7. WALK AND TALK
After breakfast and after Holly had unpacked one more present from Hermione – a book on magical marriages, marriage contracts and the laws and customs governing magical families, with an addendum of Hermione's copious notes and several highlighted passages – Holly said her goodbyes to Simon, who had to get back home for a family barbecue, and talked Draco into taking Dudley to the Quidditch pitch to keep him entertained while she took that walk with Voldemort. Which seemed like a very stupid idea, now that they were actually walking through the extensive, labyrinthine gardens of Malfoy Manor in uncomfortable silence.
"You said there were some things we needed to discuss, Voldemort?" Holly asked, clenching her hands into fists and then forcing herself to open them again.
"Tom," he said, and for a moment she wasn't sure what he was getting at. "Since we're going to be married soon, I think it only right that you call me by my given name… Holly."
"Tom, then," she agreed, remembering how Dumbledore had once told her that the Dark Lord hated his name because it was so mundane and didn't fit with his self-image of how special he was. Maybe that had been another lie.
"I had a meeting with Dumbledore where he presented some of his plans for our wedding," Voldemort – Tom – started after another few steps in silence.
"And you don't agree with them?" Holly asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the Dark Lord's derisive snort. "Did he also offer a suggestion for your dress robes?"
"Not one that can be taken seriously," Tom replied with obvious disgust. "In any event, I stripped him of his role and asked Narcissa to coordinate the wedding preparations. She has everything well in hand so if you have any requests or wishes you may just tell her – or me, of course."
"And you'll take them into account?" Holly asked sceptically.
"Within reason," he replied, halting his steps and turning to face her. "Is there something on your mind?"
Holly still hesitated a moment, but then told herself that she had nothing to lose. "I'd like it to be outside, not in the Great Hall. I want Sirius to walk me down the aisle and I want Hermione to be my bridesmaid, but I don't want to pick anyone else. I want to keep my last name and I don't want lilies."
"I think we can arrange all that," Tom replied, smirking a little when she looked up at him in surprise. "You should also let Narcissa know whom you want – and don't want – on your guest list. Inviting some members of the press will be inevitable, unfortunately, but I've decided to restrict their access. I'd like to do the same with Dumbledore and that fool Fudge, but..."
He shrugged as if to say that even Dark Lords didn't always get their way. She found it strangely humanising and relaxed a little bit, remembering what Simon had told her.
As if picking up on her thoughts – and she hastily reinforced her feeble Occlumency shields – he asked, "I was wondering about the present you received from your Muggle friend and what he said to you, since I seemed to be the topic of your conversation."
"A topic," Holly corrected, but sighed. "It wasn't so much about the flashlight, but about what it symbolises, about what he wrote on the card. He told me to remember that when you're surrounded by darkness, there're generally two choices: Closing your eyes and hoping for someone to save you; or standing up and finding your own light."
"You never struck me as someone who waits for others to come to your rescue," Tom offered, which was perhaps the most diplomatic way of saying that she had an annoying habit of surviving when the odds were against her. She ducked her head to hide her grin, following him as he led them over to a small orchard with apple and peach trees.
He selected a shadowed spot and spread his outer robe over the ground for them to sit down. She settled down with her back against a peach tree, a bit discomfited by how little space there remained between them when the Dark wizard also sat down, not quite touching distance, but definitely closer than she would have chosen. The new bout of strained silence did not help.
"Is there something else you wanted to discuss?" she finally demanded when she felt as if she might shatter from all the tension in her body.
"Your lessons, for one thing," Tom replied at once. "As you remember you agreed to additional training."
"I remember, but I don't really get why you'd want to train me," Holly admitted, casting him a quick glance.
"You're not my enemy anymore, Holly," he said, reaching for one of her hands. "You will be my wife and I want you to realise your full potential. I reckon that shall be extraordinary."
"And what lessons would you suggest?" she asked, holding her hand perfectly still.
"Severus agreed to teach you Occlumency," the red-eyed wizard said and she nodded in vague agreement. "The Lestranges will show you how to defend yourself without magic – martial arts. And I would like to teach you some Light defensive and offensive spells."
"No Dark magic?" Holly asked in surprise.
"I'd be happy to teach you, of course, but to be quite frank, I don't think that's where your talents – or your interests – lie," the Dark Lord replied, studying her carefully.
She shook her head, biting her lip. "I thought… I thought that's what you wanted."
"To use you, to break your spirit, to corrupt your soul." He snorted, his hand closing more firmly around hers. "What do you think I would accomplish with that? You would surely fight me every step of the way – might even argue that I violated the terms of the contract – and the Wizarding world would only feel more justified in their hatred of me and my cause."
"What is your cause?" Holly challenged, meeting his red eyes directly.
"I want the Dark Arts to be deregulated and ease the restrictions, wherever feasible, on so-called Dark creatures; I want Muggleborn witches and wizards to be integrated more fully into our world; I want substantial reforms of the Ministry so that it actually returns to serving Wizarding Britain instead of furthering the interests of a few corrupt individuals; I want to stop Dumbledore from continuing his vilification of myself, the Death Eaters and Slytherins in general," the Dark Lord answered quickly, passionately. "In short, I want change and I want peace."
