Chapter Text
February 4, 2000
Tom’s reflection glared down at Hermione, dark eyes frosted over, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. He was in a mood, clearly, but with Harry standing beside her, there wasn’t much she could do to soothe his quiet rage.
“We haven’t found anything yet,” Harry claimed.
“But?” Hermione ventured, eyes glued to Tom’s guarded expression.
“I have a feeling, Hermione. I can sense something, I just can’t prove it. You know my instincts are usually right.” Harry tapped his finger on the glass, and to her surprise, Tom’s gaze flitted to the spot for just a second, only noticeable because she’d been watching him. The line between her brows deepened.
“They’ve been wrong before,” Hermione dissented.
“I was right about Malfoy, in sixth year, even though none of you believed me,” he countered.
“And how many times were you wrong about Professor Snape? About Dumbledore? Sirius?” He flinched at the mention of his godfather, but Hermione didn’t feel sorry in the slightest. He’d been wrong, after all. It was a fact.
“That was his fault,” Harry snarled, pinning the mirror with a scathing glare. “He used our connection and showed me-”
“What do you see when you look at the mirror, Harry?” Hermione interrupted. “Do you see him?”
“No. I see a shadow,” he answered, taken aback by her sudden change of subject.
“What does the shadow look like?” Hermione turned her head and watched Harry as he observed the mirror. His eyes traced the silhouette of his soulmate.
“Short, I suppose,” he answered, as if he’d never really noticed them before. “Narrow shoulders. Long hair, it seems.”
“I’ve told you before that you can only see your soulmate in the mirror if you’ve already seen them in person. That means your soulmate is out there somewhere,” Hermione explained.
“But didn’t you say it was a shadow when you first got the mirror?” Harry tilted his head in confusion. “You’ve seen Voldemort before, at the Battle of Hogwarts. You watched him die with your own eyes.”
“Hmm,” Hermione tapped her arm thoughtfully. She’d considered this before, of course, but she could only come to one conclusion. “I believe that maybe it was a different part of his soul. Before he became the monster he did.”
“He’s always been a monster, since he made his very first Horcrux. Even before that, even. I’ve told you about the memories.”
“What would you do if you met your soulmate, Harry?” Hermione changed the subject again, abruptly. She didn’t quite agree with his opinion, but she knew going on with this vein of conversation would only lead to her telling him that.
“I’m with Ginny,” Harry argued. “I don’t need a mirror to tell me who to be with.”
“No, you don’t,” Hermione agreed, casting her gaze back to the mirror. “But you’ll always wonder now, won’t you? While you’re out and about, in the streets, perhaps on holiday in another country. You won’t be able to help yourself when a woman walks by. A short, narrow-shouldered, long-haired stranger. You’ll stare a little too long and think, ‘Is she the one?’ You’ll want to know what it is that made the red string of fate tie your souls together. Would you be perfectly compatible in every way? Would she stimulate and challenge you in a way that no one ever has before? Is she the one piece that would fill the empty space inside you that’s been missing your entire life, the one you never knew could be filled? Would it make you feel whole, if you were together? Even though the one you chose is beside you? Perhaps you’ll never stop wondering, even when you’re old and gray.”
Harry was silent for a few moments, eyes glued to the enchanted glass. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but laden with resentment.
“Is that what he is for you? The missing piece?”
Hermione laughed, but didn’t answer. That was, after all, none of his concern. Tom’s lips quirked up, a shadow of a smile, but it vanished when she blinked. She must be losing her mind.
“I’m only saying… Just as the wand chooses the wizard, perhaps magic has its own plan for us. Beyond what we can comprehend ourselves,” Hermione finally responded.
“Like a group of your opponent’s classmates magically remembering illegal dark magic he performed in school?” Harry replied sharply. Hermione forced herself not to flinch. She turned her head slowly to him, eyes wide.
“I saw that in the paper this morning, how shocking,” she expressed sadly, shaking her head.
“I wasn’t going to mention it, but it’s rather convenient, isn’t it?” Harry continued, eyeing her suspiciously.
“What are you suggesting?” Hermione asked, aghast. Surely Harry didn’t suspect her? She hadn’t left any evidence at all, physical or mental.
