The Darkness Within: Voldemort/Hadria Potter

Azkaban Breakout

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Azkaban Breakout

In their dimly lit bedroom, Hadria paced, her nerves fraying like the edges of an old parchment. The news had dropped like a stone...the Azkaban breakout was imminent, scheduled for that very evening. Tonight. The weight of it pressed down on her chest, threatening to suffocate her.

Voldemort had asked her to remain tucked away, hidden under the Fidelius charm over their bedroom. It was the safest place for her, he insisted. His caution bordered on obsession when it came to her safety. She understood why...their bond was more than mere loyalty; he cared for her genuinely...and she carried a piece of his soul within her...a secret that still remained between only them and Severus, as far as she knew...well and Dumbledore of course.

Her mind raced. The new dynamic would be treacherous. Freshly liberated Death Eaters, their loyalties untested, would flood into their ranks. And then there was Bellatrix...an inferno of obsession and potential jealousy.

But she trusted Voldemort. He had pledged his loyalty to her, their relationship forged mostly in secret would likely be on full display soon. Yet he had never given her reason to doubt him. So she would continue to give him her trust, even as the world outside churned with chaos and uncertainty.

He had asked her to prepare for a Death Eater meeting upon his return. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, a blend of excitement and trepidation. Voldemort, ever meticulous, had enlisted some assistance, ensuring that one side of their expansive walk-in closet was filled with the most exquisite clothing...all tailored to her size. The surprise had left her breathless, a smile tugging at her lips as she recalled the moment earlier that day.

He had led her into the closet, her eyes obediently closed. The soft rustle of fabric surrounded her, and when he finally allowed her to open her eyes, she gasped. Rows upon rows of dresses, gowns, and ensembles greeted her...a spectrum of possibilities, from casual daywear to opulent extravagance.

"How?! When did you-"

He held up his hand.

"Don't worry about any of that, my dear," he murmured, his finger pressed to her lips.

"The witch who stands as an equal next to the Dark Lord should look like the Queen she is." His lips brushed against hers, tender and possessive, leaving her blushing and breathless.

And so, she perused the wardrobe, her fingers trailing over silks, velvets, and lace. What would convey her status without screaming for attention? What ensemble would say, "I am the Dark Lord's witch," without appearing as if she tried too hard?

The taste of whoever had curated these outfits impressed her. She would look stunning next to him in anything from this collection. Black dominated, as befitting their world, but not exclusively. She eventually settled on a simple but elegant black fitted sleeveless dress. The high neckline and snug fit offered just the right touch of allure with an air of importance. Accessories and shoes spilled from shelves and drawers...choices aplenty.

As she slipped into the dress, her reflection in the mirror revealed a woman poised on the precipice of destiny. The Dark Lord's equal, a queen of shadows, ready to face whatever lay ahead. And in those strapped black heels, she stepped out of the closet ready for the unknown, her heart racing with anticipation.

After what felt like a lifetime, Voldemort opened the door, walking into the room, and Hadria's heart leaped. She went to him, throwing her arms around his neck, catching him by surprise. His chuckle vibrated against her lips, and she kissed him with a fervor born of longing and relief.