Voldemort's Plans for Hermione

A week ago, Lord Voldemort took over the wizarding world. Completely. No more Order of the Phoenix. And he got to fulfil a life-long ambition:
Rule Hogwarts.
He kept on the smartest students, surprising those who thought he just wanted the purebloods. Truth was, he wanted to keep an eye on the bright, young Miss Hermione Granger, and he had to have some reason. Building a society of intelligent witches and wizards seemed the best excuse. Over time, any progeny would become the definition of purebloods, no matter their parents’ unfortunate heritage.
And he and Miss Granger both had unfortunate heritages, except for his Slytherin ancestry.
He smirked where he sat in the headmaster’s office. There was one thing he had always thought should happen at the school, and that was a theatrical production of some sort. His bossy tendencies would have worked splendidly in the role of director.
Well, as Headmaster Voldemort, he could organise it!
He called Hermione into his office after the start of term feast. She was trembling, but he merely indicated that she sit down.
Where was the fiery Gryffindor had he seen in the battle? Oh, yes. As one of the members of the ‘Light’, she had to wear a wristband that cut out her powers outside of class, unless she was acting in her own defence. She was the only one of the Golden Trio left, and had been tortured endlessly.
That would explain her fear.
“Hermione, Hermione,” he said, shaking his head. She whimpered, shrinking back in her chair. “Calm down, my dear. I simply wished to ask two things of you.”
“Y-yes, headmaster?”
“First, I wish for your help in brewing a potion. Severus is busy working on something else, but the potion I must make requires two people. If Bartemius was still in full possession of his faculties… but then, that is what this potion will achieve.”
“You mean, it will reverse the effects of the Dementor’s Kiss?”
“Precisely. You really are very intelligent, Hermione.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s… kind of you?”
He chuckled. “Meanwhile, Severus is working on something similar. It is to restore my previous appearance.” She gaped. “You have seen pictures, Hermione?”
“Uh… yes.”
“Good. What did you think when you first saw them?”
“I…”
“Better yet, let me see.”
He smiled evilly as he watched the admiration she had felt when she first saw his teenage looks. Perhaps she would be able to forget who he was when he looked younger. Not like an adolescent; that would never do. But Severus had shown him an image of what he could be after this potion, and he was eager to see that face looking back at him in the mirror.
Voldemort pulled out of Hermione’s mind, and watched with interest as she trembled where she sat, red—most likely with embarrassment—and tearful, probably from the intrusion. He tilted his head.
“As to the other matter, I would like your opinion.”
“My… my opinion, sir?”
“Yes. Out of these three, which would you prefer: a play, a musical, or a variety show?”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Are you questioning me…”
“No! Sorry, sir. No. Um, I love musicals.”
“They are your favourite?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I will send you an owl tomorrow morning, with a list of possibles.”
“Possible whats, sir?”
“My dear Hermione,” he said, leaning forward, causing her to shrink back again, “I wish to put on some form of entertainment towards the end of the school year. If I arranged for a musical to be performed, by the staff and students, would you prefer to be in the show, or to see it?”
“I… I don’t know, sir. The thought of just sitting there, not having had to do any work on it, really appeals to me. It’s a terrible thing to admit, I know.” She dropped her head into her hands.
“No. One day, Hermione, you won’t have to work for a living, and you will welcome the break. You will welcome undertaking work of a different kind—being a mother.”
“You and your followers killed the only people who might have ever wanted me,” she said, some of the fierceness returning to her. He raised an eyebrow, pleased by this display of temper. But she quickly apologised, and he rolled his eyes.
“What makes you think that there would be no one here who might wish to marry you, and have you bear their children?”
“Because I’m a Mudblood, and I’m unattractive.”
“Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, you are a Mudblood—how strange that you should use that word—but you are actually quite pretty.”
She raised her eyes to his. “Really?”
Voldemort’s red eyes scanned her face. “Oh, yes. But I have now used up my compliment for the day. You may go, Hermione.”
She stood, and left the office, no doubt heading straight back to the Salazar Tower. Many changes had been made. One was that the name ‘Gryffindor’ was no longer allowed in Hogwarts, and the colours had been changed to pink and white. (This was to undermine the house; ‘weak’ colours instead of ‘bold’ ones.) Another was that anyone who said a taboo word or phrase got a nasty shock through their wristband.
Oh, it was such fun being headmaster!