“I’m suggesting that a career-ending story being released days before an election is very suspicious, when these people have known this information for fifty years.”
“Are you saying I had something to do with it?”
“I didn’t say that, but it’s rather interesting that you came to that conclusion yourself. You’re forgetting that I know you, Hermione. I know you’re skilled with memory charms, and I know that you would take desperate measures to win this election, if only because you hate to lose. And if I’m being honest, you standing here, defending your relationship with a notorious dark wizard, who killed my parents, as well as many of your friends and innocent muggles, makes me question whether you are fit to be the Minister.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock. Where was this coming from? Harry had always been supportive, on her side. She gave him the mirror in exchange for his endorsement, but now he was going back on his word?
“What’s gotten into you, Harry? How could you say that to me, after everything we’ve been through together?”
“It’s everything that we’ve been through together that makes me say this. We’d all thought you’d changed a bit, but we wrote it off as you being busy climbing the ladder at work. But the more I see you, Hermione, the more I realize that you’ve always been like this. Ambitious to a fault, willing to do anything to get your way, justifying unacceptable behavior.”
“And who benefitted from all that, hm?” Hermione retorted, heat rising to boiling point in her head. “Do you all think you’d have made it through Hogwarts without me and my ‘unacceptable behavior?’ Everything I did was for you and Ron. Every year I had to juggle studying for myself and getting you two out of whatever insane situation you’d get yourselves embroiled in. But now it’s ‘unacceptable?’ You wouldn’t have made it past first year without me!”
“I’m not saying that,” Harry scrambled, knowing her argument was infallible. Panic flashed in his eyes. “That was then, and now we need to set an example by doing the right thing.”
“Yes, now that your reputation is on the line,” Hermione fumed. “I have changed, though, Harry. I’ve become better. I’m making a real difference now, finally, and working toward a better future. What are you doing? Tapping your wand idly at a perfectly normal mirror, hoping it will suddenly start spewing dark curses because you can’t let go of the past? If so, I’ll be doing you a favor by taking it back.”
“I knew you had an attachment to this mirror, but I didn’t know the extent of it until now,” Harry accused, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I can almost see now what makes you soulmates.”
“Let me take it. You haven’t found a hint of dark magic, you said so yourself.” Hermione continued, ignoring his comment, which while intended to insult her, only made her feel warmth rise in her chest, completely independent of the simmering annoyance already taking residence there.
“You can have it back after we complete the tests, and not a moment sooner.” Harry’s arms were crossed now, his tone final. “Now, you should go.”
“Ten minutes,” Hermione demanded. “You know I’m ill if I’m away from it for too long. You’d be cruel to not give me at least that much.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, gaze flickering between her and the mirror. She could tell he wanted to refuse in his momentary anger, but Harry’s bark had always been worse than his bite. “Ten minutes.”
Hermione forced a smile at him, irritation weighing down the corners of her mouth, and he brushed past her. She waited until she heard the click of the door before tilting her gaze up toward Tom’s smirking face.
“Well, that was an enlightening conversation,” Tom declared.
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, tired. “I must admit, now that you’ve heard everything, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest.”
“You’d be surprised by what I’ve come to know since you sent me here. I was livid at first, but now I feel compelled to thank you.”
“What I’m surprised by is how calm you are after hearing Harry mention your dead body.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”
“From Harry?”
“For someone so suspicious of this mirror, he has certainly not held back from discussing a multitude of confidential information in front of it this past week,” Tom noted, eyes boring into hers. “You’ve been keeping quite a lot from me, as it turns out. I’m hurt.”
“You’ll survive,” Hermione quipped, before realizing her mistake. “Oh, never mind.”
“You’ve become more cruel in my absence, I see,” Tom shook his head sadly. “Now, what’s this I hear about Greengrass?”
“You must already know, since you’re the one who lied to me about it,” Hermione frowned.
“It wasn’t a lie.” Tom shook his head firmly. “Anything can be true if someone believes it.”
“Yes, well, now the whole wizarding world believes it. I expect that he’ll resign from the race within the next few days.”
“Never underestimate a Slytherin, Hermione,” Tom warned. “Especially one whose pride was wounded so publicly.”
