to the door nervously.

Hermione waved her hand. The door locked and the room was silenced for extra measure. She turned back to Narcissa expectantly.

"Lord King had planned to wed you a month after your arrival, but—" Narcissa stopped and wrung her hands.

"Go on," Hermione encouraged although she knew no further news would be good news.

"But he instructed the planning to be hastened; you are to be wed tomorrow."

Dizziness overcame Hermione and she roughly fell back against the headboard.

"My Lady! Are you alright?" Narcissa's delicate hands fluttered over the witch.

Hermione settled under the covers gracelessly, more exhausted than she had been when she'd fallen asleep. "I would like to be left alone."

Narcissa frowned. "My Lady, I do not think that is wise."

"Please," Hermione said, the word a whispered plea on her lips.

The blonde's frown became more pronounced, but she acquiesced. "As you wish." She bowed and left the room.

Hermione stared up at the elaborated stitching on the canopy of the bed, unseeing, unfeeling.

When had her life gone so wrong?