The young woman had sat like a zombie for nearly an hour, he had considered calling a healer. Thoughts on having the woman committed at St Mungo's crossed his mind; he reasoned an extended stay might allow her to clear her mind and come back to her senses.

This is what he had feared, he didn't know what to do so he had sat on the chair opposite the bed in silence.

He sat next to her and reached for her hand she withdrew it quickly rising to stand. His wife turned to face him and he could see every ounce of pain in her eyes, her angelic face was hard as she stared down at him.

"Did you know?" she clenched her fists at her side, a sign he had come to learn was her way of attempting to control her rage.

He sighed, "this question again." He muttered under his breath as he placed his hands over his face.

"Excuse me!? 'this question again.'" She was angry and confused.

He waved her off, "its nothing. A new recruit had asked the same thing a few weeks back."

"I am not some new member of your suicide cult, I am your wife!"

Her shouting caused him to abruptly stand he wouldn't tolerate such insolence.

"You will not speak to me in that manner.!" He towered over her.

Hermione acting on pure instinct drew back and slapped him hard. Before she had a chance to comprehend what she had done, she felt a stinging sensation on the side of face as she stumbled backwards. She would have fallen had it not been for the large hand around her throat forcing her toward the other end of the room.

She let out a small grunt as her back made full contact with the wall.

"Don't ever do that again." Each word was punctuated with a hiss and he squeezed slightly at the end to emphasize his point. His eyes were deadly and glowed dimly with a deep red hue.

Hermione only felt rage.

"Let me go, now," her voice low and deadly.

Voldemort refused to recoil at the emotions reflected in those orbs. He loosened his grip and Hermione brought her hand up and struck him a second time. He remained motionless as he stared at her.

"Let me go!" her voice had taken on a different edge; he slowly released her and stepped back.

"Do you hate me, Hermione?" he whispered the question his eyes changing back to a deep brown.

The young woman thought for a moment staring at him intently before answering, "No, in spite of everything I don't hate you."

The wizard let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding the part of him that was Tom had feared the worst, the other half of him, the overlord, would have killed her.

"I am angry, you," her voice broke but she pressed forward, "you toyed with her. Bellatrix, you knew how she felt about you, about me, and yet for months you placed me and not to mention Michela in her face. Knowing at anytime she could have snapped!"

He started to speak but she quickly raised her hand, "no, you kept taking and pushing; that's what you do best. You take until there is nothing left. I can't really blame her, you know. You took everything from her and what did you expect? You expected for she and I to be friends to sit around the fire and sip tea while I complain about sore feet and tender nipples due to my pregnancy with a man she has loved for years!"

He watched as she began to pace, he had no words for her. He didn't know what he had hoped for; he couldn't recall why he thought his victory would appease her need and her madness.

"She was broken hearted Tom, I saw it in her eyes that night. Her heart had been shattered, ripped out and torn to pieces by you, but that's what happens to everyone that loves you. She wanted me to know how it felt and because I love you she broke my heart."

Her resolve faltered and against her will she began to sob he rushed to her catching her before she collapsed. He pulled her against him holding her as she shook sobbing. This was his fear and he decided to face it head on. He placed his hand gently under her chin and slowly brought her head up. The pain in her eyes threaten to break him but he refused to look away.

"Hermione, I am so sorry."

She thought she misheard that his apology had been a phantom of her imagination but when he repeated his statement she stopped crying. Searching his face she noted his sincerity and like those months before before her was Tom not the Dark Lord, not Voldemort. This was the man she had given herself freely, deep down he was a murderer and a monster but he was hers.

"Forgive me, please. Forgive me for not protecting you; our son...my son."

The moan was strained and she thought the man was dying as he pulled her close and buried his head in her neck. She wouldn't have believed it if she had not bore witness and felt the hot tears on her neck and heard the faint strangled cries. He was crying, the Dark Lord was crying and she pulled him closer as they both fell to the floor wrapped in each others arms.

Neither could remember at what point the tears ceased and the loving making began. They had tore at each others clothes shredding them.

Both lay exhausted, Hermione spoke first.

"I..." she hesitated before taking a deep breath, "I want to try again. For another baby."

He sat up bringing her with him, "there's no need to rush. I am not expecting you..."

"No, I want to, I won't let her have the final say on our family."

Voldemort was invigorated by the determination in her eyes; it lit a fire within him and he vowed to move Heaven, Hell and Earth for her and for her he would hunt down the Resistance along with their supporters and kill them all where they stood.