Thank you all for the kind reviews! I'll have Chapter 23 up within another day, so keep an eye out! It's not a repeat e-mail!

Chapter 22


Returning that night, she expected nothing but to curl up under Voldemort's hand and continue reading Merlin's Treatise on Magic. When she apparated into their shared room, however, she found a strange sight.

Voldemort was holding flowers. Holding flowers and smiling. Hermione froze where she stood.

"Miss Granger," Voldemort purred at her, drifting closer. "These are for you."

She mechanically accepted the floral bouquet and he seemed pleased at her acceptance. He led her over to the balcony, looking over the back of the mansion. There was a table set up with champagne flutes, cheeses and berries. It would have been romantic for Hermione, except … this man was the megalomaniac looking to kill her friends. Her stomach felt the anxiety of being in this situation and liking it, trying to convince her to either throw up on the resident Dark Lord or on her own shoes. She wasn't sure if the tight clenching would win out or not.

"I figured you'd need a treat after your stressful day."

Hermione looked at him, and he looked genuinely proud of his setup. She felt put off by his self-assured behavior. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be receptive to his advances, and it disconcerted her.

"What is going on?" Hermione finally spoke, her voice cracking slightly.

"Why, I believe I'm courting my wife," Voldemort joked lightly. "Come, sit. I have more treats for you tonight."

His blatant confession only continued to confuse her, and she sat opposite him. As she watched him pour the champagne, she felt questions forming but could only get out statements. "You've never called me that before."

Voldemort grinned at her. "I find I'm no longer as opposed to the idea as I was. You are, after all, quite a powerful and beautiful young woman, Miss Granger."

Again, he looked pleased at his own compliment. It was throwing her off kilter.

"I-eh, what?"

Voldemort chuckled at her speechlessness and passed her the champagne before clinking his glass to hers. She didn't drink first, worried it would be drugged, but Voldemort sipped his delicately in front of her. He looked at the champagne with a sort of … affection? She was confused, but then he explained.

"I had no sense of taste when I came back, you know," he murmured, holding up the class of champagne for inspection in the candlelight. "All food tasted the same, all drinks were wasted on me. And now that my body is revived, I find myself enjoying these little things all the more. The past week has been a heaven I had never dreamed of having again."

Hermione was startled by his observation, as it reminded her peculiarly of Dumbledore and his theory that Voldemort was a new man now. Voldemort wanted to court her, and Dumbledore wanted her to figure out if he truly had a heart now. The path forward was paved for her. She sipped her own champagne, contemplative.

"So that's why I'm here?" Hermione queried. "I gave you back the ability to taste and you're rewarding me for it?"

"You gave me much more, Miss Granger," Voldemort's eyes gleamed at her in the subtle darkness, haunting and caressing all in one, "but I would not celebrate that feat with you, as it is. No, this is simply to take joy in life, for the moment we have it."

Hermione nearly choked on the berry she plopped in her mouth. He hadn't made his declaration sound sinister, but the too cheery tone made it even more of a subtle threat to her. She decided that she would say whatever he wanted to know about the day, in the off-chance he was mad about something. I simple wandless charm checked the berries and cheese for potions and poisons just to be safe.

He noticed.

"I'm not going to poison you," he insisted, leaning back in his chair. "This is for you. I want to hear about your day, listen to your concerns regarding out situation, and then present you with a few gifts from myself. So, tell me, how did your classmates take the change of house?"

He was speaking to assuredly and quickly for Hermione to question each individual point. It left only the final question to be answered if she were to be polite, and since he'd had time to pick up further prisoners she wasn't going to test him.

Hermione sipped thoughtfully. She didn't want to out her new group's parents, so she refused to speak of her Slytherin friends. That left her with only awkward generalities or . . . "I'm sure you know already."

"Oh?" Voldemort inquired. "And how would I know that?"

"You didn't ask anyone to keep an eye on me?" Hermione demanded.

Voldemort shook his head. "Severus is my sole active connection in the school, and I do not call him for daily reports. Now, please, tell me about your day."

Hermione hesitated, but related the events of the train-ride and feast, and spending time with Severus. She skipped over the talk of Harry, but intentionally left in the bit where Malfoy returned to his friends and where he found out her Animagus form because of her stress. She had expected him to react poorly to the newss about the Malfoy heir, considering the state he was in in the Malfoy dungeons, but surprisingly he looked pleased.

"I shall have to covertly reward my followers for making your transition easier," Voldemort assessed after she had finished her story. "Their children and their concern is welcome, of course?"

"I think we can be friends," Hermione said carefully, "so, yes, it is welcomed. Why do you care if I fit in or not?"

Voldemort smirked. "Haven't I made it clear how much I value you, Miss Granger? Anything you require for your comfort as my bonded-one is my honour to provide, if you but ask. Every pleasure is yours."

Hermione shivered. He was driving her to drink, she was sure, as she choked back a large mouthful of the champagne to try and keep from engaging him after that comment. Voldemort simply seemed entertained by how he flustered her.

"Now it's your turn," Hermione countered diplomatically, pulling attention away from the lewd comment. "What does a Dark Lord do during his day?"

"And reveal my diabolical plans to you?" Voldemort chuckled. "Little witch, I spend my days preparing my forces to overhaul the ministry and take out my enemies. The specifics will have to wait."

"Until they come out in the Prophet?" Hermione guessed irritably.

"Exactly."

She took a deep breath and remembered to stay pleasant. "You said there was more to this evening than champagne on the terrace?"

"There are some more things we need to discuss," Voldemort admitted before downing the rest of his champagne. "Tell me, do you enjoy yourself here?"

