A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters

This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

word count: 2554

Warning: mentions of non-con, murder

Hermione's hand cupped Severus' face, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"I love you, you know that, Severus. I don't want this, I could never want this."

"Hermione, I know. But what choice do you have? Marry him and live, or marry me and he kills me and marries you anyway. I'd rather not be dead, my love."

"I'll never love him," Hermione promised, sliding her hand from Severus' face as the sound of hoof beats filled the air. "He's here."

"I wish you well then, write me if you can."

"I will," Hermione promised, wiping the tears from her face as she rose. Her skirt rustled as she walked out the door and to the carriage the king had sent for her. She took one last lingering look back at Severus, at the life she'd once dreamed of having.

"Miss Granger, please get in," the footman squeaked. Hermione obeyed, wishing she could stab the mousy little man. The ride was silent, Hermione staring out the window wondering if she could jump, if it would kill her. Would be being dead better than marrying King Voldemort? The man's reputation was horrible. Five of his former wives were dead, murdered or died under suspicious circumstances. She would be number six, she was going to be the last one way or another she decided that moment. The carriage slowed, the wheels crunching the stone road. The door was yanked open and Hermione stepped out, getting her first look at the castle. It stank, she could see cracks forming in the bricks. She fought back an expression of disgust as trumpets flared and King Voldemort stepped out and into the court yard.

"Pettigrew, is everything ready?" he demanded of the footman.

"Yes, my Lord," he replied. King Voldemort turned an eye to Hermione, studying her for a moment.

"Good, get her dressed. I want her cleaned up and ready in an hour. There's no point in putting this off, the sooner we are married, the sooner she can give me the heir all the others have failed at."

"Yes, my Lord," Pettigrew squeaked, grabbing Hermione's arm and yanking her inside. She was handed to a woman with long black curls and wide eyes. Hermione felt a shudder go down her spine.

"He intends to marry this one?"

"He does, Mistress Lestrange. He wants her ready in an hour."

"Not asking for much is he, should be me, not this filthy creature," she muttered, pulling Hermione along a long hallway. She was pushed into a room where another woman, who bore a resemblance to the first looked at her with pitying grey eyes.

"Have her at the alter in an hour, Cissa."

"Of course, now what is your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Right, this is how it's going to go. I'm going to try and make you look like a lady befitting of our king, I'll fail since he thinks no one is fitting. You are going to keep your mouth shut and let me work or he'll have both our heads before you even manage to say your vows, got it?"

Hermione nodded, wishing she'd run off with Severus, wishing she'd jumped from the carriage. Maybe death would have been preferable after all.

Hermione was cleaned, shoved into a too tight white dress. There was a tiny red splatter of blood on the cuff of one of the sleeves, but Hermione ignored it. Instead, she turned her attention to figuring out a way to get out of this, a way for her find herself back in Severus' arms.

"Shoes."

Hermione put them on, letting herself be dragged from the dressing room and out into a courtyard. King Voldemort was standing there, a predatory smile on his pale face. Hermione could see why some might think him handsome, could see why he could be considered desirable. She felt only disgust. She didn't care how the man looked, but how he behaved. She'd heard enough of his deeds, knew her own life was in danger unless she did as he wanted, unless she gave him what he wanted. She had no idea how to give him an heir where the others had failed. Surely she'd figure out a way though. She wasn't about to let herself die because of that. No, a small bit of a plan was starting to form, not enough to give her hope, but enough to keep her mind occupied while she vowed herself to him, promised to love and obey. The words were like acid on her tongue, burning, bitter.

"My Hermione, my queen," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath on her neck. She fought back a shudder. He took her hand, leading her back inside, this time through a side door that she knew led to his chamber. Tonight she would be forced to consummate the marriage, tonight she would be his in body. She kept her mind occupied while he undressed her, it was easy enough. She mentally listed all the poisons Severus had taught her, how to distill them, how to brew them. He was the town apothecary after all. She pretended to enjoy the king's touch. It was too rough, not in the right places to actually send waves of pleasure over her. He didn't seem to mind she wasn't in it, that she wasn't actively doing anything. He finished with grunt, shoving himself off of her.

