I haven't had time to do review replies yet, but will get to those later. I wanted to post this first. Thank you all for the lovely reviews, especially juliaa & anon. I will PM the rest of you later today. Do let me know if you prefer not to receive review replies via PM or at all. Enjoy!

"Where did you follow me?"

Severus Snape halted, the wand leveled at him in the darkness no less than he expected as his own wand was at the ready. "The passageway to the Shrieking Shack. With what curse did I hit George Weasley during the battle of the seven Potters?"

"The curse you invented yourself in sixth year—Sectumsempra."

Both wizards warily lowered their wands, the dinginess of the abode apparent as the sconces flickered to life.

"The full moon must be especially tiresome for you, Remus," Snape observed casually, "as I doubt you have much luck acquiring Wolfsbane easily these days."

"Thanks only to your master's proscriptions on ingredients," Remus retorted. "However, there are still those who are capable of offering that which is required…which is the only reason I am here now. Tell me, Severus, how did you feel killing off one of your two masters? Did you finally find relief from the ghosts of your past?"

"Don't presume, Remus!" Snape hissed. "Dumbledore was dying, the fruit of his own folly in pursuit of the Deathly Hallows. I assure you, the Dark Lord got there first—I merely helped the process along."

"So it was an act of kindness," Remus said skeptically. "You'll pardon me if I don't believe you."

Snape began pacing, his cloak swirling voluminously about his reedy frame. "It was an act of obedience to both masters, and it pleased the surviving one enough to secure my place and lay to rest any doubts he had about my loyalty."

"You must know that the Order is facing increasingly long odds. Why seek me now? What value is there for you in placing your life in danger? The only reasonable conclusion is your master has ordered you to do this in order to tear us to shreds that much quicker...unless…" Remus cocked his head. "Lily Potter. You're doing this for her."

Severus abruptly faced him, wand raised. "Don't. Her son is the worst sort of brat, the spitting image of his father and with all the same arrogant entitlements and sense of self-importance."

"Fine, I won't," Remus replied, wand at the ready. "Do one thing for me, then, if you want me to believe you. Cast your Patronus."

Severus' face assumed a mask of indifference, but the silver doe that pranced around the room said it all. Remus Lupin's expression became pained.

"Severus, I am so sorry I didn't do more to stop them. I should have, and I didn't."

"Empty words, Lupin. I have learned their value well," Snape said coldly, the patronus evaporating quickly with a downward flick of his wand. "Now, tell me, are you all reduced to such empty platitudes, or do you intend to do something about retrieving the Longbottom boy from the Dark Lord's less than tender mercies?"

This was what Remus had hoped for, relieved that Severus was prepared to get down to business after their obligatory rehashing of old wounds. If Severus was willing to give the Order information about where Neville was being held, then they could plan how to rescue him.

"Is he being held at Malfoy Manor?" Remus asked urgently. The Death Eaters were incredibly tight-lipped about such things, and Kingsley's discreet probing of Dawlish had turned up no official Ministry involvement in Neville's presumed 'detention'.

"Of course he is," Snape replied. "The Dark Lord has an unhealthy obsession with him. I suggest you speak to his ill-garbed grandmother about the reasons for that."

Remus was clever enough to know that Severus would give him nothing more on that subject, so he changed it. "And what of Hermione?"

Severus turned away at that. It was a minute before he spoke. "I suggest you forget about her."

Remus' eyes narrowed. "What in the bloody moon do you mean by that, Severus?"

Severus whirled back to him, his eyes flashing. "Look, you ill-mannered mongrel, I am risking a great deal to help you and your precious spawn of James Potter! I am prepared to assist you in getting into the Manor, and point you in the general direction of the right dungeon. Do not ask me for more than I can give you!"

Remus' brows furrowed. "Is she being held by them?"

Severus looked pained. "In a manner of speaking."

Remus was growing impatient with the obscurities and said so. "What exactly does that mean? Are they serving her tea and crumpets?"

Severus' countenance darkened. "The Dark Lord has claimed her, fool! If there is one thing that will cause him to obliterate all of you from the map, it would be an attack on her. Tell Harry and his imbecilic ginger friend Weasley that she is dead. It would be kinder than any misguided attempts they might come up with to rescue her."

"If she is still alive, there is hope of retrieving her," Remus argued, but Severus manhandled him, a brief tussle that resulted in Severus Snape pinning Lupin's back against the wall, the dangerous growl and snap of that man's jaws causing Severus to let him up just a bit.

