A/N: I really enjoyed the fem Voldemort take and want to see a more romance centered story regarding it. Alas its a rare thing. Now I am not a writer. I am a reader. And my story will obviously reflect that. Feel free to flame, call me garbage/whatever. I don't particularly mind. I got thick skin. I started this story with a clear start, middle and end. That view was shatter before the first page was done. Every sentence I wrote, every single thing I threw at the characters, my mind immediately rewrote how they reacted. This story's direction literally changes with every paragraph. I've no blooming clue how its gonna go. I can tell you that, while there may be tragic parts, it wont end tragically. I can't stand that shit. If I focus hard on a character, don't expect them to end horribly. They may die, but at the very least it'll be with a smile on their face.

I'm not gonna bother telling you all what I own and don't. That disclaimer is in the URL.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter felt his feet slam into the earth as the force clenching his navel receded. He immediately fell on his arse giving him the perfect view of Cedric Diggory's more controlled descent. It seemed that, surprise or not, portkey travel was going to be a means of travel that would always be embarrassing for him. Taking a brief moment to collect his wits, he gazed around at his surroundings. They had apparently been portkeyed to a cemetery.

"Do you think this is still part of the task?" Cedric asked.

Harry didn't reply quickly, still somewhat disoriented. "It could be," he said after a pause. "But I doubt it. Why would we still be in the tournament after we've got the Triwizard Cup?"

Cedric nodded. "Wands out then. Just to be safe." The statement was more of a comfort, as neither had bothered to put their wands away.

They both proceeded forward amongst the tombstones, wary of any lurking dangers. Unfortunately, invisibility always gives the enemy an advantage in a fight. Two pale jets of light shot from a large angel statue, one after the other, striking both boys and making their bodies rigid. The air then rippled and Peter Pettigrew appeared, wand in one hand, a blanketed bundle in the other.

"You ought t-to know better H-Harry. I'm s-sure you have James invisibility c-cloak in your possession. Always expect an invisible f-f-foe." The once pudgy fellow looked terrible now. Face drawn, pale and clearly in dire need of a few good meals, he flicked his wand and the large angel statue vanished, leaving in its place a large bubbling cauldron.

Harry felt the blood rush to his ears. This traitor had no right to even think his fathers name, and yet he was casually talking about the past as though they were fond memories. Well as casual as anyone can be when they are clearly a nervous, jittering wreck. Harry watched as Peter stumbled on his way forward before hearing a high, piercing voice, one he would never forget.

"Careful, you imbecile. In this state I can perish easily."

Harry heard the voice come from Peter's body and quickly his brain brought up images from a past teacher. Professor Quirrel had once housed Voldemort's soul in the back of his head. His idea quickly shattered though, as the bundle in Peter's arms shifted and Harry realize that, somehow or some way, Voldemort had gain some temporary form of her own.

"Master, there are two. What shall I do with the other boy?" Peter asked. It seemed his master's rebuke had steeled his nerves, as his stutter had vanished. He still look pathetically scared of the entire situation.

"Leave him detained and unaware for now, one can never know when a convenient Imperius victim can be useful."

After hearing his master's orders, he stunned Cedric, and began to busy himself with the cauldron. Gently setting the bundle down on a hastily conjured pedestal, he went to the closest gravestone. With a sharp twist of his wand the ground split open with a sharp crack and a fine dust made its way into the cauldron.

"Bone of the father, bring your progeny back into this world again."

He walked to Harry, and as he neared, Harry saw his other hand emerge from his robes clutching a small dagger. Swiftly, Peter dug the blade into Harry's arm and, after conjuring up a vial, collected the blood before it fell to the earth.

"Blood of the enemy, forcefully taken to fuel the magic inside the new vessel." The vial was emptied carefully into the wide cauldron, as though fearful that a stray gust would make a single drop miss.

Peter then held his own arm above the cauldron, and, with the other hand holding his wand, cast a severing charm. The following shriek, Harry felt, should have been heard for miles. Someone would be coming, eventually. Hopefully it would be the helpful kind of someone. For now, however, he was forced to watch as a true nightmare, pulled straight from his subconscious mind, was being enacted before him.

