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Heavy doors open with a quiet, muffled sound, letting her into their meeting room.

"My Lord," words are heavy on her tongue, scratching her dried throat and lips, as she utters them.

"My Lady," his gaze is even heavier, when he looks her up and down, assessing and evaluating. Slight tilt of his head is all she gets.

"Am I interrupting?" her voice wavers at the end, notifying him that she is nervous.

"You can never," his own voice comes out a barest bit softer, than before.

"Gentlemen, can you give us some privacy?" they nod, but turn to their leader, to clarify if he agrees. A nod, and they are silently vacate their seats to empty the room and leave the two of them alone.

He is eerily quiet and still, as if he doesn't even breathе. As if the whole place went desolate. The only sounds in the room left are her heartbeat and logs in the fireplace.

He is waiting and it is not his favorite activity. He expects her to begin, giving her the opportunity to explain herself, before he proceeds with charges and allegations. He knows.

She approaches, nearing his place at the head of the table, when she is stopped by magic barrier. She didn't even notice when he cast the spell and that's impressive. He thinks he knows.

He was never one to show trust or grant someone credibility simply because. It was always earned, the hardest way more often, than not. He thinks he knows the truth.

Hermione went over backwards to earn her spot and even further to rise to the title of the Dark Lady. And it didn't come for nothing. She was a quick learner after all. He thinks he knows the truth about her.

"It worked," she needs to open his eyes, so he can see the real truth. "My plan worked and I know who is the rat."

She steels herself, not letting any emotion creep on her face. She must do her best and be her best. For him. However sick and twisted it might look, but it is all for him. Her statement seems to surprise him, although it is still hard to read him sometimes, even for her. He was probably expecting her to crawl on her knees and beg for mercy, plead for her life. She somehow astounds him, standing tall, shoulders square and chin up.

"Your plan? Was it your plan to -" he is furious, as he never ever falters in his speech. Ever. "to be caught in your infidelity? Do indulge." He is seething. Rage boils in his veins, under that cold skin.

"Yes. And I remained faithful." As soon as the last syllable leaves her mouth, her body is slammed by his magic outburst. As she gets up from the floor she tastes wrath, anger and something bitter. Hurt. He is hurting to the thought of her deed.

"The only thing I despise more than disloyalty are lies. You, of all, should know this." His words are venomous hisses, a whip lash. She realized what she was doing, when she went through with her plan. She also recognized the scale of his ire. She did it for him.

"Look into my memories, see for yourself. I did it for you." This time it is Crucio, that scorches the stone beside her feet. Had it hit her, it would've been unbearably agonizing.

"For me?!" his eyes are burning red.

"Everything I do is for you, My Lord." Here they are – she either has his trust or not and he kills her. It is her word against theirs. Three, two, one...she shuts her eyes, anticipating which one will he choose. She is at his mercy. Was, from the moment she took the Mark. No, much earlier. When his lips brushed her knuckles that day in Diagon Alley. First time she saw what real Tom Marvolo Riddle is.

He shatters the doors leading to her inner library, crashing some shelves on his way to find memories he...needs to see. Dreads, at the same, because there is tiny sliver of hope, that she is truly his. That there was no betrayal. Hermione lets out a shaky breath, when he invades her mind. Even though it is harsh and deliberately excruciating, a stark contrast to how his Legillimency usually is, all she feels is relief. He does trust her more.

He wreaks chaos, causing mental pain with each step he takes, until he finds what he was searching for. Dives straight into the chain of memories, of how his Lady overheard whispers, snatches, here and there. How they were conspiring to strike him in his weakest point – her. Their plans of her demise. How dare they, for she is his and his only. Saying she has too much power over him, turning him from his original goals, poisoning his mind. Even so, it is not for them to decide. Oh, his brilliant, perspicacious Lady. She saw right through them and she played along.

He proceeds to the next scene, watching jealously, how Black approaches Hermione, his Hermione, spewing lies about his Lordship, that he cares not about her, she is just a trophy he secretly loathes. But he, the great lord Black will do her all the honors and take her under his wing if she helps them overthrow their Lord. She was right when told him, at the very beginning, that it is better if everyone in his circle believed she was just a tad bit simple, nice face who happened to warm his cock. She stayed faithful, confounding Nott and Black and putting both of them under Imperius to make them believe they successfully framed her. She planted fake memories of their coupling, knowing he will look. Subtle and skillful work, she deserves high praise for that, as these substitutes actually were believable to him. He taught her well.

They are once again back into reality, the separating shield gone and Dark Lord ever gently enfolding her.

"They will pay, my Lady. I promise." he murmurs, placing tender kisses at the crown of her hair.

"What about you? Your distrust hurts so much more than their vile accusations." she allows herself to cry, just a few teardrops.

"What is my Lady's desire? How can I atone?" no living man or wizards will ever hear these words. Just her.