"Do you still want to kill all Muggleborns and Muggles?" she demanded, clenching her hands into fists at the sharp pain shooting through her scar.
"No," he snapped, glaring at one of the trees as if he wanted to set it on fire.
"I don't know if what you just said is the truth or if maybe I'm missing the hidden meaning of your words," Holly admitted softly after a long silence, careful not to provoke another flash of anger. "But that all sounds… reasonable. I think."
"I look forward to explaining and debating each and every point with you," Tom said, turning back towards her with a handsome smirk. "But to return to our original topic of your training, if you have any other interests I'm sure we can incorporate them as well."
"Madam Pomfrey said I could help her in the infirmary twice a week," Holly admitted, still trying to process everything the Dark Lord had said. "I'd like to accept her offer and learn something about healing."
"During the school year?" Tom confirmed and she nodded. "I don't see why that should be a problem as long as it doesn't interfere with your schooling. Are you content with my other suggestions?"
"I'm okay with Professor Snape and I guess I don't mind learning some additional spells from you. But I'm really, really not a fan of Bellatrix Lestrange and I don't want her as my teacher," Holly replied, shuddering at the thought of what the deranged woman might consider adequate teaching methods.
"I was referring to Rabastan and Rudolphus Lestrange," he said with what looked almost like a smile. "They have a different temperament than Bella so I think you should give them a chance. But if there're any issues, I of course expect you to tell me. Agreed?"
"Okay." Holly nodded.
"Is there something else on your mind, Holly?" Tom asked, once again in that almost gentle, almost kind voice.
She wasn't sure she could trust it, not at all. But right now she didn't need trust, just a little courage. "You said… you agreed that I wouldn't have to… that we could use contraception?"
"If there's one thing we can both agree on right now, it's probably that I'm not the nurturing type," the dark-haired wizard replied with a wry twist of lips. "So, no, I do not expect you to bear my children, Holly."
"Are there contraception charms?"
"There are, and if you wish, I will perform one, but it's very unlikely that you would get pregnant even without one," Tom said, much to her irritation.
"I don't understand what you mean," she said, pulling her knees up against her chest and slinging her arms around her legs.
"Certain types of magic – chief among them the Dark Arts – are considered very inconducive to starting a family," he explained carefully. "I have used Dark magic for most of my life, Holly. It would be nearly impossible for me to sire a child."
"Impossible," Holly scoffed lightly. "You said that that word doesn't have the same meaning for me as for everyone else. I'm not sure it applies to you, either."
Tom threw his head back and laughed, the sound so loud and unexpected that she could only stare at him, wondering for a moment if perhaps she had been dropped into a parallel universe. "Touché," he finally said, still grinning, offering his hand to her and pulling her to her feet. "I shall use a contraception charm, just to be safe."
"Thank you," Holly murmured as they slowly wandered back towards the manor, but still tugged her hand out of Tom's hold when he seemed to have every intention to keep holding it.
When they passed the Quidditch pitch there was an enthusiastic shout and Dudley landed rather ungracefully in front of them, throwing up dust as his feet connected too heavily with the gravel path. He was still grinning from ear to ear. "Look at this, Holly, I can fly! Riding a broom is amazing – Draco said we can even play Quidditch if you join in."
"That sounds fun," Holly agreed, spying Hermione, Draco and surprisingly some of his Slytherin friends on the pitch. "Could you give us another moment, Dudley? I won't be long."
"Sure thing, but hurry. I think I finally got the hang of it," the tall young man said, shouldering his broom to walk back to where her classmates were all hovering, pretending they weren't watching Holly and the Dark Lord.
"You should go and join your friends, enjoy your birthday," Tom said, stepping a little closer. "I've taken up enough of your time today, but I'm glad we got to discuss some things."
"Me too," Holly admitted, watching him warily.
"You look very beautiful today, Holly, and I look forward to seeing you in your wedding dress in three days." He smiled at her, placing his hand lightly on her waist and leaning in to breathe a chaste kiss onto her cheek.
She held absolutely still, managing only a small nod as a farewell as Tom turned and started to walk back towards the manor.
"He's charming," Pansy Parkinson's sly voice startled her out of her thoughts. "And very handsome."
"Yes," Holly admitted, still looking after the departing Dark Lord. "Just as he was charming and handsome when he was sixteen and set a basilisk loose in the school to kill all Muggleborn students."
She turned away, wondering if she had only imagined the slight stiffening of Tom's broad shoulders, and focused on the others. Hermione gave her a sympathetic smile, arching her eyebrows slightly in an unspoken question. Holly quietly shook her head before turning to smile at her cousin.
"So let's play some Quidditch! Why don't you figure out the teams while I get changed really quickly?" She bumped her shoulder into Dudley's when he gave his enthusiastic confirmation, smiled politely at Draco, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle and Blaise Zabini, and then disappeared into the changing rooms where she asked Wobbly to bring her a pair of trousers and a t-shirt to change into. Playing Quidditch in a dress was not only highly improper – as Aunt Petunia would only too gladly have pointed out to her together with a list of all her other shortcomings – but also highly uncomfortable and she didn't fancy rubbing her thighs raw.