The silence in the hall was deafening.

She couldn’t hear even the usual dragging sound of the snake behind the thick oak doors of the drawing room. There must have been a silencing charm placed upon it.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she smoothed a hand down the front of her dress robes. The dark red fabric was thick but soft and she was grateful that like last time, the neckline cut across her collarbones rather than her throat.

Only a few moments after Pansy’s encouragement that the Dark Lord would know what to do, the two house elves Humph and Fimsy popped into the library announcing that Draco, Theo, and Hermione must get ready.

Draco had kissed Hermione lightly before following the elf to the doors of the library, obviously still chastened by his scolding earlier by the old elf. Theo had pulled her in for a quick hug, whispering against her ear so low only she could hear:

“We’ll be right there with you, Mione.”

Pansy merely took Hermione’s hand and led her to her bedchamber, letting her know in a soft voice that she would help Hermione get ready as Narcissa, Lucius, and her father were with the Dark Lord. Narcissa had already laid out her dress robes and as Pansy was almost as skilled as Narcissa at beauty charms – and not as nervous about performing magic outside of school given they were in a magical home – had Hermione ready quickly.

That was how she found herself here, standing alone in front of the drawing room trying to slow her breathing.

She checked her library, pulling out her now thick tome of fears and watching black script creep across the page.

Fears for Draco, Theo, and the rest of her family.

Fears for Harry and the unknowns of the future.

Fears for herself and the changes she didn’t know could be possible.

She floated the tome to a higher shelf than before and pushed it deep within the dark shelves with a sigh.

The Dark Lord was pleased, she reminded herself, she could do this.

With relief, she heard footsteps approaching behind her and turned to see Draco and Theo walking towards her at a brisk pace. Both boys were dressed in ornate dress robes and when they passed in front of a large torch, she realized they were not black but a very deep green.

“Sorry we’re late, love,” Draco said quietly as his lips brushed hers. “Theo here needed to get his hair just right.”

“Listen,” Theo said with a huff, shaking back his curls. “My contribution to the Dark Lord’s regime is my immaculate head of hair. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress the giggle that bubbled up at the serious look on Theo’s face.

“You’re absolutely right, Theo. He told me so.”

Theo turned to Draco, slapping a palm on his chest.

“ See? ”

Draco rolled his eyes before allowing just the barest of grins to cross his lips and then turned to Hermione, pressing a kiss to her wrist below her bracelet.

“Are you ready?”

All the humor of a moment ago evaporated and she swallowed loudly. She nodded once and he drew her into his arms, careful not to disturb the intricate updo Pansy had done. Without a word he stepped back, positioning her to stand beside Theo behind him before turning to face the great double doors.

The thick silence crept back into the hall as they waited, only broken by the rapid pounding of her heart in her ears.

Finally, with a low groan, the double doors swung open. The moment they did, the silencing charm on the room enveloped them and she heard the quiet scrape across the ground of the snake mixed with the popping of a large fire.

The trio immediately dropped their eyes to the ground before they entered, Draco guiding them with measured steps to the ornate rug in the middle of the room. Though she’d only done it twice, this ritual of entering calmed Hermione’s nerves somewhat. Her boys were here, she was not alone.

“Welcome, young friends,” the Dark Lord said in his hissing tone and she thought she could hear amusement in it.

“Thank you, my lord,” Draco replied for the three of them in a smooth voice so similar to his father it was difficult to tell them apart.

“What a family you have, Lucius. You must be proud.”

“I am, my lord. Thank you,” Lucius replied to Hermione’s right. She fought the urge to look up to see where he and Narcissa were placed in the room.

“Draco, bring me your intended,” the Dark Lord said imperiously.

Hermione heard the rustle of robes as Draco stood, then the tips of his dragon leather shoes appeared in front of her before he extended a pale hand. She took it, rising fluidly to her feet and exchanging a long look with him. Draco’s eyes were flat and empty, a sure sign he was occluding as much as she was. But the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as their eyes met before he guided her towards the dais.

She could see Narcissa and Lucius stationed in front of the steps but far to the right, while a large olive skinned man with a thick black beard streaked with gray took up the same position on the left. This, she assumed, was Pansy’s father.

The Dark Lord reclined on his throne in the same position as a king might. The snake had curled around the edge of the dais and rested its heavy head against his shoulder, which he stroked in a lazy, absentminded sort of way. His robes looked like liquid night spilling around him, making his pale skin even more ghostly in the dim light of the fire and elaborate chandelier.

Draco guided her to the edge of the dais before stepping slightly behind her and placing a hand low on her back. The Dark Lord’s bright red eyes tracked the movement and he gave a flick of his fingers indicating Draco should return to his spot on the rug.

“Hello, pet,” the Dark Lord said, the strange stretched smile on his face.

Hermione gave a low curtsey.

“Hello, my lord.”

He leaned forward, the putrid scent of death swirling around him as he did so, and Hermione willed her face into a smooth mask. The bright daggered teeth glinting in the firelight as he once again gave her that haunting smile.

“I must admit, pet, I am impressed.”

Pride clawed its way up her throat, grabbing the corners of her mouth and lifting them before she could stop it. He was not just pleased – she had impressed him. Her, a mudblood .