"Listen to what I am telling you—he has married her. She is gone. If you go after her, you pull the Dark Lord right to you." The warning was snarled, Snape's black eyes flashing.

Remus blanched as the words sank in, and Severus released him and stood back. Remus recovered quickly, running his hand through his hair. "But why would he do that? What benefits him in doing so? Any bond he has imposed on her could be broken—"

Severus cut him off impatiently. "I do not know the details. He has kept her to himself, quite deliberately, since she arrived two months ago. Even Lucius has found only dead ends in his attempts to discern what has gone on between them, which should tell even you, with your thick head, that he is playing a very deep game."

"This will infuriate Harry," Remus said. "Word will eventually spread of this, and the boys will be livid. They won't rest until they get her free of him."

Severus' expression smoothed into the controlled blank that he assumed when conveying distasteful tidings. "And in trying to do so, they would be playing right into the Dark Lord's hands."

"I have a potions project for you."

Hermione sat up at this, allowing his hand to keep stroking her arm casually while he sipped from that goblet. The smell was different, sharper; but then again, it was her breakfast time and this was the first time he had joined her for it.

"What potion?" This was the first step in their new agreement, and Hermione wondered how quickly he would move to the other parts of their bargain.

"The Souteni potion," he remarked. "You are familiar with it?"

"That is a mythical potion," Hermione said, cocking her head to the side. "'Souteni' is from the French, is it not? 'To sustain'…this is a potion you seek for yourself."

He didn't answer her, merely lifted her hand and turned it over, placing a warm, slightly wet kiss on her palm.

"What potions are you taking now?"

There was a provocative pause as his mouth caressed the tip of her index finger, then he pulled her hand from his mouth and took his time sipping again from the goblet. "Why does that matter to you?"

"Because unless I'm mistaken, this potion is for you, and I will need to know what other things are in your system to prevent cross-reactions."

"Such concern for my well-being. I am touched," he said with his usual sardonic wit.

"You are, as they say, the only game in town," she replied lightly, aware that he read it easily as the mock fawning he found so amusing. "And what resources are you prepared to put at my disposal for my help with this little project?"

The goblet was dispensed with and he yanked her down on the couch, crawling over her in a predatory manner which indicated exactly what else he wanted this morning.

"I will allow you to speak with Severus, and my personal study is open to you from this point on," he replied, letting his fingers delve into her hair, a curl catching on one of his long fingernails. His right hand slid easily under her top, the warm weight of her breast under his palm evoking a pleasant memory. She gasped and said, "The bed?" just as he firmly grasped the back of her head and brought his lips to hers.

"Next time."

Hermione was surprised to find his attention so markedly ardent. She wasn't given much time to think, however, because his tongue insistently worked its way into her mouth, sliding over hers in a hotly familiar way. She moaned into his mouth when he gently tugged her nipple. Her breasts were so achy now from pregnancy, but he seemed to read her thoughts and knew what would turn her on. He stretched her arms up and vanished her pajamas, leaning his head down to gently suck on the nipple.

"Ohhh…why now?" Hermione breathlessly asked, aware for the first time that he was now completely naked, the frissons of pleasure from the multiple points of skin to skin contact echoed in the sensual overlap of their magics.

"Because I want it," he said smugly, his hands smoothly moving down past her hips and right to her legs, spreading them easily. Hermione gasped when his tongue went to work, her hips moving of their own volition in time to his thorough attentions.

"And Lord Voldemort always gets what he wants," Hermione managed to say, and Voldemort lifted his head from between her legs and smirked.

"That is the first truly intelligent thing you've said since you've been back." He easily slid two fingers into her, curling them to stroke skillfully in a manner that had Hermione arching her back, a loud moan escaping her lips.

"You taste as good as I remember," he said, moving up to capture her lips again while his fingers continued teasing her.

Hermione felt the tight coil of her arousal, and she was practical enough to understand that her husband held all the cards for now. Her hips nudged hard against his hand, and she pulled on him insistently. "Enough teasing," she murmured, biting his neck just above his collarbone.

"Shameless witch," he murmured against her lips, but he was delighted by her participation. Because he was ready, he positioned himself between her legs, slipping easily into her tight body, causing him to hiss in pleasure and Hermione to moan, her hands pulling at his buttocks in her greediness.

"Look at me."

It was easier for her to look at him when he was like this, the intimacy of the moment reinforcing his humanity and the presence of some emotion other than anger. Tom had been like this, but it was rare now for Lord Voldemort. The thought briefly hit her that perhaps this was why he liked being with her like this.

