AN: Thank you all for your patience! I had a few ideas on how Book One was going to end and they were, unfortunately, contradictory. I finally sorted things out though, and I can say Book One is 2 chapters from finishing, after this one. Also, this chapter contains a bit of smut for you, so hopefully that makes up in a tiny way for the tardiness. Thanks again, my very best of readers!

At half-past ten, Hermione sat in front of her vanity in their bedchamber, removing the pins from her hair one by one and setting them aside. Her husband had chosen not to join her for dinner, immersed in some dark plot or another no doubt, and so she had thrown herself into her rune study as a distraction before retiring to their room and donning her dressing gown.

Of course, she was perfectly capable of spelling her hair clean of all pins and some nights she did just that. For now, though, the monotonous, muggle way of doing it was soothing to her nerves and her hair had been fixed this morning with an inordinate amount of accoutrements, so she slowly and methodically continued with her task.

Movement caught the corner of her eye, directing her gaze to the side of her mirror where Tom's form suddenly appeared in the doorway. She offered him a small smile of greeting before turning away and pulling another pin.

There was a momentary breath where she could feel Tom's eyes on her, then another, before his shoes were whispering on the wood floor as he strode towards her with purpose. Hermione hardly had time to raise an eyebrow in question before she was hoisted unceremoniously from her stool with a barely repressed squeak of surprise.

Her hands pulled themselves from her hair to settle on Tom's shoulders in an attempt to maintain some balance as he turned her quickly to face him. His eyes, smoldering and dark, bored into hers as he bent at the knees and his palms fell to grip the back of her thighs.

"Tom, what are you-"

Her voice cut to a gasp as he lifted her, settling her bottom along the top of the vanity and sliding her back whilst hairpins scattered carelessly across the floor and her book of charms fell with a loud thump in the wake of her arse.

Before she could sort out whether she was annoyed or something else entirely in the wake of Tom's aggressive action, Hermione felt that all-too-familiar grip in her curls. Her husband's fingers burrowed past the halfway done style and tethered her where he wanted her, forcing her face up to his at an angle before he descended on her mouth without preamble.

She froze, momentarily unsure whether to melt into him or stay immobile while her mind caught up before his tongue pried her lips apart and he roughly licked at the roof of her mouth. Tom's groan of gratification had her own fingers tangling in his hair without her permission and her body arching as arousal raced down her spine, warmth pooling within her body as she forgot her uncertainty and began the slow, customary process of drowning in all that Tom Riddle could offer.

His free hand fell to her outer thigh, pushing the dressing gown up to expose the legs that currently cradled him whilst he bit down hard on Hermione's lip. Pain was lost to her, but sensation was not, so she whimpered into his mouth, tugging roughly on the dark, dark locks between her fingers in revenge and shivering at the growl of satisfaction the act earned her.

Tom leaned close, thrusting minutely into the space between her legs as his mouth fell to her shoulder where her covering had slipped to expose tender, vulnerable skin. There he applied teeth and tongue until purple and red bloomed harshly across the flesh, pushing his cock up against her every few moments in delicious ways that had Hermione throwing her head back and biting her lips to keep from moaning aloud too early.

Vaguely, she was aware of him mumbling nonsense into her skin as he went, his words muffled around the abuse he was subjecting her exposed skin to. She heard "Valkyrie" and "little wife" a few times, but most prevalent were the muttered oaths of ownership.

"Mine," Tom growled, mouth fixed firmly on the meat of the muscle above her collar bone where he bit down harshly and worried the mouthful between his teeth. A sigh of pleasure escaped her on Tom's next thrust and he seemed to lose his restraint entirely.

He sidestepped impatiently around the vanity, pulling her with him until she sat sideways across the top with him still nestled between her thighs. A palm grasped her throat without warning, pushing her back until she laid out like an offering, thighs splayed wide by Tom's hips and her right side bracketed by the mirror. Her husband's free hand clawed up her inner thigh until it reached her knickers, his fingers catching in the material and shredding them with a single, violent movement.