"Soon, you will give me my heir," he told her, stroking her face. "I know you will," he added, "or you will join the others, my Hermione."

She lay there, listening to him fall to sleep, listening to him snore through his tiny slit of a nose. Tomorrow, tomorrow, she'd start putting her plan in motion. It had grown, a little bit of this and that slowly coming together. She smiled slowly, knowing she'd find her way back to Severus.

The palace gardens were huge with so much variety it nearly made Hermione's head spin.

"Excuse me, but what plant is that?" she asked, pointing to a foxglove. The gardener looked at her, his mouth falling open at being addressed by the new queen.

"It is a plant called foxglove, your highness," he said.

"It's very pretty, what about that one?" she asked, pointing to something at random. She needed them to think she didn't know every plant in this garden, didn't know which ones did what. The gardener, Neville his name was, was more than happy to talk about the plants at length. When no one was looking, Hermione slid the foxglove into her sleeve. The king left her alone for the most part, not actually loving her, not actually caring about her. They didn't even sleep in the same room, not since that first night.

"Tea, my love?" she offered, holding a pretty painted pot. King Voldemort nodded to her. She poured him a cup, poured herself one. She pretended to drink, watching him down his.

"It has been nearly a month since we wed."

"That it has," Hermione replied, knowing where this conversation was going. A month, if she'd become with child that night, they'd know. She hadn't.

"My chamber, tonight," he ordered.

"Yes, my lord," she replied.

Another night much like the first, Hermione's mind being anywhere but that room, being anywhere than with her husband. She thought about Severus, about how she'd served the king tea several afternoons now, how the foxglove wasn't working. She would have to up the amount. However, she knew if she added too much, it would become bitter and he'd notice that, wouldn't he?

"This time, I'll have my heir," he hissed at her, pushing her away from him once he was done with her. She merely nodded. How long could she go without giving him an heir? Could she kill him before then, or... the thought of carrying his child, be an heir or not made her feel sick.

"Tea?"

"You've changed it."

"A new sort, my lord, from China," she replied. "If you find it too bitter, sugar is said to help. According to Narcissa this is what all the royals are drinking there," she added, knowing the king wanted to be seen as in the know, as someone important. He nodded, adding a cube to his cup. Hermione pretended to drink hers, her heart pounding in her chest. What if this worked? Would they suspect? No, how could they? None of them saw her as the brilliant apprentice of the apothecary, all they saw her as was the king's wife, empty headed and pliable. She made sure they continued to see her that way. She didn't want them to see the truth, see her as someone who could actually be powerful.

"Don't forget about the trade agreement with goblin empire, they've been saying things," she said, handing King Voldemort a sheet of parchment. He glanced at it briefly before signing it. Hermione added it to the stack of parchments to be sent out. Yes, they were underestimating her. She'd already started working on sealing alliances, worked out setting up new trade routes, all with her husband's messy signature scribbled across the pages. Sometimes, she wondered if King Voldemort knew the truth about her, but from what she'd gleamed from the rumors he's merely seen her out one day and decided he liked her looks.

Three months. It took three months for the unimaginable to happen. King Voldemort was dead! The poor thing had been suffering with stomach problems for weeks.

"Maybe it's time to call the physician?" Hermione offered. "Or maybe the apothecary could find something for you?" she offered.

"I don't believe in doctors, all liars, all charlatans," King Voldemort muttered, his face twisted in pain.

"Shall I have the apothecary sent for then?" Hermione asked, pretending she cared that the man was in pain, pretending she wanted to help him.

"Yes," he growled. Hermione darted off, sending for Severus. He was the best in the town. No one in the palace knew about their past, so she felt safe calling him to her. He arrived quickly.