"I am the only one who will ever be here, Hermione. Your first and your last." He thrust on each point, and her body happily responded in kind. "Say it!"

"Yes, only you," she replied, cradling his head in her hands. For some reason his bald head was a turn-on for her. She didn't overanalyze it. She had learned that with Tom, it was better to live in the moment and deal with things as they came. "You know that to be true."

"Always," he hissed, allowing her to claim his mouth again, her tongue stroking his as her body met his in perfect counterpoint. There was something terribly needy about his insistence, that domineering instinct.

Hermione didn't know what devil possessed her, but she rotated her hips with his next thrust, and it sent a rocket of pleasure straight through Voldemort, from the tips of his toes straight to his brain. It leapt along the blended and intertwined seams of their auras, ensuring the effect was no less pronounced on Hermione. It set them both off in a frenzy. Pure instinct guided their motion, a sheen of sweat lubricating and slipping between them, adding to the sensual dance.

"Oh God…" Hermione moaned. All the hormones had made her so jumped up. Whatever else he was, Voldemort was selfish enough to want all her responses, to eke out every drop of pleasure from her so he could lay claim to it as well. She was temporarily shocked when he pulled out and swiftly flipped her over, pulling her up to her knees before he came into her again, the change in position making everything tighter and hotter. It was almost too rough for Hermione, skating that fine edge between pleasure and pain, but he knew exactly how far he could push her.

"Faes hi takēm kātha…I complete you." He whispered it across her back, his hands molding perfectly to her curves.

"As I complete you," Hermione panted, turning her head to look at him. She was perfect, wanton, her magic a hot haze of lust and raw power that was unrefined but infinitely enthralling. Voldemort felt himself beginning to fall over the edge, and he was determined to take her with him.

"Say my name when you come," he ordered, threading his fingers through her hair while his other hand ruthlessly pinched her nipple until her body convulsed tightly in waves, causing her to cry out his name, the one she knew he wanted to hear.

"Voldemort!"

It was so wrong, but Hermione relished how she was able to make the controlling Lord Voldemort lose control in such a carnal manner. It was a small power, but it was a heady one as she felt him come with her. It felt like it lasted forever, everything heightened by the blissful satiation of his magic with her vibrant responses physically and magically. Beautiful. Then, more softly—"Tom."

She was so damn instinctive, her magic flush with his, offering itself as a counterpoint of calm against the crash from their orgasmic high. He was tired from the effort, a rare sweat on his chest as he pulled her back and up, her back flush with his chest as he sat back on his feet. This was a moment to be savored—his headstrong and enigmatic wife, panting from the thorough fuck he'd just given her, and still giving him what he needed.

"I want you to remember this, Hermione," he said quietly into her ear, kissing the sweat at the base of her neck, reaching out to her with his magic now that he had recovered control. He knew she could feel it, the way his dark magic caressed and played with hers, intermingling with it in a way that repaid her instinctive drawing down of his feral high. She felt it clearly, her breath hitching as her magic embraced his, blending into him with a stunning warmth. It reminded him tangibly of why she was such an enjoyable conquest, such a lovely and permanent acquisition. Her magic was more delicious than her body.

He peppered her with small kisses as he continued, "You remember how I make you feel, every time you think about what was, and what is now. And with time, you will see that this is far, far better for you than anything you could have dreamt of."

Hermione tried to catch her breath, very much needing Voldemort's strong arms under her breasts holding her upright. He was unashamedly lover-like, the way he moved her hair, the gentle kisses he rained on her neck and ear as he spoke. His maturity had given him the confidence to share this with her, knowing she would respond to such treatment. Intoxicating, that is what he was—both his magic and raw charisma, honed by his arrogance and knowledge. The most dangerous wizard in the world, without question…and he wanted her, in his bed, by his side. It was inconceivable…she was clever, but why? The question escaped her lips before she realized, or perhaps he simply plucked the thought out of her mind.

"Why you?" he chuckled in her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin in marked contrast to his cooling flesh. She felt goosebumps erupting over her body, and he must have noticed, because suddenly she felt the soft rush of a warming charm. "You are the brightest witch of your age…clever…inventive on your feet…a tremendous capacity for magic and an instinctive grasp of it…who else has been worthy of me? Who better to choose?"

"You let me call you Tom," Hermione said softly, turning her head slightly, although she couldn't see him. "And you could have bound me to you in a far less intimate, and permanent, manner."

"That is true," he acknowledged, his lips sucking, then nibbling on her earlobe in a way that caused her to melt just a bit against him. He noticed. "You have many talents, faes hi takēm kātha. Each new thing I discover in you makes me want you more."