"Merlin, Tom-" she murmured, overwhelmed by his actions as arousal and a taste of danger seemed to permeate the air all around them.

He didn't respond to her, releasing Hermione's throat as he dropped swiftly to his knees and without warning or asking for permission, he was there. She cried out as he licked inside her brutally, working her up into a frenzy without pause and pushing, pushing, pushing until she veritably was thrown from the edge.

Her first orgasm had not begun to fade when Tom's hand snaked up her front and forced its way inside her open dressing gown and past her nightdress, plucking roughly at the buds of her nipples until she felt like her whole world was spinning apart.

Sex with Tom had never been tender. It had always been a power play and even when it was intimate, it was never making love. Always with Tom, sex was- Was- ...fucking. But this was something more brutal, more primal than she had experienced before and, as a second release was pulled from her body, Hermione thought wildly that it was equal parts terrifying and enthralling.

Not unlike Tom himself, if she was honest. His teeth bit around her oversensitive flesh and even though pain was denied her, the overabundance of sensation forced a tight scream from her throat.

Tom must have liked that because his dark eyes fluttered shut from where they had been boring into her own and he buried his face more fully between her legs. His hands clutched roughly at her hips as if he believed she might try to pull away and he had no intention of letting her escape his hold. A third orgasm was building in her belly, coiling tighter and tighter, and her body twisted aimlessly in a bid to escape and simultaneously to push herself closer to his mouth.

Her back arched off the top of the vanity and no sound escaped her as her third orgasm raced through her, muscles twitching in ecstasy and exhaustion as her body fought again the rising tide of pleasure. When she collapsed back, boneless and sated, Tom finally rose to his feet and stared down at her exposed body. The sound of harsh panting filled the room as he studied her, from her sweaty, frizzed hair to the flush spread all the way to her belly, even further down until his eyes lingered between her legs.

Hermione watched with tired, hooded eyes as his hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it swiftly before he pushed his trousers and pants down his thighs just far enough to free his cock. She would have laughed at the indignity of it, the state of the Dark Lord as he pulled her down effortlessly and flipped her onto her stomach, had she been capable of more movement and thought than a bowl of jello.

A loud keen escaped her throat when her oversensitive nipples pressed against the cold top of the vanity, but Tom did not pause as he slid inside without warning and stood for a moment simply grinding the length of him into her. His fingers gripped onto her hips implacably as he began to thrust, hard and fast with no thoughts now for anything but chasing his own pleasure. The whole vanity moved with the force of it and Hermione whimpered into her hands at the feeling, little trickles of pleasure forcing their way sluggishly through her as she lay boneless beneath him.

The blood in her ears was pounding so hard that she didn't hear the things he was mumbling until Tom wrenched her up and forced her back to his chest, hips still pushing forward without fail as he buried his head in her shoulder.

"Gonna make you a queen," Tom groaned, his movement beginning to stutter as his orgasm loomed before him. "Make you a goddess... Gonna fuck you, adore you, own you forever..."

Hermione gasped with unexpected tears leaking down her face, overwhelmed as he came with his palm at her throat and his face in her hair, whispering all of the ways that she was his, always his and only his.

Tom stayed buried inside her as he caught his breath, stroking along her hair in soothing motions as she shivered. Her muscles and heart felt weakened, unable to stand or breath with the force of how strongly he had 'loved' her. Not that he did, he didn't love her, wasn't capable, but this had felt so strong, so intimate, so-

Without saying anything else, Tom turned her and picked her up, murmuring a wandless cleaning spell around a satisfied smirk as he carried her over and deposited her in the bed. His body curled around her as it always did and it wasn't long before her husband drifted into a deep sleep.

Rest abandoned her that night.

The next few days, Tom was absent quite a bit. His days at work were normally spaced out so that he rarely worked two in a row, but he murmured absentminded things about complications and things to discuss within the Death Eater organization as he readied himself each day. To Hermione's increasing frustration, he dodged her questions at breakfast as to what, precisely, needed addressing, telling her only that he'd confide more to her once he had sorted it out.

