A/N:

Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition S11, R3

Team: Caerphilly Catapults
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: Laverna 'Goddess of Thieves' [Roman]: Write about a deceitful or wicked act.
Additional Prompts:
[word] worship
[object] golden chalice
[color] merlot
Word count: 2570
Betas: Queenie, Ikuni, Dora
Warnings: character death, murderer.
Just so the beginning isn't confusing - it's an AU where Voldemort returned with the use of the diary and took over the Wizarding World.

-x-x-x-

Voldemort was pacing nervously, lost in thought. He was rarely nervous – anger was an emotion he was more familiar with – but this was a serious situation.

Dumbledore had known about his Horcruxes. There was no telling how much, or who else he told, but he had managed to get his hands on Marvolo Gaunt's ring and destroy it before he died. The locket in the cave was a fake, the real one stolen by Regulus Black, that traitor. The diary was used for Voldemort's return, which left him three Horcruxes short already.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. About time.

"Enter," he commanded.

Bellatrix came into the room, kneeled, and kissed the hem of his robes.

"Did you get it?" he snapped impatiently.

She raised her eyes to him, a clear look of worship in them.

"Of course, My Lord."

She presented a silk pouch to him, in a shade of red. The word merlot jumped to his mind and he almost shuddered with revulsion that the color evoked in him, even after all these years. He took it from her hands, Bella bowing her head as he did so, and retrieved what was inside, dropping the offensive pouch to the floor.

The moment his fingers touched the golden chalice, he felt a familiar buzzing in his head. His lips stretched in a satisfied grin. His Horcrux was still intact.

"Thank you for keeping this safe for me, Bella. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude."

Bellatrix gasped, tears of joy shining in her eyes.

"Master…" she mumbled, overwhelmed with the honor, "Thank you, Master."

"You may leave now." Voldemort dismissed her, his gaze never leaving his precious chalice.

Bellatrix kissed the hem of his robes again and left the room obediently.

Once he was alone, Voldemort walked over to the wall at the far end of the room. With a flick of his wand, he made a small cut on his hand and pressed the bleeding palm to the right place.

"Open," he said in Parseltongue.

An opening in the wall appeared, revealing a small hidden chamber where Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem rested on a stand. Voldemort put Helga Hufflepuff's cup next to it with a satisfied smirk. That made four, including Nagini and the boy. And who knew, perhaps there was hope the real locket was still there somewhere. Regulus's message only claimed he intended to destroy it, not that he succeeded.

He would definitely have to look for it. In the meantime, he would keep his remaining Horcruxes close and safe, and that included Harry Potter.

He sealed the hidden chamber and turned to see the merlot red pouch still on the floor.

"Incendio!" he spat with irritation and the pouch burst into flames, his last memory of that color flashing before his eyes.

He never wanted to see it again.

-x-x-x-

Tom never intended to stay in Borgin and Burkes forever – obviously, his ambitions were far greater than that – however, working at the shop had its advantages, so, for the time being, he was content working as an 'assistant'.

He had access to a large number of valuable items with fascinating magical properties, many of them ancient and dark, and when no one was looking, he could study them all he wanted.

He also had personal contact with people in possession of such items, since it was his job to persuade them to sell their treasures. And he was exceedingly good at his job. He was always good at reading people, even before he had mastered Legilimency, which made manipulating them almost too easy.

Hephzibah Smith was a special client. Filthy rich and very appalling (although, in her head, convinced of her own beauty), but quite the collector. The floor of her house was littered with piles of boxes containing unique artifacts, many of which possessed all kinds of powers the old bat couldn't begin to comprehend, so they just sat there, collecting dust. However, ever since Tom started paying her visits as a Borgin and Burkes employee, she had suddenly become much more prone to selling her goods.

He didn't even have to try. It was obvious she had some sort of a lewd crush on him, the crazy old crone. She worshiped the ground he walked on, fussing over him like she wanted to make him another piece of her collection. She always insisted on treating him to tea and sweets, presenting her treasures to him and then pretending she didn't want to part with them, only so that he could come back again, with a better offer from his employers.

One day, she actually made him feel sick, boasting about her new purchase.