"Please. I want to see you," Hermione said. He was being far, far too gentle, too appealing to her heart. She needed a reminder, to see his face and remember who he was. She couldn't allow his sweet, seductive words to hold her in thrall.

"As you wish." He didn't move but somehow they glided onto the bed, limbs rearranging themselves such that he was still cradled between her thighs, stomachs tight together as he propped himself up on his forearms, his expression too knowing as he looked down on her.

"You are infinitely cruel to treat me so," Hermione told him as her eyes flicked to his briefly. She allowed herself the weakness of her hand sliding down, caressing his neck lightly and flowing to his collarbone, then down to the smooth plane of his chest, although she told herself it was to pacify him. "Is having me bound to you not enough? Must you lay siege to my heart as well, simply because you do not understand it?"

Her voice was low but hummed with intense feeling, and Voldemort knew he had been smart to push for this.

"I will use every tool at my disposal to ensure you remain willingly by my side," he said, using the back of his hand to stroke her temple, ensuring she had to make eye contact. "And I think you are trying to delude yourself about what this means to you."

"I would prefer your cold, calculating self," Hermione said, her head slipping to the side to avoid looking at him for a moment.

"Ah, Hermione." His voice was at its most patient, resigned. He nuzzled her neck, his chest making contact with her breasts as he brushed against her, inside her. "You fear me making love to you."

"You don't know how to make love," she replied quickly, "It terrified you." She remembered quite clearly how he was after their bonding—enjoying the physical pleasure, but so coolly calculating about it. He was the same now.

"What if, as they say, with age comes wisdom?" he observed, his breath feathering across her skin in that intimate manner of his that made her senses swim with him. He raised his head briefly. "Do you dare to try me?"

Hermione's eyes locked with his. She read him easily: he was prepared for her answer either way. And that terrified her, because he might not be bluffing. "No, Tom. I don't."

"Have it your way for now, pet," he said, his teeth scraping just hard enough to raise the blood to the surface of her neck, a sharp suck leaving a perfect love bite. "I like fucking you as well."

He was quite as thorough the second time as he had promised, although he left her breasts alone in deference to their sensitivity. When he finally let her climax, her voice was hoarse from the responses he'd pulled from her and it was "Tom" that fell from her lips.

"You are nearly the only one alive now who knew me as Tom Riddle," he remarked, his lips ghosting across her brow. "Remember that."

With that, he finally pulled out and let her go, gliding off the bed and Scourgifying himself, his robes forming onto his body as he walked. Hermione pulled the bedclothes around herself as she watched him. She found she didn't like him leaving their bed even if it was just a fuck to him.

"Where are you going?"

He stopped and turned his head to look at her. "I'm going to have a little chat with one of your friends," he said appraisingly, watching her closely. "Well, former friends…I suspect they are less than pleased with the news of our marriage."

Hermione's blood ran cold.

"Who is it?"she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

He was suddenly in front of her, in that silent and quick way he had of moving without you realizing it. He tilted her chin up with one finger, his dark eyes amused. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"What do you want?" she asked, reminded of the time she asked him the same question in that passageway at Hogwarts. She could tell from the glimmer in his eye that he remembered it as well.

"If you still desire to see him tomorrow, I will take you to him," he suggested smoothly, too smoothly. "In the meantime, see what you can glean from my study about the Souteni potion."

A flick of his hand caused the double doors on the far wall to open, and Hermione could see shelves of books, a fireplace, and a large desk.

"Don't kill him. Please," Hermione said as he made to leave again. He paused midstride, a small half-smile crossing his lips as he turned his head slightly to the side to reply.

"That would prematurely end our game, petal."

With that, he left the room, and Hermione rolled out of bed. She didn't know how long it would be before he returned, and she had work to do. She only hoped whoever it was could withstand him…

No, she couldn't think about what was happening. What he or his Death Eaters were doing to the wizard in question was beyond her control or influence so long as she remained here. He was testing her again, seeing if she could really handle the thoughts of what he was doing in the real world. If she passed this little test, then she would have to prove she could handle the reality face to face. Then he'd move on to the mental games about the Order at large.

The odd squishy feeling between her legs had the welcome effect of forcing her to focus on practical matters, and she decided to have a shower. God, I just let Lord Voldemort fuck me up, down, and sideways. A part of her mind said she should feel disgusted, or traumatized, something negative. These were all of the reactions that she expected from Harry, Ron, or Ginny when they heard of her marriage to the Dark Lord.