When she pointed out that she was second in the hierarchy and therefore demanded to know, he simply smiled that condescending, fond smile and told her second was not first before kissing her on the head and retreating out to wherever it was he was going.

It was all she could do not to scream in frustration. She hoped, for a petty moment, that her upset was making his chest ache but the devotion entreaty made her feel guilty for the thought so she tried to simply ignore his absence instead; it's not as if she did not have work to do herself, after all. This willful ignorance to the passing of days was how she found herself sighing, seated in front of Tom for their morning meal with a Daily Prophet informing her that the date was December 27th.

Her husband glanced at her over the edge of his own paper, a perfect eyebrow lifting as he made a vague inquiring noise as to her frustration.

"We've missed Christmas, Tom," she said quietly, setting the paper down before picking up her fork to push listlessly at her eggs. "I haven't celebrated a proper Christmas since I was 16 or 17, but I used to love them. At least, before the war and then being alone at Hogwarts for years. I had thought we would maybe do something this year but..."

The paper folded slightly to reveal Tom's face as he stared at her with a bemused expression.

"You wished to celebrate a holiday with the Dark Lord, little wife?"

She huffed. "No, I wished to celebrate Christmas with my husband: Tom Riddle," she corrected, only realizing it was perhaps a silly distinction to make after the words were already out. She may love him and he may be more than the sum of his choices to her, but he was never not the Dark Lord. The upturn of his lips suggested he was thinking something similar and Hermione felt herself bristle.

"Well, we can celebrate the New Year, at any rate," Tom interrupted before she could respond with a sulky comment she'd likely regret later, smoothing out the Prophet as he laid it down and picked up his coffee cup. "Perhaps we'll have a Yule celebration next year, but this year, January 1st will find us immortal, Deliciae."

He granted her a smoldering smile of satisfaction that caused an involuntary blush to flare across her cheeks before she looked away and pointedly took a sip of her own mug.

"Speaking of," he continued, "how goes your continued study into the Philosopher's stone? As I said, I intend for us to perform the ritual in 5 days' time, at the turn of the year, and there are still materials to be gathered before then and the room to set up. Have you made any preparations?"

"I have," she confirmed, leaning forward as her eyes sparked with interest at the chance to share her academic success with someone who would appreciate it. "As you know, the directions are less than clear and open somewhat to interpretation, but I've sorted it out and have a list of necessary ingredients to purchase whenever we get to Diagon and Knockturn. Gilmy has completely cleared out the storage room and I'm purifying it today using sandalwood, star anise, and wormwood."

"And from a technical alchemical perspective, we've access to all the necessary ingredients?" Tom inquired, taking a small bite of sausage and chewing as he watched her.

"Oh yes," she assured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "There are different techniques and powders and potion's ingredients to complete each of the necessary steps to create a stone which can turn lead to gold, as well as the additional immortality ritual, but none of the components should be impossible to find between multiple apothecaries. In fact, I think we should visit multiple shops anyway in order to keep anyone from having a record of all of the purchases we make in order to construct this."

"Well, I leave this in your capable hands, Gaza," Tom said smoothly, standing from the table and fixing his cufflinks. "Floo the mouseling and have him join you on the shopping trip. I finished with him yesterday and he seems to have recovered from his mysterious bout of illness."

"Antonin was sick?" Hermione asked fretfully, rising with him as she took a step in Tom's direction and worried at her lip.

Tom glanced at her, annoyance flashing across his face so quickly she almost missed it before he shook his head minutely and stepped towards her. His hands landed on her upper arms and he pulled her into his chest, burying his face in her unruly curls as his palms smoothed up her shoulders and around her throat.

"Indeed, he suffered for a time," Tom confirmed, dropping a lingering kiss to her lips before pulling back to stare into her eyes. "He's quite well now, however. I assure you."