"Flesh of the servant, to give form at the height of strength to one's master." The words were being forced out now, barely understandable. Harry watched as Peter levitated the bundle into the cauldron before collapsing on the ground. Probably out for the count, but he couldn't be sure. He continued to watch as the cauldron began to bubble and froth, and he was reminded of Neville Longbottom in Potions. He could only hope Peter's skill in the subject was just as sub par.

His hopes were dashed however, as the fluid surged forth, before breaking into a woman's form, a deep, gasping breath being the first thing he heard from her. Her hands tightly grasped the rim, unaffected by its heat, as she took deep breaths. Slowly her deep breaths took the form of laughter, soft at first, but quickly rising in volume, tapering off just short of obnoxious. The face, that had just before looked as though it were starved from air, had a wide, dreamy smile on it. Even Luna Lovegood couldn't smile like that.

"A body." Her voice was soft and light, a whisper really, but it carried its way to Harry's ears all the same. Her hand went to her face, softly caressing it in a downwards motion, continuing its descent until it reached her breast. It was then that she shivered, and it seemed her awareness returned. Gazing about, she glanced at Harry, still under the effects of the body bind, and then her head tilted towards Cedric at a heap, merely feet from the other boy. A one-sided smirk came to here features as she climbed out of the cauldron and retrieved her servants wand.

Giving it a flick, she said, "Sorry to end the peep show, Harry, but I've got many things to do today, and as you can see its night time already." Her lithe form was immediately covered in a robe, and she then conjured up a mirror. After a brief look at her face, she promptly kick the unconscious Peter on the ground, rolling him onto his back.

"Idiot. He misspoke the incantation. All he had to say was 'height of MAGICAL strength,' and he fails that too. Now I'm in this body that has only peaked physically." She cast a look at Harry, signifying to him that the explanation was for his benefit, before continuing. "I still have a great amount of magical power now, but it's still a fair bit lower than what it could be."

Returning her attention to the gradually paling body at her feet, her lips curled in disgust as she swiped her wand and a haze of fire burst onto Peters blood-soaked stump, cauterizing the would. Seemingly satisfied, she bent down and pulled his sleeve back exposing his tattoo. But right as she was about the press the borrowed wand into it, she paused. Once again returning her attention back to the only conscious person nearby, she stood back up and approached him.

She stopped right in front of him and cancelled his body bind. He barely was able to think of moving, before a simple flick had him dangling upside down, his nose level with hers. After a brief staring contest, she pushed her body up on the balls of her feet and locked her lips onto his.

It was like someone had poured liquid fire into his skull. Harry would be loathe to admit it to anyone, but Voldemort was not unattractive. His hormonal brain had its normal response when presented the image of a fit and nude young woman and had it not been for the body bind, evidence of his... discomfort may have been visible. On any other day, with any other person, he would probably have been delighted to find himself in this position. But alas, it was THIS day and it was with THIS woman and instead of a mind full of pleasure, he got a scar full of pain. Screaming into her mouth did nothing to deter her lips, but his open mouth presented an invitation she didn't waste. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, tasting him, and enjoying her short freedom to act as she deemed fit. But pain has only two ways to be expressed through the mouth, by violent screams, or a clenched silence. And after a short few seconds of screeching pain, Harry's jaw clenched, and his teeth snapped closed onto Voldemort's tongue.

More durable than most her body may be, when someone bites the shite out of your tongue, it hurts. Attempting to reel backwards did nothing to sever their connection due to his locked jaw. Her fist connecting with his temple on the other hand, made his muscles weaken enough for her to break free. Her enhanced body protected her enough to prevent a bloodied tongue, but the pain was still there. With another wave of her wand, he was pinned to her father's tombstone.

"Well Harry, I hope that was your first kiss. If you've had practice before, you've really let some girls down. You're not suppose to bite. Not there anyway."

The pain in Harry's skull was receding quickly, not all gone, but enough to were he could now think about something other than his imploding skull. "Have you lost your mind? What the hell was that for?" Such an intimacy had been forced upon him, with a person he despised no less. He couldn't fathom as to why she had desired to do so. Last he had been aware, she had despised him as much as he had despised her. Even though their last encounter had been around 2 years ago, he still fervently remembered her teen-aged self hissing at a large basilisk to devour his body, crush his skull. The thought was easily reinforced by the fact that she looked so alike to that image, no older than 20 now, if even that.