But Hermione didn't feel anything other than concerned about what he was up to. What passed between herself and Voldemort was only between the two of them, a private thing that no one else would understand because they didn't know him in quite the same ways that she did. Harry and Ron wouldn't know that to her, he was also Tom, the sardonic, sharp-tongued, deadly teenager who had cleverly played her, ensnared her, and bound her to himself with precision and intelligence. The boy who had snogged her senseless after Slughorn's party. The young man who defended her zealously from a mountain troll and Grindelwald's men. The boyfriend whose eyes glittered with a mixture of irritation and amusement when she challenged him over some asinine belief or theory. The husband who couldn't keep his hands off her. The Dark Lord, relentlessly shaping her magic and refining her. The man who had become an axis, irrevocably pulling her into his orbit, in just shy of a year's time.

Voldemort was correct: her life was irretrievably different because she now knew Tom Riddle—and was one of the few alive who could claim that privilege. What could she do, other than maneuver in the peculiar relationship that she had with him? He required all of her attention simply not to become a doormat, let alone hold her own.

She realized she had been standing under the hot water for at least ten minutes, reality reasserting itself again. As she washed herself, she noticed the subtle changes that were taking place. Her abdomen was concave now instead of convex, and her breasts were heavier. It made the reality of pregnancy more tangible, and despite his promise, she wondered how this factored into his plans. Again there were no obvious answers, so she dried herself and her hair, donning clean robes and heading resolutely toward his personal study and his potions notes. There were only so many ways to turn it over in her mind, and the best hope of answers lay in moving along with the project he had given her.

Several hours later, Hermione realized she was hungry, leaning back in his chair to stretch and crack her neck. It was eerily reminiscent of times spent working on projects together at Hogwarts, his neat script virtually unchanged over the years, the same incredible leaps between transfiguration, charms, and potions theories. He really was brilliant, the way his mind worked a postcard of a prodigious intellect combined with an unshakable work ethic.

"Master is commanding Mistress to eats," the house elf, Verity, insisted.

"Yes, I am coming now," Hermione called, leaving the notes she was making for herself scattered about the desk. She would get to some reference books after lunch, her mind humming with possibilities and new questions to be answered.

"Masters said Nagini to stay with yous," Verity informed her when she popped back in to take the remains of her luncheon away. Hermione looked to see the large snake slithering in through a spot in the wall that only opened for her. Hermione's heart still pounded whenever the snake was close to her, but she made an effort to be polite and could, for the most part, ignore the snake's presence when required. The snake lifted her head to disinterestedly flick her tongue in Hermione's direction, as if checking that she was the correct person, before she began to slink off toward the dark corner she preferred. Hermione recalled Voldemort's request, and, adrenaline rising slightly, called, "Nagini, attas."

Her pronunciation was probably extremely poor, but the attempt was enough that it got Nagini's attention. She slithered over and raised her head, her intelligent yellow eyes waiting.

"I'm going to be working in, um, there—" Hermione gestured toward the study, "—and I thought you might prefer the fireside…the ishænostō."

The snake turned its head to look where she pointed, then put her head down. Hermione realized she was waiting for her to move, and stood from her seat. "Yes, um, I'll be right in—just need the loo first."

The snake watched her go, but was waiting in the same spot for her when she returned, slithering along the floor into the study beside her. It took a good few minutes, but eventually she forgot that Nagini was there. The snake curled up, watchful, on the hearth as she had tried to suggest.

Many hours later, Hermione felt herself being shaken awake, her cheek numb from the hard surface of the desk. She wearily raised her head to find Voldemort looking at her, his face a combination of amusement and annoyance.

"Had I known you would behave like a NEWT student with their first challenging assignment, I would have parceled out this information a bit more slowly."

She knew he was annoyed merely because she had fallen asleep at his desk, the crack of her neck as she sat up causing his temple to tic once.

"You expected nothing less from me. I am in no mood for your petty taunts." Hermione retorted grouchily, and he held up a hand.

"Pax, my little lioness, I merely tease. Nagini tells me you have a keen ear for Parseltongue."

Ah, that was why he was amused.

"You asked me to make an effort," she said in her defense, and he smiled briefly.

"I did. Come, wife. I think I need to put you to bed."

Whatever irritation she had felt with him earlier evaporated when he rubbed her neck after she donned her pajamas, his skillful fingers making short work of the knots that had snarled there over the course of her day hunched over the desk. She neither knew nor cared whether he used magic to do so or not; Hermione only knew it was the first time since she had arrived that she fell asleep in her husband's arms.