She nodded, biting once more at her bottom lip only to have Tom lean forward and pull it free with his own teeth. His tongue swiped along the flesh, soothing the place where it would normally sting before he released her with a fond, dark grin and began to make his way to the door.

"Wait!" she called after him, hurrying towards the exit where he stalled in the door frame and turned towards her with an expectant look. "Don't you want to check on my progress? I can show you my notes on the Philosopher's stone before I purchase the materials, ensure that you agree with my assessment?"

Tom offered her a small smile before turning away again and proceeding out the door. "I trust your judgment, Gaza," he called over his shoulder.

Hermione's mouth gaped open as she stared after him, shocked and smugly pleased at his confidence in her abilities before hurrying after him to head to her study. He stopped once more in the entrance hall before turning and giving her a considering look as she began to head for the stairs.

At the strange glint in his eye, Hermione stalled as well.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'm marking Epona Selwyn today," he said conversationally, studying her face intently as her lip found its way between her teeth once more. "It's an interesting process, one you have not been privy to before in this time. I presume you did not see it in your timeline either."

"I did not," she confirmed quietly, shifting on her feet as she broke eye contact to glance past him.

"Do you wish to come?" he inquired, taking a step towards her as she began shaking her head before he even finished the question.

"I- No," she stuttered out, feeling foolish even as she clasped her hands in front of her to keep from shaking. "I know, being second in the organization as I am and taking a more active role, that I need to understand the process sometime soon. But after what just happened with Corvus..."

She trailed off, unsure how to finish, but Tom nodded slightly.

"You do not want to see more anguish so soon."

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes on the weakness. While understandable to her mind, she did not want to see or hear her husband's disapproval of her 'tedious morality' again.

"Disappointing, but understandable," was all he said before moving to leave.

Hermione's eyes shot open and her mouth was moving before she even knew what she was going to say. "You should really reconsider the placement, though, since so few people are marked as of yet."

He froze, turning to stare at her with dark eyes. He raised a hand for her to continue and she made a helpless, aborted gesture with her own fingers.

"It's just-"

Hermione took a deep breath, reminding herself that she had committed and the Death Eaters were hers now too and it would not do to have them be inefficient or undermined if they were hers.

"Everyone occasionally sees forearms, Tom," she told him, pointing at her own exposed rune scaring as an example. "You make your people easily recognizable by a marking that anyone could see by mistake. Why not do it somewhere that very few people would ever be privy to, like the lower back or the inner thigh?"

Her lips pursed as she considered, bringing a hand up to run through her unruly curls.

"Furthermore, you need some sort of built-in fail-safe that causes the mark to disappear upon death," she said slowly, head tilting as she truly considered the possibilities. "It's hugely inefficient that your enemies are not only aware of how to identify members of an allegedly secret organization, but know the exact 'brand,' at it were, and where to locate it. If it disintegrated somehow when death occurred and your lackeys were cautious to charm away the evidence of the Dark Mark before exposing their intimate bodies to people whose loyalties were unknown, the discovery of this identifying mark might be able to be avoided entirely."

"Anything else you wish to share, little Gaza?" Tom asked, looking at her with an unreadable expression in his eye. "Any additional insights into my Dark Mark?"

Her mind immediately went to the conversation with her sworn wizard and the implications of the Dark Mark bond as secondary. Her eyes flashed to Tom as he watched her expectantly while she ran through the scenarios in which she would know such a thing, how to tell him the truth about the mark without exposing Antonin to undue scrutiny. After a moment to consider her options, she found no way to do so.

So with the honesty entreaty chaining her, Hermione answered very carefully.

"There are no other ideas I wish to share about the Dark Mark," she said slowly. "I would encourage you to consider reexamining the entire curse for weaknesses, especially if you take my suggestion to move the location and add in an if-then clause in case of death. You never know what you might have missed."

Tom looked at her intently, his lips ticking up in a pleased, little smirk before he nodded once more.

