Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To Tom’s surprise, the rest of the negotiations went rather smoothly. Slytherin Manor was rejected emphatically because “Who needs seventy-three rooms, Tom? And if you even mention filling them with children, I’ll make the itching powder will seem like child’s play.” Tom, wisely, didn’t mention that the itching powder was the definition of childish. Hydra agreed that they would choose their home together from their combined properties and he was confident that he could steer her away from the cottages she would no doubt love. They deserved a house that denoted their status.

The combining of their assets was also easily agreed upon. They would keep their vaults separate because Lirden and Ragnuk looked ready to riot if he suggested anything else. However, they wouldn’t be barred from the other’s vaults or properties. Hydra also proposed that they use the Riddle account for their everyday expenses and for the housing of new money. That way their heirs to the larger Houses wouldn’t have to handle a diminishing vault. Tom was less than enthused by the thought of using his horrid muggle name for anything, let alone his gold, but the minx just had to tug at his possessive, covetous nature.

“After all, I shall be first and foremost, Mrs. Tom Riddle,” she teased. “Our children will be Riddles and Heads of noble houses. This way, your name will always be linked to five of the most powerful Houses in the country.”

And that was entirely too tempting. His common, dirty name that caused him nothing but ridicule would become the face of historically Pureblood houses. Without a single drop of blood shed, he would eradicate the purity of some of the most ancient Houses in Britain and complete a multitude of his goals at once. A combined vault with his surname on it was hardly a steep price to pay. If only the topic of heirs didn’t spark more debate.

The mud—Granger argued with him over the heir clause for almost twenty minutes while Weasley looked a little green about the gills with the numbers Tom was throwing out. He intended to set a good example for his followers and the rest of the wixen community. Their numbers were much too small and the infertility rampant throughout the Purebloods needed to be nipped in the bud. Besides, Weasley didn’t have a leg to stand on with his gaggle of siblings. For a powerful, young witch like Hydra ten was a reasonable number of sprogs.

“And who will attend to these imaginary children while you take over the country and I keep you in check through the Wizengamot?” Hydra asked. “Not to mention that I intend to actually use my Masteries rather than rest on my laurels.”  

“House Elves and nannies have been used to great effect for generations,” Tom waved his hand dismissively. “We need not be involved in their rearing at all, if we do not wish to.” The redhead sucked in a sharp breath that echoed through the abruptly silent room. Granger seemed to be physically biting her tongue—her face had screwed up when he mentioned the elves—and threw a worried glance at Hydra. Even the goblins looked at him with a mixture of outrage and pity, like he had just stepped over a cliff.

Hydra set her teacup down with a sharp clinking, her eyes lacking their usual fire. “Why do you want children, Tom?”

“To carry on our family names and create our legacy,” he answered without hesitation. What kind of question was that? Was there another purpose to the squalling, messy things?

She nodded. “Then why not pick any child up off the street and give them your name? Even your blood if you chose to Blood Adopt them. You could even do just that and let their current family keep them. Hell, just find a muggleborn in the muggle welfare system, force them to carry your blood and your name, and then leave them to the muggles.”

“As if I’d leave my child to filthy muggles,” he spat. “And Blood Adoptions don’t make them fully my blood, more like a distant cousin.”

“If legacy was all you cared about, that shouldn’t matter,” Hydra countered. With a flick of her wrist, some kind of magic shimmered around the two of them, seeming to hum with a tune that tickled his memory like he’d heard it in the moments between waking and dreaming. “Tom, what was the worst thing about your childhood?”

He jerked as if struck, attention shattered. “What are you talking about?”

“Why did you hate the orphanage so much?”

“Because it was filled with too many muggles, not enough food, and tended to have bombs dropped on it,” he snarled, glancing at the other occupants of the room. None of them were reacting to him or Hydra. In fact, they were conversing among themselves though Tom couldn’t hear the words. A two-way Silencing Charm? He didn’t know that was possible.

“We’ve spoken in vagaries about our pasts, but both of us were unwanted,” Hydra said, softening her voice a little. He didn’t want softness, though. His skin was crawling to send hexes and curses at her until she agreed to his demands. He wanted her to fight back with flames in her emerald eyes and a confident smirk on her face. He wanted to stop talking about this. Right now.

“Yes and?” he ground out.