The Dark Lord allow a small smile to slide onto her face. She was not aware of their encounter in his second year, as the diary horcrux was so far removed from her own soul, she had no way of knowing what a had transpired. Her last memory of the boy was 3 years prior, clinging to that wretch of a servant, Quirinus Quirrel. She recalled the desire she had felt for him then. It had almost disgusted her, at the time, because she had been unaware as to what precisely caused the feelings. It wasn't helped the fact that the body she had been using at the time was so unsuited to her. A middle aged wizards body trying to convey a sense of almost sexual need to a woman's soul was unpleasant, unnatural, and most assuredly, unwelcome. It didn't help that the object of that desire was 11. At the time she had simply blamed Quirrel, thinking him to be a more perverse person than she had imagined. Several times she had inflicted pain upon him, for desires he honestly had no control over. It was only after the confrontation, when her form had been once again reduced to that of a wraith, that she had realized what the feelings were.

Poor little Harry Potter was now irrevocably hers. She had marked him for the rest of his life to prove it. That scar on his head held more than just bad memories for him. It now held a sliver of her very own soul. As she had had no true body of her own when they had met 3 years ago, she felt that soul piece call to her wraith form far more strongly than the devotion of her servant's body. The desire of having her soul fragments merge was simply expressed in a sexual desire, as that was as close as humans were capable of becoming.

Now however, she was in possession of a body that was truly her own. Practically hand crafted to match the one she had previously been born with, the only true difference was its durability. Unmarred by the rituals she had once cast upon herself, all in the desire to make herself invulnerable. Now it was a simple mortal shell that could be destroyed as any other body could, but her soul remained tethered, so she was not immediately concerned. Rituals could be performed at a later time after all.

It was the desire she still felt now, that had thrown her off center. Her smile slowly faded as she realized that with a body of her own, she had truly thought she wouldn't feel any desire for him. A hypothesis that was true, until she came within 5 feet of him. It hit her then, with the force of and power of a hundred Imperius curses all layered with the same intent. Become one. Take him. Drown him within herself. Overwhelm his resistance. The resulting kiss had been born of that intent, and had he not bit down on her tongue with all his might, she wasn't positive that they wouldn't be rutting one another over her disgrace of a father's final resting place even now.

Voldemort didn't realize, at first, that the desire's were a one way street.

She was quickly coming to that conclusion however as she took in the sight if him. Despite the pain she knew he felt when their lips had locked, she thought his heavy breathing and flushed face, covered in a sheen of sweat was a product of lust. But their kiss had been ended for several moments now and he was showing no signs of recovering. His breath was just as laboured, and though the blood in his face was receding, she felt that that was more due to the bleeding wound in his arm than anything else.

Her initial flirting comment about peeping had been made on the premise that she had overcome the desire. That the new body she had, had effectively rid her of such a potential weakness, while he himself could only look at her in wanting. But even with the perfect body now tethering her soul, she still wanted him and the piece of herself he held inside. As for his own desires. There were none.

How could she have assumed such a silly thing. He had no reason to want her. His soul was whole and secure. There were no fragments calling to one another. No irrational needs of fulfillment had consumed him, except maybe a brief image cause by her nudity from a minute ago. Her plans would need to change.

Had the connection they shared been anything less, she would have removed his head from his shoulders. But he was a Horcrux. He had been unknowingly bestowed upon the greatest honour she could conceive for a loyal servant. Though she felt he was certain he didn't share the viewpoint. Originally she was going to restore her body, summon her loyal followers, Imperius the boy and vanish into the night to start her dastardly plots. The Imperius curse would be easy to manage on the boy, as it could only be fought with will power alone, and what will could his hormonal body muster, when he was constantly assailed with physicals urges anytime she was near. And she would always be near. She would have kept him holed up in a shrunken room, disguised as a locket around her neck. She internally chuckled at the thought. There would have been two lockets that held a piece of her soul.

But it was now apparent that her plans wouldn't hold. He was not shackled to her in any way now, and she still had no desire to destroy a fragment of her soul. She would have to think on her feet, roll with the new developments as they came. She had time, Wormtail (Peter Pettigrew) being unconscious, the other boy stunned and Harry gazing up at her, questioningly... Questioning... Oh, his question.