Hermione shook with nerves as she returned to the Gryff… the Salazar Tower. There were no prefects, nor was there a Head Boy or Girl. There were only Death Eaters, some not long out of school. They were performing the same roles, and were given strict instructions not to attack the students, as they could very well get hexed back. And as these were the intelligent students, their attackers would most likely be out-hexed.
She hurried nonetheless, grateful that she at least knew all the rules from her own year as a prefect. That was before… this.
The Take-Over.
It had been a shock when she had received her Hogwarts letter. Harry was dead; Ron was dead; Ginny had lost her mind with grief over them; the Creevey boys were missing, presumed dead. In fact, the only real friends that Hermione had left, who were still at Hogwarts with her, were Neville and Luna. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that they were going to be attending along with her.
‘Pleasantly’? More like mind-blowing and ecstatically surprised to see them in the Great Hall. If they hadn’t been zapped via their wristbands for showing ‘disorderly conduct’, in the form of running towards each other, it could have been a happy reunion. Well, a bittersweet one, but that was better than nothing.
As soon as she got to Salazar Tower, however, Hermione could have a proper reunion with Neville.
The portrait opened—Salazar Tower was now fair game, with no passwords for the common room, and no spells on the staircases—and Hermione shrieked with happiness.
“Luna!” she cried, leaping into the room, and running to her blonde friend. Neville enveloped both of them in a hug. “What’re you doing here?”
“The headmaster sent me a letter, telling me that I was now with you. Something about having fought in the last battle, and clearly being less Ravenclaw and more… you know. ‘Salazar’.” They shuddered, but there was no wristband shock. “Oh, but I’m glad that I’m here.”
“I’m surprised he’d risk it, putting the three of us together. We’re the only ones left from Dumbledore’s Army at Hogwarts now.”
“Just go with it, Hermione,” Neville said. “What did… he want?”
“It’s… it’s very strange,” she said, and she bit her lower lip. “How do I… well, he wants to put on a show at Hogwarts, and… well, I’m so confused! He wanted my advice.” Then she relayed the conversation in its entirety to her friends.

“Well done,” Voldemort said to himself as he climbed into bed that night. He felt unbearably smug about the whole thing. “Ah.” He reclined back on the numerous pillows, basking in the luxury of the headmaster’s apartments. One day, he intended to share them with Hermione.
He had secretly applauded himself for having come up with the idea of putting the Lovegood child in Salazar Tower with Hermione and that Longbottom boy. They were the two least likely to be of use to her out of her old comrades, despite how well they had fought in the final battle. But with her two remaining friends with her, she would no doubt feel more comfortable.
The headmaster held no love for the Granger girl. But he wanted to marry her nonetheless.
Let’s be honest; she really didn’t have any realistic prospects; and if ever she wanted children, she would need a husband. He wanted at least one heir. Any children of his would have security, now that he was in charge of the wizarding world, and Britain’s strongest magical fortress.
Ah, yes. He was looking forward to the rest of the year, until she would graduate.
And then she would be his.

After auditions had been held a month later, Voldemort called Hermione to his office again. If he had meetings with her too often, it would look suspicious, though none would dare question it. But Hermione would, and it would be harder to win her favourable opinion. The musical really was the perfect excuse, as he wanted her ‘expert advice’ on casting and such. That made this whole thing a doubly good idea.
“Have you any suggestions about casting, Hermione?” he asked, leaning back in his chair as he watched her forehead wrinkle in confusion and worry.
“Uh… I’d hardly like to say, headmaster.”
“Come now. Be honest, or I will have to use Legillimancy on you again, and who knows what I may find out?” She dropped her head in defeat, sighing.
“Very well. Well, everyone who auditioned had fine voices, and could act, too. So I suppose it’s now a matter of suiting people to their characters instead?”
“Precisely. Who do you think is most appropriate for the Johanna role?”
“I hope you don’t think that I’m playing favouritism, but I think that Luna would do really well. She can be dreamy, she’s got a high voice, she has blonde hair, and she can also look haunted. Also, she has no mother figure, and has only ever had a father figure, though at least Xenophilius was much kinder, and was certainly in no way like Judge Turpin.”
“I agree with your assessment.”
“…You do?”
“Naturally. You have made a sound judgment based on your knowledge of both the character and the person you think should play the role. How do you feel about Justin Finch-Fletchley as Anthony?”
