The Darkness Within: Voldemort/Hadria Potter

Goodbye Privet Dr

"I need you to think this through, Hadria...once you leave there's no going back," he said, his voice a low rumble that resonated with the gravity of the moment. His gaze bore into hers, intense and unyielding, as he tenderly caressed her cheek. The warmth of his touch contrasted sharply with the cold dread that settled in her stomach. She swallowed hard, the sound almost echoing in the charged silence as she considered her next words.

There was an undeniable truth in what he said—she was certain of it. Dumbledore had never told her that there was more to the prophecy, yet here she was, standing at the precipice of revelation. He was even now keeping her in the dark about many things, shrouded in mystery like the dim corners of the room they stood in. If she takes a leap of faith now, she will find even more—more truths, more lies, more of the unknown. Yes, it means trusting a man who is capable of killing her, a man whose hands were stained with the blood of those she held dear. She knew that fact alone should dissuade her, should send her running to the safety of the familiar. But for whatever inexplicable reason, it wasn't.

Her second option was to go to Dumbledore instead. To insist on seeing him, to confront him with what she knew about Voldemort and demand the full truth from him. Yet, her heart had already made up its mind. Dumbledore's path, once illuminated with the light of certainty, now felt like a foreign one to her. It no longer felt like the right path, but rather a trail veering off into a misty and uncertain horizon. But within her, a flicker of hope ignited—she began to see an opportunity to potentially help both sides, to bridge the chasm that divided them.

"I will...but I have conditions..." she said cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper. He nods slowly, his expression unreadable, yet there was a glint of something akin to respect in his eyes.

"Smart girl...I expected no less...what are they?" he inquired, his tone suggesting that he was genuinely interested in her terms.

She thought for a few minutes, her mind racing with the weight of the decision she was about to make. She knew what she was doing. She was going to be with him, to belong to him in a way that was irreversible, and there needed to be a fair trade for her freedom.

"I understand that you want to take over the wizarding world, and I know that I cannot change that. But...the way it is done...I would like to request a few things..." she started, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

"Go on..." he prompted, leaning in slightly as if to capture every nuance of her words.

"No one else will be killed or tortured simply for their blood status. I understand that in war there is death...but if my state of mind matters to you at all...then I have to know that you will do what you can to preserve lives when able...I have to know I am sacrificing my freedom for others' safety...for a better world," she finished, her eyes locked with his, conveying the depth of her conviction.

He sighed, a deep and weary exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken thoughts. Leaning back against the ornate headboard, its carvings a testament to forgotten grandeur, he contemplated her request. He needed to keep her around—did that require her happiness? No, not necessarily...but he did value her mental state. The reasons for this consideration were a tangled web he wasn't prepared to unravel at this point...not yet. And as the Dark Lord, he was afforded the luxury of acting on his whims without the need for justification or the burden of inquiry—this would just be another one of those caprices.

She had stipulated that no one could be killed or tortured simply for their blood status...alright, that was manageable. It meant he could still exercise his cruelty for other transgressions. The fate of the 'mudbloods', if eradication was off the table, would need to be reconsidered. He had a few thoughts on the matter, inklings of ideas that had been presented by others in the past—ideas he had quickly dismissed and punished the suggester for their audacity.