The Darkness Within: Voldemort/Hadria Potter

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Hadria was sitting at her desk engrossed in school work when Voldemort finally showed back up late that morning. He had been gone that night dealing with some ministry business he had said. She turned from her work smiling but her smile quickly faded to an expression of concern when she saw that he was injured. He held a hand to his bloodied robes with an annoyed look which only got worse when he saw the look in her eye.

"Don't look at me like that, Hadria...I'm fine," he snapped, his walking past her toward the bathroom. His annoyance was palpable, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. She followed him, her defiance unyielding.

"Let me look at it," she said insistently with her wand already drawn. He sighed reluctantly and moved his hand looking away. She could see burn marks on his robes and a cut in the blood soaked material. She worked to open his robes and assessed his injury. Her anger flared when she saw the deep slash and the burn marks on his torso.

"Gods...baby, who did this to you?" Her voice trembled with concern as she worked her healing magic that she'd been practicing. The incantations flowed from her lips, weaving threads of light into his torn flesh. He winced, unaccustomed to such care. For him, vulnerability was a foreign territory. He looked away uncomfortably while she worked.

"I paid a visit to the Head of the Department of Magical Enforcement," he explained, his irritation evident. "We need that position filled by someone loyal to our cause. The current witch is too entrenched in the light. When I confronted her, she attacked. She was...a formidable opponent, I'll admit."

Hadria raised an eyebrow, her amusement bubbling forth. "Was?"

Voldemort's lips curved into a rare smile.

"Indeed, my dear. I survived, as you can see. Death holds no allure for me...I've danced that waltz before."

Hadria's wand danced across the fabric of reality, weaving threads of magic into the very sinews of Voldemort's wounded form. Her emotions surged...a potent blend of happiness and vindication. She hadn't cared who had harmed him; her anger had been primal, instinctual. And now, hearing that the witch responsible lay dead, she felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.

"Good," she murmured, her voice steady as she worked. Voldemort observed her with curiosity, his blue eyes tracing her movements. His little witch was evolving, embracing her darker instincts. The transformation excited him...the way her power bloomed like a forbidden flower in the moonlight.

"You're quite good at that, my dear," he acknowledged, pride glinting in his gaze. "Has magic always come so easily for you?"

Hadria pondered his question. "Well...no, actually. It was never terribly difficult, and I was better than the average witch. But since I've been with you, I feel...stronger. It comes more naturally."

His smiled down at her feeling pride in her abilities. He had also experienced a feeling of increased power.

"Amelia Bones was an exceptionally gifted witch. When she attacked me, I deflected, of course. But when she wounded me, I retaliated...I felt more powerful...subtle, yet undeniable."

She put her wand away, wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him softly. "I'm just glad you're alright."

His lips met hers, and he pulled her close. His touch was both possessive and tender, fingers threading through her hair.

"You've nothing to worry about, my sweet girl. With you at my side, I am more powerful than ever." He thought for a moment before he posed a question. "I wonder...are you ready to wear my mark?"

Her grin was wicked, eyes alight with anticipation.

"Of course I will." The Dark Mark...a brand of loyalty and possession...was a symbol of their entwined destinies. She had waited for this moment, craving the connection it would forge. To belong to him, body and soul, was a choice she made willingly.