"Have you lost your mind? What the hell was that for?" Harry kept his eyes levelled on her as she stood before him, uncertain as to whether she was plotting his imminent demise, or planning to sexually assault him further. He had never seen a woman look like that. It was all playful jibes and condescension as she approached, only for the look to shift as she got close enough to be considered just out of reach. A small inhale, widening of the eyes, her entire head tilting ever so slightly. And then she had kissed him. And though the pain was severe, it was fleeting, and he was feeling more and more ready to resist. Ready to fight. His eyes narrowed, focusing solely on her, as though the extra attention to detail would reveal every weakness she held.

"If you're looking for an apology, you had best look elsewhere Harry. I don't ask for anything, I just take, forgiveness being one of them." Her reply, though delayed, was just as demeaning as everything else she had done so far. As though he were a house elf, as if her deigning to respond to him was an honour in and of itself. Damn the actual words themselves. He knew she was prideful. It was prevalent in every meeting they had. Even his worst memories brought out from a dementor featured her cold and prideful laughter. She didn't look at anyone as her equal, she would not start tonight.

"I am simply revising some plans, Harry." She continued on, not aware of his angry thoughts. "Some things have gone awry and I'm not sure how to deal with them." She lowered herself to the ground in front of him and sat down. She raised her fist to her mouth, gently pressing her teeth into the knuckle of her forefinger. Her other hand started twirling Wormtails wand in her hand, the feel of it was terrible, but it was amazing to have magic at her fingertips again. Magic. Her gaze strayed to Harry's wand lying just out of his reach, had he not been bound, and summoned it to her. As soon as her hand closed around it, she knew... she KNEW that their connection was real and strong. His wand responded to her as though it were her own. She felt her magic surge into it, and once again her laughter spilled forth, it was almost like picking up her wand from Ollivander's years ago. The freedom she felt just from touching it was almost as good as having her own body again.

Harry watch as she held his wand and started laughing. He was certain she was feeling a sense of victory, her opponent bound on a tombstone, his wand in her hand. She was probably about to kill him now, and begin her horrific conquest on magical Britain again. She was close enough now that he was studiously able to see her features clearly. Her long black hair framed her youthful, pale and, he begrudgingly admitted, pretty face. Her eyes had been a dull red, but when her hand closed around his wand, they gained an almost ember like glow. She had an almost haughty face, the bones prominent and her face tilted somewhat upward, but the vision was ruined by the laughter, and the smile on her face. The image of her nakedness from minutes ago rose into his head. It, coupled with her youth, attractiveness and obvious joy sent a pulse of fire to his groin and, quick as a flash of lightning, her laughter stopped.

Voldemort's joy at feeling her magic once again was put on pause as she felt a most unexpected thrill of arousal. It was so unexpected the laughter died in her throat, almost in a choking manner. That wasn't hers. She may have been removed from a body for years, but she knew that an arousal like that didn't spawn from nothing, most assuredly not from her childlike joy of having magic again. That wasn't hers... so it must have been his. Her head, still tilted upwards from her laughter, lowered and she saw his somewhat appalled expression. She knew his desire had caught him off guard and she once again decided to abuse a moment of his weakness. Her lips once again closed around his own, much calmer than before, just wanting to taste what she wanted more than anything at the moment.

Harry recognized the look in her face a moment before she moved, and had just enough time to brace himself for the agony that was about to hit. Except it didn't. When her kiss landed on his lips, he was so tensed for pain, that he barely notice the discomfort his mild headache caused at their contact. His relief showed itself and he exhaled into her mouth, body relaxing as he simply allowed her lips to be present on his own.

Feeling him sigh into her mouth and relax into her kiss almost drove Voldemort over the edge. Had the boy's pubescent body betrayed him? Had his desire taken over, and was he actually going to allow her the freedom to take in as much of him as she wanted. She slid a hand around the back of his head, and with the most gentle amount of pressure, pushed his mouth into her own. She traced her tongue over his lips before pushing it inside yet again, wary of a bite, but still enjoying the thrills of his taste. All of a sudden her hand was jerked free and she heard a loud crack.