"What do you think of my new lipstick, Tom?" she asked, spreading way too many layers of red over her full lips. "The color's merlot." She showed him the product's golden tube with the word Merlot engraved on it and Tom forced himself to make a sound of interest. Hephzibah continued proudly, "Best quality, of course. They only made thirty of them in the whole world… Well?"

She smacked her lips together, making what in her mind were seductive faces, while Tom suppressed the urge to vomit. He put on a polite smile.

"It looks lovely on you, Miss Hephzibah."

She blushed, staring at him with admiration.

"Well, go on, Tom, help yourself to some cakes! I have some things to show you that you will definitely appreciate. Hokey!"

Her house elf came in with more boxes above her tiny head. Hephzibah took them, struggling to keep them all in her hands and organizing them into piles on the table at the same time. Tom quickly rose to his feet.

"Let me help you with that, Miss Hephzibah." Tom offered to hold the boxes for her.

"Oh, thank you, dear boy." Her merlot lips spread in a wide grin and she batted her eyelashes. "You're such a gentleman."

Tom responded with a perfectly charming smile, even though his stomach turned. Normally, he didn't mind being worshiped but he found this old woman disturbing.

They spent the next hour going through her collection, Hephzibah praising his intelligence practically every time he opened his mouth, just to shower him with compliments.

Once they were done with business and Tom was about to leave, Hephzibah seemed to get desperate to keep him there just a while longer, so she showed him something she knew would draw his attention.

The moment Tom laid his eyes on the golden chalice that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, he knew he had to have it. An object of one of the Hogwarts founders, said to possess great magical properties, just sitting there in a box in this old woman's house? Unacceptable.

He was just going to steal it – maybe tamper with her memories a little bit – but that was until she showed him another founder's possession. At the sight of Salazar Slytherin's locket, anger rumbled through him, and for a second he thought he would lose control. This ugly old bat had no right to the great Slytherin's item. It belonged to him by birthright. He restrained the urge to kill her right there and then. He was going to make use of her death.

For the next couple of days, Tom proceeded to make the necessary preparations. It was a tedious process – it was very dark magic after all, and he was pushing the limits of it, going further than any other witch or wizard before, so it was crucial to take the time and be precise. So he made the potions and cast the spells with practiced patience, even though the thought of the old crone being in possession of what was his by birthright, was eating at him.

Two days later, he Apparated in front of Hephzibah's house, crossed the front yard, and knocked on the door. He heard the woman's hasty orders barked at the house elf, and a moment later the door swung open to Hokey bowing low and inviting him into the brightly lit hall.

"Tom!" Hephzibah greeted him enthusiastically, the ever-present tone of worship lacing her voice. "So lovely of you to visit this old lady! I wasn't expecting to see you so soon again."

Tom put on a shy smile.

"I brought you wine, Miss Hephzibah." He presented the bottle to her.

"You shouldn't have!" She made an attempt at timidness but reached for the bottle without hesitation all the same. She cocked an eyebrow. "Merlot?"

"So that it matches your lipstick, Miss Hephzibah." Tom flashed her a mildly seductive smile – not too pushy or suggestive, just enough to make her feel adored.

She giggled, her fat body shaking, and covered her mouth with one hand, while the other waved the compliment away.

"Oh, stop it, Tom," she said, although he could see in her mind how desperately she craved his flattery. "Well, come in, have a seat!" She ushered him into the sitting room, where a table was set up with drinks and treats, lit by flickering candles. "I'm sorry it's not much, my boy. Your message took me by surprise and I had a meeting with the ladies today. I had no time to take care of the house."

A second of holding her gaze, however, told Tom she had actually stayed home and taken at least three hours arranging the table together with the house elf, fussing over every detail. Suppressing a snort of derision, he gave her a soft smile, inclining his head.

"It looks lovely, Miss Hephzibah. But you needn't have busied yourself. I don't mean to be a bother."

"No bother at all, Tom!" she squeaked hastily, gesturing for him to sit and dropping heavily into a chair herself. "So," she said as Tom uncorked the wine with a tap of his wand and poured it into glasses, "Mr. Burke is that intent on buying that goblin-made armor, is he? How much is he offering me this time?"