Hermione stepped closer to the mirror, smiling slightly at Tom’s serious expression. She slipped a hand through the glass, shivering at the frosty air on the other side. Wasn’t he cold in there?
Tom glanced down, and she felt the warmth of his palm envelope hers, squeezing reassuringly. She let out the breath she’d been holding, the fear of his rejection vanishing along with it.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione replied, knowing full well she was vastly underestimating the Slytherin before her. Somehow, though, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
-
February 10, 2000
As Tom had suspected, Greengrass did not resign from the race. He released a simple statement denying the rumors, but nothing more. This did not sit well with Hermione, who knew that his lack of emotional response hinted that something was brewing beneath the surface. It had been nearly a week, with no sign of him, but the election was only two days away. If he was going to strike, it would be soon. She kept her hand in her pocket everywhere she went, fingers twitching at the slightest movement at each corner she peered around. She had striking flashbacks to her second year, when her own reflection had startled her as she crept down the corridors with a Basilisk on the loose.
She wanted to ask Harry to help, send an Auror to guard her, perhaps, but he was still stubbornly turning away her owls, and never seemed to be in his office when she popped in to catch him at work. She was growing tired of being on guard 24/7, but once the election results were announced, she’d be in the clear. Even if he tried anything, she’d have the full power of the Ministry of Magic behind her.
Despite the days of tension, Hermione wasn’t all that surprised when Greengrass finally did come looking for her. He’d waited until late into the evening, when most Ministry workers had already gone home, leaving Hermione vulnerable and alone in her office. Her hand was already grasping her wand, anyway, from beneath the surface of her desk, as she was hunched over the final report of the week.
“Miss Granger,” Greengrass greeted coldly. “I’m glad I could catch you at such a convenient time.”
Hermione simply watched him, feeling strangely serene despite the warning bells going off in her head. He wouldn’t dare attack her here, in the Ministry.
Never underestimate a Slytherin. Tom’s words echoed in her head. She clutched her wand tighter.
“It’s quite late, so let’s make this quick,” he continued, sauntering into the room. The door clicked shut behind him, the metallic grinding of the lock sending a jolt of fear through Hermione’s heart. “I’ve heard you’re quite skilled at memory charms. It’s common knowledge how you saved your muggle parents from harm during the war. Impressive for a seventeen-year-old.”
“I was top of my class for a reason,” Hermione replied, standing up from her seat.
“Skilled enough to alter the memories of a former classmate of your political rival, then?” Greengrass accused. Straight to the point, as always.
“I’m sure I could, but that would be cheating,” Hermione smiled.
“Yes, it would,” Greengrass nodded, stroking his beard. “We’ll have to level the playing field, then, won’t we?”
Hermione was prepared for the spell that shot at her, fast as lightning. Luckily, her shield was even faster. The light bounced off the barrier, and she took advantage of Greengrass’s moment of surprise to duck beneath the desk, sending a slicing hex at his feet before rolling behind the desk beside her. His hiss of pain indicated that it had hit its mark, and she quickly sent a bomabarda at the door to blast open an escape route. She couldn’t last much longer in this-
Hermione’s hasty strategizing was derailed by the sound of the heavy wooden desk she’d been sitting at moments ago, scraping against the floor as it moved in a jerking trajectory towards her. Before she could utter a spell, it collided with her forehead and knocked her flat on her back, her skull cracking against the stone floor. She blinked away stars before a tug at her ankle pulled her out from under the desk and into the open.
“I just want to talk, Miss Granger,” Greengrass stepped toward her. “No need for such violence. I’ll just be taking my proof of your election fraud, and then you’ll be free to return to your pathetic life.”
Dazed, she slashed her wand at her foe, who dodged the yellow curse easily. She needed to focus, but the pain in her head blinded her. She needed cover, she thought, summoning a chair. A swirl of her wand and there were two chairs, then four. Greengrass grabbed the back of one to toss it aside, but cried out in pain and clutched his hand, angry red blisters protruding from the pale skin of his palm. He staggered back as the chairs duplicated, cursing as he blasted through them, wood splintering and showering the floor with endlessly replicating shards of wood.
Courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione thought, sluggishly pulling herself to her feet. She stumbled to the door and slipped into the corridor, heading toward the DMLE just at the end. She made it three strides before the wall in front of her exploded, effectively blocking the path and sending her flying backwards, her wand soaring out of her hands. She whimpered, breath whooshing out of her lungs, her wand hand grasping at air where her wand was a moment before. She squinted at the rubble, but there was no sign of it in her vicinity.
In that moment of breathlessness, ears ringing, she realized that Greengrass’s fury went far beyond what she’d thought, if he was willing to destroy government property in his pursuit of revenge. She could know all the spells in the world, but they’d be useless if she was physically overpowered by him.
She had a few wandless spells in her repertoire and she shot several into the cloud of dust, dragging herself back by her elbows, but without her wand, she felt defenseless. The crunch of footsteps through the smoke was slow and deliberate, and she choked on both dust and fear.
She gasped when ropes shot out of the debris, wrapping around her limbs and pulling her upright, rendering her immobile. Her battered muscles ached in protest, the murky air stinging her eyes, drawing tears from the corners.
“I have worked tirelessly for decades to make it this far,” Greengrass’s frosty voice drifted through the darkness. “Do you think I’d let a child get away with slandering my reputation? I am not to be trifled with!”
Hermione laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “Do you honestly think you’ll be Minister after all this?”
“Oh, I know that ship has sailed, thanks to your meddling, you mudblood bitch,” he spat, his calm facade cracking. “Be that as it may, I’m a firm believer in an eye for an eye. Or in this case, a memory for a memory. All I need to do is prove that you sabotaged me, and you’ll be done. My name will be cleared, my legacy unsullied by the likes of you.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as he pressed the tip of his wand to her temple. She felt a tug inside her brain, like a gentle prod, and the sensation didn’t hurt, but the sense of his invasion made her skin crawl. She wondered if this was how it felt for everyone. If her parents noticed the wriggling sensation, deep in the center of their brains, like a word on the tip of one’s tongue that would never be recalled, only eternally sought.
Greengrass was sifting through her memories, and the faces of the people she loved flashed like a slideshow in her mind’s eye- Harry’s spectacled green eyes narrowed in distrust. Ginny’s ginger brows drawn together in worry. Draco’s frowning pointed face, lifting a glimmering emerald potion in a vial. A cool, black gaze, watching her through the mirror, warm hand delicately clasping her own-
No! She couldn’t let him go any further. Those memories were hers. A sudden urge of protectiveness gave birth to profound focus and a feeling of calmness settled over her. She felt more grounded than she had in weeks. Months, perhaps. She’d built everything from the bottom up. She’d lost so much, given up everything just for this opportunity. Her time, her energy, her friendships — she wasn’t going to let this pureblood bastard take it away.
Though the word never left her lips, she felt it in every nerve of her body. From the pit of her stomach, to the tips of her toes, icy disdain burned through her veins, leaving the palms of her hands tingling, itching to rip his heart from his chest. In the back of her mind, Hermione was appalled, terrified by the unfamiliar rush of cruelty, but the surge of adrenaline drowned those thoughts out.
He was just close enough to press the searing heat against his skin. He only had time to glance down before the word echoed in her head, in a voice not her own, but one she recognized far too well.
Crucio.
Greengrass dropped to the ground, writhing in the shattered remnants of her office, the bits of her hard-earned desk scattered about the hallway. The rolls and rolls of parchment she’d slaved over for months, incinerated. The mere thought intensified her rage, and his screams grew louder. You had to mean it, they always said. And this time, she did.
The ropes holding her in place loosened, and she slipped out of them, landing on her feet just in front of the tortured form of her rival. She crouched beside him, allowing him a moment of reprieve from the pain.
“You’ll find that I’m also not to be trifled with,” she whispered, relishing in his look of terror. She made him feel that. Her hand raised over him again, ready to deal the final blow, when she heard rushed footsteps and voices in the distance. Just in time, the rational part of her thought. She sank to the ground as the elation left her, her trembling legs giving out beneath her. She met Greengrass’s icy blue gaze, and smiled triumphantly before letting herself fall back, eyes sliding closed.