"Goodbye, little wife," he murmured, turning once more towards the door and taking a step outside. "I'll return this evening."

A crack sounded and Tom was gone from the stoop. Hermione stared at the area he disappeared from for a moment before she turned back towards the staircase and moved quickly towards her study, gathering the list of necessary materials and spelling the parchment unreadable with the charm Tom had taught her. Afterward, she deposited her research into her beaded bag and headed to her bedroom to select an outfit for the day.

While part of her still despised the trappings of pureblood society in the 1950s, she was quickly coming to understand the importance of projecting a certain image. The Death Eaters were still relatively unknown, but if she wanted to successfully stage a political coup without causing an outright war, they wouldn't be for long. As Tom's wife and second in command, people would want to see a certain kind of woman.

She may recoil from the idea of dressing herself up like a beautiful, gentle pureblood prize broodmare, but she'd do it to ensure less bloodshed and the prosperity of wizarding Britain. For this reason, she carefully chose an entirely appropriate short sleeve wool dress, tailored to hug her figure in a way that was flattering but not risqué. The blocky shapes in varying shades of gray and blue, as well as a very small strip of gauzy material, added interest and sophistication to the classic cut, managing to be appealing to both an older and younger audience. A set of sheer stockings and pair of cream, pointed toe heels completed the look, and while she would have strongly preferred flats, the proper charms made her feet feel almost as if she was wearing tennis shoes anyway.

Almost.

Although she usually avoided charming her hair straight, as much like muggle hair products the process itself was damaging, she allowed herself the luxury today of easily tamed hair. With the last preparation done, she secured and disillusioned her wand in a forearm holster and headed towards the floo.

Taking a pinch of the powder, she tossed it quickly into the fire.

"Dolohov Manor," Hermione called out, stepping into the green flames with her beaded bag clutched securely between her fingers.

She arrived in the sitting room much more gracefully than before, striding across the space and into the hallway.

"Myshka!" Hermione shouted from the entryway, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor as she crossed to the stairs.

Antonin appeared on the landing, still in his pajamas as he moved down the stairs to greet her.

"Kotik?" he asked with a smile, leaning down to pull her into a hug before leaning back slightly with his arms still secured around Hermione's waist to stare into her eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I heard you were ill," she said in lieu of answering his question, reaching a hand up to finger the collar of Antonin's striped pajama shirt with a wry grin. "What ailed you? Are you well now?"

Hermione frowned as his face closed off with an almost audible snap and Antonin released her, taking a few steps back as he began to move towards the kitchen. She followed on his heels, disconcerted with his change in demeanor and ready to inquire further before he cut her off with his answer.

"I'm not sure what was wrong, really," he said dismissively, flicking his wand to start the tea kettle as he moved towards the cabinets. "But whatever it was, I'm completely fine now. Would you like a tea or coffee?"

Sliding into a seat at the small kitchen table, Hermione shook her head and eyed Antonin suspiciously.

"You seem very hesitant to discuss this with me," she said slowly, smoothing her hands along the table as he stomped around the kitchen and kept his face resolutely turned away. "I feel like there is more to it than what you're telling me and I- Well, I'm worried, Antonin. I care about you. Deeply. If something is wrong, I-"

She paused, unsure how to continue, before letting her eyes close in frustration.

"Just please don't shut me out."

A sigh had her eyes snapping open once more to the sight of Antonin staring at her over his shoulder with a tender, sad look. He crossed the room in a few strides and kneeled beside her, pulling her around so she sat sideways in the chair as he clutched at her hands.

"We all have our secrets, Kotik," he said quietly, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Even me. Even me from you. Allow me my privacy and my pride, my Lady; I swear to you that I am no longer ill or in pain."

Hermione stared in his dark eyes, at once so similar and so different from her husband's, and slowly nodded. He was right. While she could probably use their bond to compel him to tell her whatever he was keeping from her, it would be an abuse of her power and the trust he so readily placed in her hands. Antonin was entitled to keep his own counsel; he did not owe her all of his secrets.