“You do realise that your basilisk nearly killed him in our second year, don’t you?”
“Do not quibble with me, and especially not in that tone, Hermione.”
She hung her head. “I apologise, sir.”
“That’s better. Now, I do not know much about Finch-Fletchley, or his family, but then I have no interest in that. I felt that he had little chemistry with Miss Lovegood.”
“I don’t think he could handle the difficult songs. His audition song didn’t have much of a range, nor was it particularly challenging.”
“I agree. However, Longbottom’s voice was surprising.” He tapped his chin. “And he certainly played well opposite Miss Lovegood in the auditions.”
“Anthony is willing to do anything to rescue Johanna, and is determined even after he is threatened to stay away from her. He is kind, mild, sees the world through rose-coloured glasses until he ends up on the receiving end of Turpin’s wrath.”
“And he would not have seen much of his parents while at sea, assuming that he had any.”
“Yes.” Hermione looked sad, and he frowned.
“Who would you cast as Lucy?”
“Would you curse me if I said that, sanity-wise, Bellatrix Lestrange would be most suited?”
He laughed, nearly frightening her out of her seat. “A fair assessment once again, Hermione. But she also has a good voice, and can sing fast numbers. She sang a patter song for her audition, and I understood every word.”
“I hate to admit it, but that’s true.”
“Which makes me think that she would be a good Mrs. Lovett.”
“No doubt you are right, headmaster.”
“Here is my ideal cast list,” he said, pushing a piece of parchment across the surface of the desk. Hermione picked it up, and looked over it approvingly.
“You’re quite good at this, sir. I can understand you casting Professor Snape as Judge Turpin, particularly with that naturally deep voice. And the snivelling Pettigrew as the Beadle is kind of… perfect.” She shuddered. “I never thought that I’d be using ‘Pettigrew’ and ‘perfect’ in a sentence. No call for alliteration could ever be that desperate. And I didn’t know that Professor Rosier could speak Italian so perfectly, so I understand him being cast as Pirelli, since he’s the only one who can pull off the accent.”
“What about Toby?”
“Michael Corner is a good choice. Out of the students still alive—and here—he’s the best one.”
“You would have cast someone else?”
“Given a choice… I would have chosen… Dennis Creevey.” She could feel the tears coming to her eyes, and furiously blinked them back. She would not let her emotions get the better of her in front of Lord bloody Voldemort.
“Moving on,” he said, the words callous but the voice gently firm. “I wish Narcissa could have been involved, as she could probably do the role of Lucy quite well. But she is unavailable, of course. Alecto Carrow suits the character.”
“The mad part, maybe.”
“Yes, Hermione. Do you approve the chorus?”
“Yes, headmaster. But about the leading man…”
“I know you have not scene Bartemius Crouch acting—except when he was impersonating Mad-Eye Moody—nor have you heard him sing. But you must trust me on this one.”
“You haven’t even restored his lost marbles yet!”
“It won’t be long now. And I have everyone confidence that he will be fully capable of filling the role of Sweeney Todd.”
“I hope you are right, sir.”
“Indeed. Oh, and Miss Granger? I will expect you to be accompanying me to the performance. Had that old fool remained in charge of the school, you would have been Head Girl of Hogwarts; of that I am certain. You should at least be shown some kind of honour. Being escorted by the headmaster will do that well enough, I assume.” She was gaping at him. He couldn’t help but think that she made the look attractive. “Just maintain the level of work expected of you. Understood?” She nodded dumbly. “Good. Now go back to Salazar Tower. Good night, Hermione. And… thank you for your input.”
“G-good night, sir.”

Is it just me, she thought as she walked along, or is he extremely out of character? I never expected him to behave like this. Am I hallucinating?
In great confusion, Hermione went to bed that night, knowing that she had to be up early the next day to continue brewing with… the headmaster.
She sighed, and snuggled down in her pink bedcovers.

“My lord…”
Voldemort smiled down at Barty Crouch Junior, who was slowly coming to his mind.
“Hello, Bartemius.”
“My lord!” He fell forward and kissed the hem of his master’s robes. “Thank you for saving me. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Whatever you ask of me, I will do.”
“Then you must say the same to Hermione, since she assisted me in the brewing process. She was invaluable; even Severus admitted it.”
“Hermione Granger, isn’t it?” Barty said, looking the teenager over as she watched him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the apparent success. “The one who knew of the Killing Curse in her fourth year.”