"Good. The king has summoned you because he has taken ill and wishes for you to help him," she explained, ignoring the fact she wanted to kiss him, that she wanted to jump into his arms.

"What are his complaints?"

"Stomach pain and distress, his heart feels as though it will beat from his chest," Hermione answered, her eyes meeting Severus'. She hoped he would realize what she'd done, that he'd know to not save the man.

"I will see what I can do, your highness," he said. "What has he eaten lately?"

"The same as me, pheasant two nights ago, a roast before that. He and I have tea every afternoon before hearing the complaints of the kingdom. I have some here if you'd like to see it," Hermione offered. Severus took the dried plant matter from her and studied it. His eyes widened, giving away that he knew exactly what it truly was.

"And you drink the tea as well?"

"I do, I have witnesses to that. Is it what's making him ill?"

"No, I don't believe so. I do not know there's much I can do, your highnesses," Severus said, addressing Hermione and the king. "It is the king's heart, it is in failure and there is nothing I can do to change that. I can give somethings to offer comfort, but I am afraid it is too late."

"Too late," King Voldemort hissed from his bed. "I will have you beheaded," he ordered. Hermione didn't even bother to react.

"My love, beheading him won't change things, he is offering you comfort, he's offering to take the pain from you, I think such a mercy should be rewarded with being allowed to keep his head?"

"For you, my Hermione, I will let him live," King Voldemort promised. Hermione smiled weakly, still forcing herself to seem upset by the impending death of her husband.

"Give him these to ease his stomach, these to help him sleep," Severus said, handing Hermione several jars. "This salve if he should develop any rashes," he added. She held his hand a moment longer than needed.

"Thank you, you may go, I think keeping your head will be payment enough?"

"Yes, your highness," Severus said, stepping from the room. Hermione doted on King Voldemort the next few days, making sure he took his pills and tonics. It was, of course, to no avail and he died in his sleep. Hermione face was streaked with tears as she announced to the people that their king was dead.

"As your queen, I shall reign until a suitable successor can be found," she announced, fighting the urge to vomit at thinking about who might be taking the throne. King Voldemort had been so certain he'd never die, he'd never made a will, never put on parchment who was to rule after him if he failed to produce an heir. The people rejoiced at his death, a small fact Hermione noted as celebrations were thrown, as fireworks lit the sky.

A week, it had been a week since King Voldemort had died in his bed, at Hermione's secret hand. A week when she realized the truth. The king was dead, but he'd left something behind.

"I'm with child," Hermione whispered to Severus late one night. "His child."

"What does that change?"

"I am going to be stuck here, ruling the kingdom until the child is old enough."

"What if it is a daughter?"

"I do not know, I think, maybe though, he was right, and this will be his heir. I never expected this, I thought..."

"There are ways to-"

"No! I could never! Move into the palace with me, I will tell those who need to know about the child, having you tending me, what with the sickness and frailty that seem to come with a child, no one would question it."

"I would love nothing better, but what of my shop?"
"I want you by my side, Severus."

"I know, and I will be there, Hermione. I promise you that."

Severus became a constant in the palace along with a Miss Luna Lovegood, Hermione's midwife. If anyone noticed the lingering glances between Hermione and Severus, they kept their mouths shut. Lady Bellatrix had mentioned something about how the king had died, about how the apothecary was now frequenting the palace. Her head had rolled the next morning. It was treason to speak against the queen and her maybe consort after all.

Prince Hugo was born in the wee hours of the morning.

"A prince," Hermione muttered. "I knew he would be," she added, giving Severus a look. "Now we know who will take the throne."

"In time, yes, he will, but until then, we shall raise him as we were, with love, kindness, compassion. He will be the ruler this kingdom needs."

"He will be," she agreed, brushing a small black curl from in front of Hugo's eyes. They would be the same color as his father's, something to prove his claim to the throne. Until then, the people had taken to her, she'd been one of them after all. And if she wanted to spend her time with the apothecary, who were they to say anything?