“And if you got what you wanted, you’d be subjecting ten magical children to the feeling of being unwanted by their parents. Their needs would be tended to, but that loneliness that we felt as children would carry on to them. Don’t you want to give them better than what we had?” Through their bond, Tom felt the brush of genuine sorrow at the idea of children living in such conditions. The sadness filled him up so completely that he felt actual tears prick his eyes. Merlin, he hated when she did that! How did she feel so much all the time? He barely felt anything beyond rage or greed, and even that was exhausting. It was wonder she didn’t collapse beneath all the emotions swirling around in her mind.

Despite his resistance to the emotions of her claims, the points, themselves, were valid. Children were the future of the Wixen World, and his own children would be a cut above the rest. They required the best care available to them and Hydra, he knew now, wouldn’t stand for it to be fawned off onto someone else. The image of her standing over a crib, babe in arms, singing a half-remembered lullaby flashed across his mind. Yes, he thought. His children would know no better caregiver than their mother.

“Besides,” Hydra continued, a smirk pulling on her pink lips, “you wouldn’t want our children to turn out like Draco Malfoy, would you?” Tom physically shuddered at the thought. Lucius and Narcissa had done just what Tom had suggested, leaving their House Elves to raise their son while they spoiled and coddled him. Had it not been for Severus, the boy would have been completely useless at everything but shouting demands and spending galleons. Luckily, the potions master had stepped in so that the brat didn’t get himself killed while the Dark Lord was living at Malfoy Manor. Now, the Malfoy Heir was almost tolerable, and Tom could use his influence without worrying about the fallout.

Tom sighed in defeat. “Very well, darling. I concede on the point of child rearing. What is your counteroffer?”

“Two children to begin with,” she smiled, grabbing a pumpkin pasty from the plate. “They’ll be raised solely by us and other trusted family members. Maybe an elf to help with the cleaning and such, but no nannies. If we decide we want more children, we can discuss that at a later date.”

“Two born children and the ability to Blood Adopt a child if we so wish,” he countered, just to see what she’d say. She was the one who initially brought it up and it was an idea with merit. There were plenty of magical children that would benefit from his or Hydra’s blood. Blood Adoptions were rare for a multitude of reasons, but the goblins offered them to anyone who asked. If worded correctly, he could even use them to further his political aspirations.

For a moment, he thought that she’d refuse, but his Hydra was nothing if not unpredictable.

She beamed at him, her face radiating joy as the bond sang with contentment. Tom was stunned at how beautiful she looked, how pleased; he had never seen her look so dazzling and it was all because of him. He wanted to bottle the moment and keep her that happy forever.

“Agreed,” she said, though Tom barely heard it through his daze. Dear Salazar, he was lucky. Fate truly did favor Lord Voldemort. No. With this contract, he was giving up that title. He could hardly be Tomassen Riddle-Gaunt-Slytherin, husband to the Girl-Who-Lived, and Lord Voldemort at the same time. He’d probably have to orchestra a grand defeat by the hands of his lovely bride-to-be—perhaps at their Bonding? Would Hydra find that too much of a spectacle? — and Lord Voldemort would be remembered as yet another vanquished Dark Lord.

A year ago, that thought would have sent him into a rage-induced killing spree. Anything less than the entire world at his feet was intolerable. Somehow, a little slip of girl had changed him so much that he was aching for the domesticated life of a politician, children with her eyes and his nose clinging to his leg. He would have power over Wixen Britain, his horcruxes to keep him alive, children to carry on his legacy, and Hydra by his side. The mundanity of it should chafe but Tom could not find an ounce of rage at the idea.

Hydra was beyond pleased. This negotiation was going much smoother than their last, mainly because many of their desires were, at least, similar enough to compromise. Oh, Hydra knew that Tom didn’t care much for actual marriage. This was simply a means to an end, a way to get what he wanted. He didn’t really view this as the beginnings of a family. Not yet anyway. Perhaps he’d figure it out once she finished weaving their souls together, but it was more likely that he’d stay oblivious until he held his child the first time. Then again, her soulmate was an oblivious idiot so he might never figure it out.

“How soon would you have to start having children?” Hermione asked after Hydra informed the group of the compromise that had been reached.

Tom shrugged, trying to gain back his composure. Something about her smile had seemed to rattle him. “No need for a set timeline. Hydra is young, yet, and we have plenty of time.”

Hermione nodded. “Alright, then onto the issue of the Wizengamot.”