“Knew of it,” she said, finally forcing herself to speak. “Uh… it’s good to see you sane again… I guess. Not that we’ve actually met. You know, while you’re… you.”
Voldemort stared at her for a moment, until their eyes met. Then he returned his attention to his faithful follower. “She is usually more eloquent. I believe that Hermione has become quite cynical.”
“You would, too, if you were in my position!” she hissed. Then she realised what she had said. “Uh, sorry, headmaster.”
Barty looked between them. “You would call a Mudblood by her first name?”
“You will not call her that,” the Dark Lord said, suddenly angry. But he calmed at the others’ startled looks. “You have missed much, Bartemius.”
“And you look so different, my lord. Your appearance has changed.”
“Yes.” Voldemort almost preened where he stood. The potion that had been brewed by the potions master had been everything promised. He now had black hair, with a few grey streaks, and cut like it was in his youth. He had a decent-sized nose, and his eyes were a dark, piercing brown. His skin no longer had the waxy, pale look to it, and he actually had lips now. He was surprised that Barty had recognised him at sight.
He also noticed that Hermione sometimes had difficulties looking away from him.
Things were going very well on that front.
“Please tell me what I can do to thank you, master,” Barty said. His eyes flicked to Hermione. “And you, Miss Granger. Anything you would wish of me.” He leered at her where he knelt, and she moved a bit behind Voldemort, who glared at his servant.
“She is not yours,” he said.
“Of course, my lord. She is yours?”
“I don’t belong to anyone!” Hermione said, and she stamped her foot. “May I return to school, headmaster?”
“You will return with us,” he said. “I am not sending you back alone.”
“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms.
“She has spirit, my lord.”
“Bartemius, we are putting on a musical show at Hogwarts. Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. I want you to play Sweeney Todd.”
“My lord! I accept. Do I need to audition?”
“No, though Hermione may wish to hear your sing first.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll just trust you on this one.”
“My dear, I have your trust?”
“Two things,” she said, standing directly in front of him, hands on her hips. “One, I am not your ‘dear’. Two, I do not trust you as a person. Only as a director.” She stalked out of the cell past him, and Barty raised an eyebrow at the interest his master was showing in the student.
“You intend to make her yours, do you not, master?”
“Yes, Bartemius. And things are going better than they appear. But now, come with me to Hogwarts, and I shall fill you in on what you have missed.”

By the time the performers had all learnt their songs, and most of their lines, Voldemort had set his next plan in action. He wanted to give Hermione the illusion of freedom and escape, and a reason to take a break from her studies. He knew just how to do this. The idea had partly been formed by Barty, who was an excellent strategist.
And, to improve ‘the deal’, he decided to give the same gift to Longbottom and Lovegood, so that they could keep Hermione company, and give her further illusions of security and happiness.
The happiness, admittedly, would not be an illusion.
“Come along!” he barked at the three students who were following him. They hurried to keep up with his long strides. He rounded the corner, and all three gasped at the sight before them.
A herd of a dozen horses stood before them, in a temporary corral. Voldemort indicated that the trio walk forward, which they did.
“You may each pick one. If you are not drawn to any of them, we will bring in more choices. Hermione? Would you like to go first?”
She glanced at her friends, and they nodded. So she stepped forward, and the headmaster followed her. He had been accompanied by the Carrows, who kept watch over the other two members of Salazar House. Hermione walked slowly past each horse. She reached the fifth one—a tall, black gelding, with a white stripe down the middle of his face, and white socks—and stopped. She reached out a hand, and he didn’t move until she was touching his nose. He then pressed into her palm, looking straight at her.
“He’s the one,” she said. Voldemort nodded approvingly. He knew, as soon as they looked at each other, that the horse would be a good familiar for her, ever since her ginger cat died two days before the battle. He had been killed by a Death Eater; one of the three she took down in the fight. She had wasted time torturing him first; but he would feel the same way should something happen to Nagini. In fact, he had. That was why he had taken his time killing Ronald Weasley.
“Very well,” he said, nodding at the groom. “Put him aside to take him to the stables. Miss Lovegood next, don’t you agree, Longbottom? Ladies first.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Good. Come, Miss Lovegood.”
Luna completely fell in love with a chestnut mare, caressing her neck. Neville found an immediate connection with the last horse in line, a white stallion who was extremely docile. The three horses were taken to the stables by the groom, while the other horses disappeared.