Her sworn wizard's smile was gentle as he rose up and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before resuming his morning routine. The tension cleared as they chatted amicably about nonsense subjects, purposefully keeping the conversation light in the wake of the earlier conflict.

"You never did tell me why you are here, my Lady," Antonin said, moving to rinse his cup and place it in the sink. "While you are always welcome, am I right in assuming there was a purpose to your visit this morning?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione conceded with a slightly bemused frown, picking at the wood of the table with her fingernails. "Tom seems to believe I am incapable of navigating Diagon Alley on my own and has insisted you be my escort for a shopping trip. It didn't actually occur to me to ask him why earlier, but now I find myself quite confused and a little putout, if I'm being honest."

Antonin snorted a laugh as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as he eyed her with a teasing glint in his eye.

"And am I such awful company that you are offended by his insistence I accompany you?"

Hermione flushed. "No, of course not! It's just-"

"I am your sworn wizard," he interrupted, suddenly serious and stern in a way that had her spine straightening and her jaw tightening in defiance on instinct. "It is my job to guard you and serve you in any way that is required, up to and including giving my life for yours. Ensuring your safety on an outing is the least of my duties."

"I am perfectly capable of ensuring my own safety," she informed him, standing from the table and smoothing down the skirt of her dress in a gesture of irritation, "though I thank you ever so much for your faith in my abilities."

Antonin tilted his head as he gazed at her for a moment in consideration before sighing and looking away. "I have no basis on which to judge your abilities, Kotik," he explained, "but even if I did, it would not matter. My service and devotion are not contingent on your skills or lack thereof."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, once more, that she was a formidable witch and completely not in need of protection, but he cut her off.

"Based on your marriage to my Lord, I think it is safe to assume that you are magically superior indeed," he told her, crossing the room and settling his hands on her shoulders. "But you are important, and your importance to the Dark Lord only continues to increase as days pass. To watch you together is to see that where once Tom was obsidian, he now has cracks made of glass. Consider my protection of you, in truth, protection of him. He will never admit such out loud and would likely murder me for recognizing it, so I beg you not to share this with him, but your loss would not bode well for his stability. He needs you now. So while I will always be disposable, you, unequivocally, are not."

"But-"

Antonin sighed. "Why are you such a poor listener?" he murmured, ignoring the way she bristled under his fingers and glared at him. "Please hear me, Kotik. You are trying to temper Tom's worst impulses, are you not?"

She considered denying it in some way, just out of sheer pettiness, but eventually, Hermione nodded.

"You have not succeeded so far because of choices you have made or arguments you have presented," he said firmly, leaning down to stare sternly into her face. "You have succeeded because you are the very thing that tempers him. Without your presence and your love –don't scrunch your nose like that, you know that you love him- all of the violence and the hatred and the blood that permeated your world comes back tenfold. To have you and to lose you will be so much worse than never having you. So you must be safe, Kotik. We must be ridiculous and overzealous in your security."

She began to make one last, feeble protest, but his grip on her shoulders tightened and Antonin shook her gently, just once, and her mouth snapped shut at the fervent, feverish look in his eyes.

"What have I told you, my Lady? 'Better to destroy everything than surrender her.' Tom will tear this world down around us should he ever think to lose you. He will go mad with it. If you will accept my protection for no other reason, then at least accept it for the safety of the rest of us."

Hermione slumped in Antonin's grasp and nodded her assent. While she didn't believe that Tom's feelings ran anywhere near that deep, her wizard clearly did and there was obviously nothing to be said to dissuade him.

Antonin offered her a pained smile, as if he knew many, many things she did not, and ignored her questioning glance as he finally released her.

"Allow me to dress, Kotik," he said, walking with purpose towards the doorway, "and then we will get you anything you need."

Hermione sighed but said nothing. She seriously doubted they sold the clarity on this whole, strange morning she currently desperately needed in Knockturn Alley.