I'm familiar with the story you've compared me to

Voldemort reads Muggle literature?

Strange that you picked such legendary lovers. Yes, I am well versed in Muggle literature and quite capable of interpreting innuendo. Will I be your downfall, then? I shan't call you Basil, though you may fancy yourself the type. Not only does it make the use of a moniker obvious to all, but it's cliche, a thing I refuse to be in any eyes.

I do plan to groom you as my second. The Second, if you will. Put your newfound French translator to work. We will be legendary, eternal. You only second to me- I only second to you. Both equals and rivals. Do send me the tales of your misdeeds at Hogwarts, including reports of the "Malfoy brat", as you so phrased.

That sounds, … well, fuck.

Attempt to ally yourself with someone trustworthy and not so hexable as the twits in Gryffindor. Write frequently, never take your ring off, and do try to conduct yourself better.

I stare at the page in frustration. Five minutes later, two more owls fly overhead. They drop a book into my lap, which I instinctively cover with my hands. I peel a note from the front.

Deux,

Your education in such matters is entirely lacking. Do try to brush up.

-Dorian

I smile to myself and bite my lip. From across the room Draco makes an obvious attempt to catch my attention.

I nod at him slightly, then whisper, "Oh, bloody hell."

He walks over to me, firmly ignoring the crowd of gawking Gryffindors.

"Is there something you need?" I ask.

"Not in particular, Potter," he says.

I narrow my eyes.

"Then why are you over here?" I ask.

"You're alone," he says.

I nod.

"Quite clearly," I say.

"Is that..by choice?" he asks.

"Not particularly, Draco," I sigh.

What can he possibly want? I somehow doubt Malfoy was permitted to tell Draco just why I am important. Why I have gone from enemy No. 1 to leader No. 2. I expect the order was somewhat similar to "Don't antagonize Potter. It would not be to your favor."

He sits beside me.

"This is the Gryffindor table," I say.

He says nothing.

"And you're sitting here," I say.

"Quite clearly," he mocks.

I look at him.

"Are we friends, then?" I ask.

"Are you eating or talking, Potter?" Draco asks.

I smile and take a bite of my muffin. He looks at something behind me.

"Potter, you and I need to talk," Snape hisses before hauling me to his office. I grip my book tightly and attempt to swallow the piece of muffin threatening to lodge itself in my throat.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He pulls a letter from his robes.

"What is this? Potter, what have you gotten into now?" he yells.

I roll my eyes.

"Pick a side, would you?" I say.

"Have you lost your mind, boy?" he asks.

I stare at him defiantly.

"What are you planning to do about this?" I ask.

"I should go to Dumble-" he says.

"You wouldn't if you value your life," I say.

He looks at me in shock, probably looking to see where James' son and Dumbledore's pawn went. I'm the bride of Voldemort now. I smile.

"Did you just threaten me, Potter?" Snape asks.

I smirk.

"Be that as it may, I will not. You may have lost me my place here as a spy, boy," he says.

I shrug my shoulders.

"Good choice," I say.

Voldemort doesn't need Snape here, he's got me. As their (the so called Light side) greatest warrior, which seems like something that shouldn't be true but apparently is, I can go much farther than a "reformed" Death Eater ever could. Not mentioning I've been afforded a higher position in Voldemort's ranks than he has. Than he will possibly ever be. Perhaps that's arrogant, but I don't see Voldemort sending him courting gifts.

I bite the inside of my cheeks and twist my ring around my finger.

"Was there a point you were working to or….?" I say.

He scowls.

"Everyone else has the good sense to act civil," I say.

"Go to class, Potter," he says.

I salute him as I slip out of the door.


Dorian,

I hate this Umbridge woman. She's a stupid pink ball of evil. She gave me a week of detentions, just for saying you exist, during which I wrote for hours with a blood quill. She hates me. Every time I breathe she sends me out of the room for being disruptive. I wish I could shout,

"Do you fucking know who you're talking to? I am Voldemort's bride."

I've started referring to myself in that way. I think it's amusing.

Draco is alright. We don't talk, but he provides an empty companionship. I've distanced myself from the Weasleys. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't go back. I suppose I'm lonely.

Could I see you?

-Deux


I pull my covers aside and start to climb in. My foot meets a folded stack of clothes just under the sheet. I detach the paper.

Wear this to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Be at the Shrieking Shack. -Dorian

I clutch the note to my chest as I fall asleep.


The strange places I've taken to spending time in to ignore Ron and Hermione have left me feeling isolated. I suppose I am isolated. But that leaves me excited and nervous to see Voldemort today. Voldemort, of all people. I put on the clothes he chose. They fit me well. I wonder why.

"Harry! Where do you want to go first?" Hermione asks.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I promised Draco," I say.

Lying shamelessly.

Her face falls. I feel bad. She was-is?-a good friend before we were on opposite sides of a war. But now I'm off to meet my- Voldemort, I'm going to see Voldemort. And everything has changed.