“Where have they gone?” Hermione asked, anxious for their well-being.
“Back to their various stud farms. Surely you knew that horses are bred in the wizarding world? Of course, there are only a few breeders, and they live as Muggles; but they have been forgiven, and given protection, for their services. Do not fear for the lives of the others. I am certain they shall find good homes eventually.”
“Why… why did you do this, headmaster?”
“I shall tell you in time, Hermione. Meanwhile, do you all appreciate the gifts you have been given?” They all nodded. “Good. I do so hate it when people are ungrateful, don’t you?” Another round of nodding, including from the Carrows. “Excellent. Now run along. Rehearsal starts in two hours’ time.”

There were still no forth-coming explanations about the horses. Hermione suspected that it was a form of psychological torture; that they’d grow attached to their mounts, only to have them killed right in front of them.
“He could very easily do it to break us,” she said. This thought subdued them on their ride considerably. But the three quickly determined to make the most of this while they could, not knowing that their suspicions were incorrect.
Hermione had named her horse Nero, because of his colour. She had considered calling him Harry, because of his black mane, but decided against it. Neville had named his horse Augustus, after his grandmother. And Luna had given her mount the name Chocolate Frog, because of his colouring.
All three felt less stressed nowadays, and Hermione even found her grades improving with the sense of abandon she felt when riding. She still felt unbearably nervous around the enemy, and particularly the headmaster.
Eventually, he stopped her from attending rehearsals, as he wanted her to ‘be surprised’ by how well it would turn out. The cast had been forbidden to speak about the show’s progress to anyone, lest Hermione hear about it on the grapevine. The rehearsal rooms had been warded against the ghosts and Peeves, and even the portraits had been removed, and placed elsewhere in the castle.
Why was he constantly being… well, kind to her? Hermione was so confused, that it gave her a headache. She eventually had to go to the infirmary and get a potion. When Voldemort found out, he felt a flame of concern within him, and summoned her to his office yet again.
“Why have you developed a migraine?” he asked, and she was shocked by his bluntness. “Come, come, Hermione. Tell me.”
“Why do you care, sir?”
“I am your headmaster.”
“But you don’t show so much concern for the other students…”
“I do not intend to marry the other students.” Her mouth dropped open. “Only you.”
“You… what?”
“At the end of this year, you graduate. And then you shall become my wife. Does that explain my particular attentions to you?”
“I… well. Yes, it does, headmaster.”
“Good. Will this alleviate your headaches?”
“Why would you want to marry me, sir? Was I going to have any say in it?”
“By your graduation, you will not require a choice, for you will not loathe the idea as much as you would have done before the school year commenced.”
“W-well, you certainly have confidence; I’ll grant you that.”
“You will grant more than that to me, Hermione.” He stood, towering over her from his side of the desk, watching as she bit her lip. “Tell me. Have you noticed either of your friends being punished?”
“No, sir.”
“Quite.”
“…You’ve done that for me, haven’t you?”
“Hermione, you are a highly intelligent witch, attractive, and no doubt fertile. You, and any children of ours, would be forever safe, and I can guarantee the safety of your friends, too.”
“Hang on a moment. Are you saying that, if I refuse you, you’ll take it out on…”
“No, my dear. That is hardly the way to gain your affections.”
“Affec… affections? You’re Lord Voldemort! Ouch!” She glared at the offending wristband. “Do you honestly expect me, Hermione Granger, Mudblood and best friend of the late Harry Potter, to feel ‘affections’ for you? Ever? Gods, and I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”
Furious, he stood, and pointed at the door. “Enough of your insubordination. Get out, Miss Granger. Do not approach me until I request it, or you have finally felt contrite enough to apologise. And while you are thinking about this, think not about our differences, but our similarities.” She stood shakily, and began to back away. “I think even you will be surprised by just how compatible we are.”
“Never.” She shook her head emphatically, groping for the door handle behind her back. “I will never be your wife. How dare you even think such a thing.”
“Out!”
Like a frightened rabbit, she virtually leapt out of the office once she had wrenched the door open. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort slammed it shut, and fumed the rest of the night.
In fact, he fumed for the next three days.

There was a knock at his door.
“Come in,” he said. He had watched the new trio cantering through the grounds ever since he bought those horses, using Omnioculars from his office, and once from the Astronomy Tower. Salazar save him, but he was beginning to… care about the Granger witch. The thought disturbed him; but if he could convince her that she felt the same way—or at least felt an attraction towards him—it would be easier to woo her into submission.