"No more Horcruxes."

"....fine." Reluctant, but nonetheless.

"And, please, my Lord, know that I am the utmost loyal follower." She bows, falling to her knees. She means what she says.

"You are so much more, my darling."

She leaves the room with the stoic face; nothing shows the swirls of emotions inside. She won his undisputed trust; she lost him two of his most purist supporters and no more soul dividing. She is a loyal follower. Of her own agenda.

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Small mansion shivers and creeks from his wrath. Dark Lord is furious, raging with poorly controllable anger and maddening ire. 

Doors to the main hall tremble along with the elves, while their Master wreaks havoc and destructions, shattering everything in the room. Death Eaters are lined before the entrance, dreading that he might summon one of them to face his fury. Low whispers and murmurs travel from one to another, they know they need to proceed with their report, but no one is brave enough to enter. 

'My Lady,' heads bow and all the murmurs die at once when she approaches their small group. Malfoy bows lover than others, but no one judges after Nott's and Black's demise. Her single glance, single word could be lethal. 'What brings you here?' 

'Well, it is Sunday so I might ask you the same question, but this,' She gestures at the hall, where apparently a Bombarda was just used, 'is quite loud and hard to ignore.'

'My apologies, we did not expect such a reaction.' 

'Abraxas, you of all have no right to say this. You known him since school, you could've foreseen.' The words are heavy, but her tone is teasing rather than accusing. 

'My failure...'Malfoy starts, but is interrupted by a loud bang. 

'Oh, dear. Let's see what I can do.' Mrs. Riddle walks past Lestrange and Rosier, towards the doors.

'He is dangerous in his current state, My Lady.'

'By this time Antonin you should've learned that he is dangerous in any state.' she flashes young Death Eater a glance before she enters the hall. 

'My Lord.' She curtseys, eyes down on the floor, staying like this until his robes appear in her sight. His wand tips her chin up and anyone else would've been mortified in her stead, but she just looks, pouring all her reverence in it. The wand shakes slightly as Dark Lord tries to overcome his episode and calm down. He was not expecting to see her, but he is glad it is her. Any other person would've been obliterated quite literally. 

'My Lady, I must apologize for my servants and their poor performance that caused this. I did not plan to disturb you; it was supposed to be a quick session.'

Hermione gets up and leans towards him, nuzzling into his chest while she locks her arms around his waist. She knows the way her actions affect him. Not sure how exactly it happened, but she managed to dig her way into his mind, heart and soul. At least, what still remains of it.

'You never disturb me, My Lord, but it pains me to see you this way. Tell me what happened, let me take this weight off your shoulders.' She places a chaste kiss over his clothed shoulder and looks up to find redness slowly dissipating from his eyes, creases smoothing and his hand travels up her hip. 

'Lestrange was supposed to bring me notes on Flamel's research, they have it in the department of Mystery. But that idiot managed to make his interest known to Dumbledore and his henches, thus they..'his breath was shallow again, as rage was bubbling inside at this failure. 

Hermione carefully unclasps her hands and slowly, without any abrupt movements, takes his wand and untangles his fingers, that are clawing at it. Taking his hands in hers she gently rubbed at his ice-cold knuckles, traveling up his palms and pressing several specific points. She knew it relaxed him. It always did. 

'You seem to forget, my Lord, that you can trust me with delicate tasks.' she murmurs quietly, eyeing her husband as he gradually calms down. 

'It was nothing serious, those files were not even classified.' his lordship huffs begrudgingly, melting in her hands like butter in broad daylight.

'May I be of service, my Lord?' oh this is a specific kind of 'Lord', uttered with such reverence that is sends goosebumps down his navel and straight to his cock. In moments like this he is reminded of his younger, youthful self, when pleasures of the flesh were new and thrilling. He feels drunk on power and lustful as he backs his Lady by the wall and lets his hands knead her hips.

'This wasn't the service I meant, but your wish is my command.' Hermione whispers are low and she knows how seductive this specific phrase sounds to Tom. She meddles with his robes, stroking his hard length through the fabric and he growls in her neck, leaving trails of sloppy open-mouthed kisses on her clavicle. He is much more impatient and some of his rage still boils, because he is tired of pulling at her dress and simply vanishes it with a short wave of his hand. 

His fingers travel down, to find her knickers undeniably wet and he moans in her mouth. 'So wet already' He bites her earlobe as he speaks, eliciting shivers and keens from her. 

'All for you, my Lord'.

Half an hour later, she leaves the room a bit disheveled and naked under tightly wrapped cloak, smiling to the pureblood lords, that undeniably heard every moan they made. 

It is a small price to pay for the victory achieved. Her plan worked again. She managed to tip Order of Phoenix about those files, and all the fault is on Lestrange and her beloved maniacal husband will never get his hands on the philosopher's stone. It’s good to be the Dark Lady.

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