Harry was so relieved not to have felt any pain, he may have allowed Voldemort a few seconds longer to violate his mouth than he would have at any other time. Once his brain caught up with his body however, he jerked his head out of her gentle embrace. Alas, he was bound to a tombstone, so his head hit the marble with a loud crack and that, along with every other experience tonight, was enough to send him over the edge of consciousness.

Seeing what the boy in front of her had done to himself, once again had Voldemort laughing. Still, she thought, as her laughter died, the attraction was there. She had felt it. Obviously it paled to her own, but it existed. Whats more, it was a natural attraction, so it could grow.

She rose from her place in front of him and walked toward the still cooling cauldron. Yes, plans would be changed. Killing him was out of the question. It was never on the table. But the Imperius curse was not going to work either. No, she decided, plans would not be changed... they would be abolished.

Voldemort had clear goals in her mind years ago when she had begun gathering followers. Might makes right as it were, and in her mind, who was mightier than she. No one, not even that old crackpot Albus Dumbledore. He was weak were it mattered, and his age was only becoming a greater hindrance to his abilities as time passed. She wanted to rule. She wanted the entirety of wizarding world at her feet, and she had begun her plans with that goal in mind. Back then, the wizarding world was controlled by the purebloods. They held most of the key Ministry positions, and held all of the seats in the Wizengamot. So she had allied herself to the pureblood cause. But she was no politician, she had no care to be an elected official. She wanted unilateral power, and in order to have that, she would have to be declared something of a Queen. So, she needed devoted, pureblood followers. Future citizens of her utopia that she would build from the ground up. And she would be its immortal queen, never aging, ruling for all eternity. Once a follower took her mark, they stayed faithful until death. She made sure of that. She would never again allow others to abandon her. Left at an orphanage by a mother too weak to love her. Neglected by a father, who probably didn't even care enough to know she existed. Ostracised by other children in her youth for the strange things that happened around her. Even in Hogwarts, the few friends she had left her, though that may have been her cold treatment of them. She was scorned by everyone, but her plans were to make it so that SHE would always be needed. She would be the mother of a new age, and she would be recognized for it.

But now, she had another goal. No, it couldn't be called that. A goal was different, more choice oriented. This desire she felt for the boy at her father's grave was exactly what it was. She had one goal, and one desire, and she was loathe to abandon either. The boy would kneel before her, along with the rest of the magical world. She waved her wand and a plush black chair appeared in front of the cauldron and she seated herself to think.

She was young, naturally so, and had many more years ahead of her. She could bide her time if need be. The magical world was stagnant, stuck in the past and she doubted it would move much if left alone for a couple more decades. She could focus on her desire first, allow herself to naturally grow into more of her magical power, before making a play on her goal of world domination. Because the magical community in Britain was only the start. She would control it all someday. Power is control.

So the first order of business was the boy. She stared at his form over steepled fingers She knew now that she could physically entice him, but the stigma of who she was would forever taint that. That was a simple enough obstacle. All she had to do was shed her name. Voldemort's time had come and gone She was successfully vanquished by Harry Potter many years ago, sealing the damned prophecy that was foretold of her demise. She would go by her old name, given to her by her mother. Emmiline, her few friends had called her Emily for short. That issue was easily dealt with. Unfortunately, she didn't see herself attracting the boy to her permanently during his 3 month hiatus from school. Meaning she had to somehow ingratiate herself into Hogwarts.

That was going to be a problem. Something she would have to tackle right below Dumbledore's nose. And she was more than certain the man paid extra attention to Harry Potter, more so compared to his other students. She wouldn't be able to go as a student, Dumbledore, she was sure, would notice her ruse if she were to strike up a close friendship, not to mention a relationship, to Harry. She had only gotten Crouch Jr, to succeed by remaining stand-offish to Dumbledore, something he was surprised he managed considering the two had an old friendship. She also had him. by and large, stay away from Harry Potter. However, the professor route had possibilities. She knew Dumbledore struggled with finding a qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, every year, a problem she held a large hand in. The jinx she had placed on the position years ago, now seemed to be a boon for herself. She could fake some documentation to have herself legally recognized as her early 20's, even if her body was only 18. And with her knowledge she could easily teach almost any subject at Hogwarts.