“Uh… good afternoon, sir.”
“Come to apologise?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then please take a seat.”
Hermione was trembling as she sat opposite him. It was like a flashback to the start of her seventh year, when she had been so afraid of him. She had seemed to be getting over that; and now all of his hard work had been set back.
“I’m sorry for my over-reaction, headmaster. I was… shocked. It was a big surprise to me, and yet it really did explain so much. Perhaps, had I thought that you would c-condescend to wed a Muggleborn, I might have suspected it. But I didn’t. If I had, then I would have been more prepared for your declaration.” He nodded, encouraging her to continue. “Uh… that’s it, really.”
“You will still accompany me to Sweeney Todd?”
“Yes, sir.” Her lower lip was trembling.
“Do not look so miserable, Hermione. Have you only thought about your behaviour, or have you also thought about my… offer.”
“What offer? The way you said it, it sounds as though I have little choice.”
“That is true.” He stood, and walked around to her, where she was still shaking a bit. “But, my dear, you do have a choice.”
“I do?”
He smirked at her fitting words, and she reddened. “You do. Either you can enjoy it, or not. But I would prefer that you like the thought of marrying me, rather than abhor the notion.” He pulled her out of the seat, and leaned back on his desk. “I can guarantee your happiness, particularly if you allow yourself to think well of me. It will be much easier in the… long run.” His gaze flickered down her body, and then back up to her face, where she was still flushed. He tugged her closer, and wrapped his arms around her body, caging her in his possessive embrace. “Especially as I intend to live forever, a courtesy which I will extend to you, as my bride.”
“Would you really want immortality?” she asked, her voice quiet. She was feeling almost safe in his arms, even though she was standing back as far as she physically could. “It would be so lonely, having your friends and family die around you. And what would be the point in having children? No parent should outlive their children.”
“You make a good point, my dear. One which I will consider again, now that you have pointed it out. Before, I just ignored it. What friends? What family?” With a sudden and powerful tightening of his arms, she fell forward, bracing herself against his chest. “But for you, I would… well, I would not give up immortality without very good reason; and your views would be reason enough for me.”
“You… you really mean that?” Why, oh why was she getting caught up in his dark eyes?
“Most assuredly,” he said, and he crashed his lips onto hers, eliciting a startled squeak. He chuckled, but pressed on with his kiss, feeling delight at the unexpected intimacy of the action. She sighed, and reluctantly parted her lips. He growled as his passion intensified, his wandering hands gaining a greater reaction from her. Eventually, he pulled himself away, pushing her back a bit. He saw shocked tears decorating her eyelashes and cheeks.
“What have I done?” she whispered. “Oh, gods above…”
“Nothing you will ever have cause to regret,” he said, turning her around. “Now, go and join your friends. They have rehearsal this evening, and no doubt they will wish some help with their homework first. At least, Longbottom will. Until later… my Hermione.”
Did she whimper? She was out of the office so fast that he couldn’t tell. But she had responded very well to his advances, and he hoped that such a thing might continue.
A relationship with the headmaster? Well, he set the rules, so it didn’t matter.
Lord Voldemort smiled, and sat behind his desk again.
“Oh, Mr. Potter,” he said. “And dear old Dumbledore. I wonder what you think of little Miss Granger now, wherever you are?” He chuckled, and got on with his paperwork.

No amount of stolen kisses in the headmaster’s office could convince Hermione to tell him what she was going to wear the night of the performance. He even tried to order her as the head of Hogwarts; but she merely pointed out that he would appreciate it all the more if he had to wait.
“All I will say is that I’ll be wearing clothes,” she said, sticking out her swollen lower lip.
“Hmm.” He looked her up and down again. “Almost a pity, really. But I won’t let anyone else see what is mine. What will be mine.”
“You remain confident.”
“And you remain stubborn. When will you acknowledge that you will marry me?”
“When I’ve told my friends, and gained their approval.”
“…What do they think you’ve been doing whenever you come here?”
She looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “Practising Glamours.”
He laughed, examining his handiwork on her neck, and then looked at her messy hair, courtesy of his roving hands. “And no doubt breaking a few hairbrushes, as well.”
“Of course, sir.”