Tom suppressed a shudder when Hephzibah raised the glass to her lips, smearing the merlot lipstick all over the edge. He took a sip of his wine, trying to focus. It was always difficult to maintain his usually immaculate facade right before making a Horcrux. The preparations unhinged his soul after all, making it easy to split, thus leaving him shaky and making it hard to control himself.

"Actually," he said quietly, raising his eyes, "this is more of a social call."

She held his gaze, the usual look of worship in her eyes, and her face lit up with girlish hope at his confession.

"Is that so?" She faked disbelief, blushing.

"I must admit I can't stop thinking about what you showed me last time–"

"Now, Tom," she interrupted and he almost grunted with irritation. He really needed to make that Horcrux, and fast. It was like having an itch he couldn't scratch, and his self-control was faltering. "I do hope you remember," she batted her lashes over her glass of wine, "those are not for sale."

Tom was silent for a moment, whirling the merlot liquid in his glass while trying to get a grip. It's almost over, he reminded himself. He took a long sip to soothe his anger. When he met the woman's gaze, he was perfectly composed again.

"Of course, Miss Hephzibah." He inclined his head politely. "Like I said, this is more of a social call. I am not here on business tonight."

Hephzibah stared at him with unconcealed worship in her eyes.

"Really?" she asked with a coy smile framed in the thickly applied merlot lipstick.

With that, Tom knew he had her exactly where he wanted her. He kept his eyes downcast, glancing at her, as if shyly, with the corners of his lips lifted slightly.

"I was just so taken aback last time, seeing such valuable artifacts all of a sudden, that I failed to appreciate the beauty…" he said quietly. "Helga Hufflepuff's descendant holding the very cup that had belonged to her… I simply must see it once more."

He could feel a hunger enter his features, which Hephzibah took as hunger for her, not the artifacts. Her powdered cheeks flushed red and she gave a pleased giggle. Gallantly, Tom let her believe what she wanted.

"Hokey!" she shrieked.

The elf trotted into the room.

"Yes, Madam?" she squeaked.

"Bring the cup–"

"And the locket," Tom insisted quietly.

"And the locket too."

"At once, Madam."

Hokey left to carry out the order, while Hephzibah drank her wine complacently, watching Tom with a different kind of hunger. When the elf brought in the boxes, and Hephzibah opened the first one, taking out the golden chalice, Tom could feel his desire to possess the magical object and his soul's restlessness take over him completely. The woman stood up, holding the chalice like a trophy in a pose that was probably meant to be alluring but looked just grotesque.

"Well? Isn't this beautiful?"

Tom didn't know whether she meant the cup or herself but he no longer cared. He already had his wand in his hand, rolling it with his fingers.

"There is something I've been meaning to tell you, Miss Hephzibah," he said in a low voice. He met her gaze, and by the strange look on her face, he could tell the red in his eyes was showing, as it tended to when emotions took the better of him. "Merlot looks disgusting on you."

Hephzibah managed to blink once in surprise before, with a jet of green light, Tom sent the Killing Curse her way. As the woman dropped dead to the floor, Tom felt his soul rip apart. He quickly put all focus on the golden chalice, directing the piece that tore off to latch onto it.

When it was done, he took a few deep breaths, slowly regaining his balance. He felt much better now, despite a dull pain throbbing deep inside of him, caused by his soul being torn. That was all right, though. It would pass.

With a cold sense of sheer power, he stood up from his chair in one graceful movement and walked over to Hephzibah's body with an evil smirk forming on his face. He moved her flabby arm with his foot, so that the golden chalice came into view from under the layers of her ridiculous dress, still in a loose grip of her plump palm.

He tutted. "Let me help you with that, Miss Hephzibah."

He bent down and retrieved the chalice, holding it up to the light with awe. It truly was beautiful. The chalice caused a pleasant buzzing in his brain – or rather the Horcrux in it did. Helga Hufflepuff's cup now contained a piece of his soul. Another successful endeavor.

He went back to the table and opened the second box. Salazar Slytherin's locket gleamed in the candlelight.

"I'll take that as well," Tom said, as if the woman could still hear him. "It never should have belonged to you anyway."

Tom picked up what was his by birthright, then drank the rest of his wine. It looked like his time at Borgin and Burkes had come to an end. Oh, well. But his job here wasn't done just yet – he still had the elf to deal with. Someone had to take the blame for this after all.