“You picked the perfect spot for me to infiltrate the Potter boy’s mind. Very clever...”

Hermione’s mind flicked back to the conversation she’d had with Ron.

Sometimes… It's like it’s not him.

“I am grateful to be of service, my lord,” she replied with a slight dip of her chin.

It was as if the words intoxicated him. She saw his thin eyelids flutter and he took in a deep pull of air in satisfaction.

“Come inside,” he said smoothly, tapping one bony finger to his temple.

She was almost relieved by the invitation. Relieved that she would see Tom Riddle rather than the snake-like nightmare in front of her. With practiced ease she connected their minds and stepped through, into the onyx chamber.

This time, however, the chamber was slightly different. Though the windowless black walls and floors still shone, there was a hearth with a crackling fire and two stuffed black armchairs across from one another. Tom Riddle, handsome and lean, stood waiting with her with his hands clasped behind his back. When she saw him, he tossed his head slightly to remove a black curl from his vision and extended a pale palm towards the cozy set up.

“Sit with me, pet,” Tom said in a gentle voice so unlike the rasping hiss of his physical body.

Once more she wondered if this image of him was deliberate or if, perhaps, the man Tom Riddle was trapped inside, never to see the light of day again.

As she took her chair across from him, Tom gave her a soft smile. It was not warm or particularly affectionate but she could tell that he meant it this way. As if he had read of such emotions in a book and was trying it on for size.

“What I am about to tell you must not be shared for the time being,” he said, the index finger of his right hand – clad in a gold ring with a black stone – tapped idly on the arm of his chair. “The rest will know when the time is right, but you are to be my instrument.”

Hermione nodded, straightening her posture slightly. She was determined not to fail – to continue to prove her worth and therefore in the process perhaps prove the worth of other muggleborns. It had been an idea that had taken root from the beginning: please the Dark Lord and perhaps his ideas of blood purity could change.

“I am always happy to serve you, my lord,” she said, repeating the sentiment since it seemed to please him.

And just as in his physical body, the handsome boy in front of her appeared to react as well. His head tipped back and for a moment a hungry expression crossed his face before he spoke again.

“There will be a time that the Potter boy will want to go to the Department of Mysteries. It will be your job to ensure he gets there without the aid of the Order. He must retrieve something very important for me from the Hall of Prophecy.”

Hermione felt her brows pull together, but knew better than to ask questions.

“I understand, my lord.”

“If necessary, however, you may accompany him. My followers will be informed not to hurt any child who may be with him, just in case. If any harm comes to you, they will suffer my… displeasure.”

Warmth spread through her body at the words, never in a million years would she have believed that a day would come that the Dark Lord would be protecting her.

“Yes, my lord. I…” She swallowed loudly. “I was also hoping to speak with you about a particular matter, my lord.”

Tom smiled then, the same approximation of warmth and affection in his gaze as his index finger now stroked his bottom lip.

“Of course, pet.” He leaned forward; his head slightly tipped to the side.

Hermione relayed the same information to him as she had to the others, though she left out her fears – leaving only the facts. She was surprised when he merely nodded.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “It will be important that you play the part of the good Gryffindor Princess. Give him no reason to suspect you, do you understand? Dumbledore is blinded by his belief in the goodness of people.”

“That is what I thought as well, my lord,” she answered quickly, excited that he had come to the same conclusion.

“But Dumbledore is short sighted, sweetling. He is afflicted by the same disease as the rest of the wizarding world – prejudice against those different from ourselves.” Hermione’s heart skipped a beat when his blue eyes pierced hers. “A disease you are slowly curing me of.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that pulled across her face.

“Dumbledore wants the world to stay as it is, whereas I want the wizarding world to show its might. Its power . To be brought into its full potential. To live in a world where we do not wallow in secrecy and fear. Dumbledore is content to have others – children – fight his battles for power while resting on his moral high ground that is built upon lies and pull the strings.”

A strange swirl of pleasure curled inside her at these words. Yes, she thought, children fight his battles, the coward.

Tom leant closer until their knees touched, his eyes glittering with fire and passion.

“In his world you would be reduced to nothing but a housewife, your magic and power meaningless. Nothing but a second-class citizen.”

She couldn’t help but remember Mrs. Weasley’s constant nagging at her to learn household charms, her insistence that it would be important for her to find a good husband as her options would be so limited as a muggle born.

Tom read the anger on her face and covered her knee with a pale hand, the onyx stone on his finger catching in the light just as the walls around them did..

“You are so much more than a housewife, pet. At my side , you will be unstoppable .”

Her heart hammered in her chest as she felt the words rip through her veins.

“What is a knife without a blade, Miss Granger?”

She blinked for a moment before replying.

“Merely a placeholder, my lord.”

He smiled, shifting to cross a long leg over his knee.

“And what is a blade without a handle, sweetling?”

She thought, the corner of her lips slightly pulling up.

“Dangerous and unpredictable, my lord.”

A dark look crossed his face as he steepled his fingers together.

“You will be my blade, pet. Mon couteau aiguise. The blade that will pierce the heart of Albus Dumbledore and his oppressive regime. When the time comes, you and your intended will take your place by my side and then the true war will begin.”

My sharp knife. She translated quickly. I will be Voldemort’s blade.