All business, that one, Hydra thought fondly. After Hogwarts, Hermione had gotten an apprenticeship in a Law office within the Ministry. She had been the only muggleborn but with her N.E.W.T. scores and the political climate, they couldn’t deny her the job without causing a riot. Not to mention that Hermione was more than willing to use her blackmail over Rita Skeeter to expose the corruption. Now, she was the assistant directly under the head of the office and would have her Mastery within the year.

Ron, on the other hand, had mediocre N.E.W.T.s but he had immediately proved his worth in the more practical side of life. His talent shown in business and marketing. In the year that he’d been working at the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, their net worth increased exponentially. With some help from Hermione, Ron had researched muggle marketing ploys and used them to great effect through radio ads, posters, and even Quidditch sponsorships.

Between the three of them, they had the ear of almost every wixen in Britain—and a few outside of it, as Fred and George were talking of expanding onto the Continent. Hydra would be one of the best informed and most respected people on the Wizengamot. Her little “Defense Association” had become a veritable legion of allies, informants, and behind-the-scenes combatants. She had a person for almost every aspect of the Wixen World and when she didn’t, she had someone who knew someone.

She had laughed when Umbridge and Fudge accused her of gathering an army. Hydra hadn’t had to gather anything; they swarmed to her like little, vicious ducklings, eager to follow a leader who promised neutrality and peace. The wixen who wished to remain neutral grew in number and in power even when she had disappeared because her people knew how to spread the word subtly until the official peace was declared between Voldemort and the Girl-Who-Lived. By that time, her own studies and the mysteries of the Ley Lines had Hydra too busy to truly lead the neutral party, so she had left it in her deputies’ capable hands until she returned.

Then she had been given her quest by Magic herself and though it wasn’t going exactly to plan, she was still on track to succeed. Hydra smiled behind her teacup as Tom immediately agreed to the clause that basically said that they would stay out of each other’s business when it came to politics. Their marriage would have no effect on their Wizengamot voting and if either of them wanted a law passed, they had to approach the other as a political ally, rather than a spouse. Her husband-to-be was in for a rude awakening during their first Wizengamot session. He’d see just how far her reach stretched and how difficult it will be to push his Pureblood dogma. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized how much he was giving up.

Beyond that, the marriage contract was all little things like fidelity— “I’m very possessive,” Tom told her, grinning with a few too many teeth. She had just rolled her eyes at him—and the repercussions of raising a hand or wand to each other or the children.

“Because I’ll do more than kill you, Tom,” she promised. “I’ll slice you into pieces and scatter you to the five winds.”

“Never again,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to the scar on her forearm. “Our children will not have to live in fear.”

“Now all that is required is a few signatures,” Ragnuk said as he added the last provision. Lirden produced two achingly familiar quills that had Hydra’s hand clenching, scars standing out white on her skin. Ragnuk, recognizing this reaction, was quick to reassure her. “A simple initial will do, Lady Potter-Black-Peverell. As long as the blood is yours, a full signature is unnecessary.”

She smiled at his, eyes tight. “This will be the last time I sign my name this way though. I should do it justice.” Tom was a bit baffled, if the bond was accurate, but Hydra didn’t have the heart to explain it to him now. Hermione and Ron had also gone a little pale at the sight of the quills but didn’t shake when they signed as witnesses of the contract. Once she was done, Hermione clasped Hydra’s left hand between hers. Ron was a silent guardian behind her chair as the contract was slid over to her.

Drawing on her Gryffindor bravery, Hydra signed her full name and stopped herself from wincing with every cut into her skin. Lirden and Ragnuk were quick with the Murtlap Essence and the trio’s hands were soothed quickly. Tom watched on, confusion furrowing his brow, and then glanced at the contract before him. To Hydra, he seemed to be struggling over a decision in his head.

“Will this document be given to the Ministry?” he asked the goblins as he was handed the Blood Quill.

“No, this is purely for Gringotts’ records,” Lirden answered, confusion evident in his tone. “When you file for a license to Bond you might have to produce a copy to prove that no one is being forced…” he glanced at Hydra, “…into anything, but that is unlikely.”

“Very well then,” he nodded, hand flowing across the parchment. He raised his face to capture Hydra’s gaze. “As you said, darling, we will be Mr. and Mrs. Tom Riddle. It seems only right that we have one document that says so.” He reached for her hand and gently turned it over, thumb tracing the old scars and new cuts below them. He then placed his bleeding left hand next to hers.

There, right beside the messily scrawled name on her own hand, was his elegant, effortless script cut into the back of his.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.