Voldemort was watching the girl closely. She was trying hard not to reveal her instinctual reactions to him, but it was clear she was shocked and upset. She adorably would open her mouth just a tad, enough for a current of air to make it through, before gritting her teeth and lifting her chin marginally in defiance. It was a proud stance to take, and one that made him hope the lasting damage of the binding might have a chance to fade.

"Enjoy myself as a prisoner?" the little witch asked in offense. "No, I do not. You have been kinder than I thought, and I thank you for that, but I will never enjoy life in a gilded cage."

"Is it a cage or a castle?" Voldemort asked. "You are well fed, cared for, catered to . . . This is a place where you can wait out the war with little concern or effort. A fortress and a kingdom, fit with a princess in a tower waiting for her happy ending."

She fit the role well in his mind. Her idealism untouched as the world flew around, her mind filling with knowledge as she waited for whichever side won to find her and take her for their prize.

"I keep forgetting you lived through the age of absolute misogyny and were dead for the age of equality," Hermione huffed. "Happy endings don't come to people who wait for them, you know. I refuse to be locked away while external forces act upon the landscape that will make the rest of my life."

"You can trust me to act for your benefit, Miss Granger," he supplied earnestly.

That made Hermione snort derisively.

"Because I can trust you to be a decent human being?" Hermione grimaced. "I can't pretend you're not out there killing people in their homes."

"They're people who would see you dead."

This stilled Hermione's rage slightly. "They are allies of the Order, or people who simply don't like you. Why would they want me dead? If it's just the bond then-"

"It's the old magic, not the bond," Voldemort told her simply. "Why do you think I advocate a pureblood reign?"

"Because you think they have superior blood?" Hermione sneered.

He shook his head, amused. "I advocate the rule of old families like the Gaunts and the Malfoys because they are families steeped in tradition, with more knowledge about magic and the wizarding world than is ever taught at Hogwarts. Their blood has traces of the old magic that once pervaded their family lines; they have a respect for it, and I want to bring it back.

"But where there is power, there is also fear," Voldemort elaborated. "More power in the hands of the masses would be the result of my little revolution, and you can see why so many would oppose it. Wizegamot won't allow it, as they want to keep themselves happily situated on top. The Ministry won't have it, seeing it as a security threat and fearful of the challenge of raising a nation with that sort of force. Dumbledore, despite his own dabbling in the subject, does not feel the risk of the loss of some during he ritual constitutes a reason to dismiss it."

"They are still people," Hermione told him. "Dumbledore's right! Each life has value, magical or not. And even if the ritual didn't kill some in the process, which you've told me it does, you can't tell me you intend to force everyone to participate in the ritual, do you? That's barbaric!"

"Force won't be necessary," he purred, eyes gleaming. "Witches and wizards will perform the ritual for the power, and then those who do not will be mocked as weak for refusing the power in front of them. People will assume that any who refuse would have died in the ritual circle because they lack the strength, and to defend themselves in honour or from the harm that may befall them at the hands of another, more powerful, opponent, they will then perform the ritual anyways."

"And what about the muggles?" Hermione accused.

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. "They will live, but we will reveal ourselves. The hierarchy will establish itself naturally."

"Meaning the magical will rule, and the muggles will serve," Hermione ground her teeth.

"While they hope and search for ways to ensure muggleborn offspring," Voldemort agreed with a grin. "My hope is that we discover exactly what makes some people magical and what makes others not. Then we can effectively eliminate muggles entirely in favour of creating an all-magical world."

"They have science, advanced thinking that the magical world hasn't taken to learning," Hermione objected. "Why would you want to eliminate the diversity of thinking that would come from integrating the two worlds?"

"Magic resolves whatever our thinking cannot," Voldemort argued. "They would be a redundant feature of society, only good as workers and not fit for anything else. Power is what would matter, and they are at a deficit."

"You underestimate them," Hermione snapped. "Do you really believe that a violence and power-based society will be better? A society where there's always a better person, based on who could win in a duel? That's not how humans work, it's not what they need. We need a society based on understanding, caring, love-"

"Blind girl!" Voldemort roared. "What good does any of that do? Caring and love, they make all men, even the lesser, equal to the greatest. And for what? Muddling about in mediocrity. With the scent of power in the air men reach and progress and improve, just to show their own strength. It is how the weak are rid from the world and we improve."

"It's not right!" Hermione protested. "There are no weak and no powerful, Voldemort, only people. People who are given the chance to struggle and improve without the need for threats or a power struggle. People are inherently good, who have so much to offer just by existing."

"They are vicious animals fighting over scraps of meat," Voldemort put forth, his eyes narrow. "Inherently selfish and looking out for their own base desires to feed, mate, and dominate. But that is for their own betterment, for only a fool would choose a stranger over himself."

Hermione's heart broke. She remembered the image of a small, skinny and broken Tom Riddle, maybe ten years old, working the farm in the back of the orphanage with nothing but his hands. The way it was, where each orphan had as much chance of living through the next bombing s they did of dying of disease, overworking, or starvation. For someone who survived such a thing incapable of feeling love or affection . . . he would have been forced to be an animal, taking every advantage he could, just to survive the next day. And that's a Slytherin point of pride; they survive.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Hermione murmured, her pity for the man breaking through. "I leave the victor to his spoils."

Hermione strode away from the table, leaving Voldemort with the table of treats and a confused expression on his face. If she had looked she would have seen him gone the moment she returned from the restroom and crawled into bed with his familiar, but she was poignantly ignoring him, hoping the lesson she was expressing was getting through. If he truly wanted her company, he was proving his own philosophy wrong. He was proving that even he had more than just those base desires.

With the tension still rolling off her, she fell into a fitful sleep, where the red eyes and pain were replaced with a small, hungry boy with the iciest blue eyes.