Hermione had been the one to suggest that he wait at the foot of the stairs for her, the night of the show. When he felt her presence—when had he gained that particular ‘skill’?—he saw that she was wearing a heavy cloak over her outfit. He scowled, but that faded when she had descended the staircase, and placed her gloved hand in his.
“I wanted you to be the first to see it,” she said, undoing the clasp at her neck. He smiled. She really was growing to like him. More than like him, in fact, if he was lucky.
Lucky? he thought. But as he saw more bare flesh, he became entirely distracted.
The low neckline was a sight for sore eyes, with a golden necklace hanging way down, almost to the gap between her breasts. A semi-large pendant—a lion with emerald eyes—drew attention to that place, and he frowned. He would have to ensure that no one else found their gaze wandering down.
The bodice was gathered silk, which seemed to melt into the same fabric which made up the skirt. It was pink—no doubt in honour of her ‘new’ house—and she wore matching high-heeled shoes. The sleeves went to her elbows, and there was a white satin ribbon around her waist, which tied in a bow on the back of the dress, as he found out when he placed an arm around her. He wondered what would happen if he untied the ribbon… in private, of course.
Voldemort led Hermione to their front row seats, and then left her to go and give the cast and crew a directorial pep talk. When he returned, he made sure that Hermione had a programme, and stroked her knee as he sat down. Her head whipped around to look at him in shock. She was becoming accustomed to it in private; but to show his intentions so publicly?
The Dark Lord wanted to marry her. She knew that. While not in favour of this idea, Luna and Neville were supportive, and agreed that it wouldn’t be as bad as it seemed.
She was surprised by this, yes; but relieved. They were her only remaining friends, and she wanted to keep them.
And Hermione knew by now. She didn’t love him, but she would marry Voldemort after graduation. He really was her only choice, particularly as she’d seen the shy glances between Neville and Luna. She would have to speak to her… fiancé about that, and make sure that no one else would claim either of them.
“I hope you will enjoy this,” the headmaster whispered in her ear, causing her to shiver. “I did it all for you. Everything is for you.”
He nuzzled her hair, and sat back with a smirk as darkness descended. Fun as it would be to feel her up during the performance, he wanted Hermione to concentrate, and to enjoy the show, rather than be distracted by his ministrations.
Voldemort had cast well. And his pep talk seemed to have done the trick, because even Neville was exuding confidence in his role. He and Luna were wonderful as the young couple in love, and their chemistry was clear. She unconsciously wished that she could have the same with the headmaster.
Crouch was spooky as Sweeney Todd/Benjamin Barker, Mrs. Lestrange was convincing in her adoration of him and slight madness. In the first few rehearsals, Michael had been nervous around her; but he didn’t seem worried in the slightest now, and didn’t mind her fond embraces as Toby. Professor Snape was perfect as the evil Judge Turpin, and Pettigrew had somehow become even slimier than normal to play the Beadle. Alecto was actually quite sympathetic as the mad Lucy. Evan Rosier was hilarious as Pirelli, and Hermione felt herself warming to these people.
Oh gods. Was that Voldemort’s real intention? She hoped not. She liked the thought of someone doing things just for her, to make her happy.
Or perhaps she was just adjusting to this world after almost a year.
Had it really been that long?
At interval, Voldemort ordered a strawberry ice cream for Hermione from one of the house elves. They were being treated surprisingly well, which made her think that perhaps he really did just want to make her happy. Not beating the house elves was a damn good start.
The second act was even better than the first. The bloodshed hadn’t been too horrible, but he had given her some Anti-Nausea Potion before the show started, so that probably helped. She found that it was still fine in the last act, and was able to enjoy the special effects that made it seem as though these people really were having their throats slit, and that Bellatrix Lestrange really was being burned alive.
At the end, she led the audience in a standing ovation. An orchestra had been hired by the headmaster, and they got a loud round of applause as well. Voldemort had to go up and bow, as the director and producer.
All in all, the show had been a success, and requests were made afterwards for another musical the next year. Voldemort made sure that Hermione stayed with him the rest of the evening, keeping her by his side while he conversed with the outsiders who had come to Hogwarts to see the show. He then told her fellow housemates not to wait up, leading her to his rooms.
He would make sure that she would have no choice but to marry him.
And he suspected that she would have had it no other way.
This was just… insurance.

AN: The continuation will be called "Voldemort's Trap is Laid". See you then? It takes place just after this story.