Of course, being a professor at his school would have its own challenges that would make his eventual seduction difficult, but was it not every young man's fantasy to have an attractive older woman come on to him. And being in the position of authority over him would allow her to take liberties she otherwise wouldn't have. A couple of secluded detention, with a few double entendres would have him panting over her, she was certain.

She stood up ready to begin the necessary steps to get rid of all evidence of her return when she paused.

An hour ago, as she was nestled in the crook of Wormtail's arm, she had been planning on summoning her followers and once again plotting the take over of Britain. Now her plans had taken such a drastic turn. For the nth time that night her eyes went to Harry Potter's body. Was this desire for him going to ruin all she had worked for? She had other horcruxes, it would not be the end of everything to rid herself of one now. Even more so, if his mere existence could change almost a years worth of carefully laid plans.

She raised her wand to him, looking at his face and summoning up all the negative emotions one needed to perform the killing curse. It was like the opposite of the Patronus charm really, same amount of power, but polar opposite in the emotions one had to hold. Any hate inspired emotion could do it. Jealousy, wrath, even pain. She lifted her wand.

"Avada Kedavra"

She watched the pale green light impact his body and sighed.

It seemed as though the emotion she needed dredge up and perform the spell correctly were not there in that instance. The killing curse when done properly would be a vibrant green. Improperly, it would be a weaker colour and simply cause one a nosebleed. That was why it was hard to kill people with the curse. To use it so arbitrarily, one simply had to have ample amounts of hate. But now, with her new body and carnal urges, she couldn't summon the negativity to do it. She was simply too happy, at the moment, with her freedom and new plans. It was fate she decided. Fate had been keeping him alive to be hers at this moment. He hadn't been destined to destroy her, his destiny was to serve, cherish and be a more devoted follower to her than any other, and she would make sure he succeeded in that endeavour.

She went to the two boys and performed the most precise memory charms she could on them. Someone would have to look very hard to discover them, and she planned on no one having to do so. For why look hard for a mystery that has its solution in front of you. Walking towards Wormtail and once again feeling disgust at merely looking at him she felt as though she had to remind herself that it was she who had control. Once again she lifted her wand.

"Avada Kedavra"

This time the green was bright and moved faster, and when it impacted the rat faced man, she had no doubt he was dead. Few things gave Emily a sense of complete control. One of them was bringing another being's life to an end. It was always in that moment after when she knew that people lived their lives at her discretion alone. That feeling was wonderful. It countered the vague sense of weakness she refused to acknowledge when she convinced herself that Harry Potter's existence was held in fortune's hands. She was well aware that she was more than capable of ending his life. It didn't have to be the killing curse. Any number of ways could accomplish it. She could easily wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze the life itself from him. She gave fate its due, but reaffirmed to herself that she was able, at any time she chose, to trump even his destiny.

She removed a shoe off of Wormtail's corpse with a swish of her wand, and then flicked it again. The shoe glowed blue, indicating it was ready to be used as a means of travel. She would have to time her magic carefully so she could destroy the portkey before they fully left, but still be certain they would make it to their destination, with only the cup in their hands. It had to be convincing that they had only used the Triwizard Cup as a means to travel. A few more bits of magic and the graveyard looked as though it hadn't seen a living soul in years, sans the two boys near her, Wormtail's body now keeping dear old dads rotting bones company in his grave. Destroying the Triwizard Cups portkey charm was imperative as anyone who looked into it would know it lead to the wrong destination. With both boys hands on the cup, with a weak sticking charm, she then placed the shoe in both of their hands and waited a short few moments.

Their bodies were lifted up and right as they vanished her wand lashed out, a sickly yellow light impacting the shoe as they left. Knowing her spell had been flawless, she trekked out on foot, needing to be a fair distance away from this particular graveyard before apparating away. She didn't want some meddling fools to trace any magical transportation to or from here... just in case. She needed to hasten her way to her old Alma Mater.

She had one more loose end and a single servant left to take care of, and both would be dealt with in one action.

A/N: I'm well aware this has been published for 24 hours, but it hadn't been beta'd, and I was too lazy to do it yesterday. It has had a look over as of today, and should read smoother, with less errors. Some woefully minor details have been changed (like placement of hands, manners of speech etc.) but they are of little consequence.