There was a shout, the scrambling of feet, the sound of wood scraping against the floor and she felt arms slip under her back.
“Hermione!” Harry shouted, gently slapping her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open again, filling with tears as she stared up at Harry.
“Harry,” she sobbed, turning her face into his chest.
“Arrest him,” Harry ordered the other Auror. Greengrass was silent as he was lifted to his feet, shocked, perhaps. He knew he’d lost, once again.
Harry hooked his arm under Hermione’s legs and lifted her up. “I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s.”
Hermione nodded against his shoulder, sniffling for good measure. “Thank you, Harry. I was so frightened.”
This time, it wasn’t a lie.
-
February 12, 2000
“Congratulations, Granger,” Draco greeted when the cottage door sprung open. “On both blowing up half the ministry, and then becoming the one responsible for cleaning it up.”
“Thank you, Draco,” she snorted, rubbing the bruise on her forehead.
“How does it feel to be the next in a long line of corrupt Ministers?”
“Corrupt?” Hermione scoffed, stepping past Draco and into his workshop. “I won’t even dignify that with a response.”
“You’d need to have some dignity left to do that, anyway,” Draco retorted. “You’re not here for the potion today, are you?”
“I’m planning to use it on the fourteenth.”
“How romantic,” Draco’s lip curled. “I take it Potter has returned that spawn of Satan looking glass to you?”
“How do you know who Satan is?” Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I lived with him, don’t you remember?” Draco replied, glaring. “Anyway, I’ll have it ready by then. It’s modified from the original, as you know. It worked well on the test subjects, you said, but their souls were already intact. I’ll have to bring it for you the moment it’s finished brewing, just to ensure it will be at its most potent.”
“Good idea. We only have one shot at this. If it doesn’t work…” Hermione trailed off. She didn’t need to finish. Draco knew the consequences of that.
“It will work,” Draco assured her. “It has to. I’ve spent nearly a year on it, and I’m a damn good potioneer.”
Hermione nodded and reached out to place her hand on Draco’s arm. He flinched, but she held it tightly. “Thank you, Draco. I owe you so much for this.”
“Yes, you do. Seventy-four Galleons and six Sickles, to be exact.”
“I mean it,” she insisted, squeezing his arm once before letting go. “Now, shall I give you an enchanted Galleon to let you know when to come?”
“Those blasted things again?” Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime. Just send me your patronus when you’re ready. I’ll hand it over and then leave, I don’t even want to look at that bastard’s face.”
Hermione laughed awkwardly. “Fine, I won’t expect anything more from you.”
“And don’t bring him over here, remorseful or not,” Draco warned. “Or I will kill him.”
Hermione’s smile faltered. “You’ve made your point. Now I’d better be off for the inauguration. Thank you again, Draco. I won’t let you down.”
“Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep.” Draco’s face turned very serious, his grey eyes hardening. “Never, ever underestimate a Slytherin, Granger.”
“So I’ve been told,” Hermione gave him a tight smile, standing from the bench, suddenly feeling a sense of foreboding rolling in the pit of her stomach.
Everything is going to be fine, she thought to herself as she stepped outside into the brisk winter air. It’s all going according to plan.
-
February 14, 2000
Hermione’s heart was pounding as she stood facing the mirror for what she hoped was the last time, absentmindedly stroking the soulmark on her finger. She’d been waiting for this moment ever since she’d been given the soul bonding potion both excited and terrified that she might succeed.
In exchange for the (false) information about Greengrass, Hermione had promised to bring Tom into her time. She’d planned to do this all along, of course, but the timing hadn’t been right. With Draco on standby with the potion, Hermione was ready to fulfill that promise on her own terms.
“What happened to you?” Tom asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. His narrowed eyes scanned her body, pausing at each bruise and scratch she’d obtained from the scuffle with Greengrass.
“Why don’t you come over here and I’ll tell you about it over some tea,” Hermione smiled, offering her hand. Tom glanced down at her outstretched palm, disbelief etched into his features. “I did promise you, didn’t I?”
“I suppose I expected more theatrics than this,” Tom admitted, smile tugging at his lips. “You are a Gryffindor, after all.”
“Oh, just shut up and take it,” she scolded, extending her hand through the mirror. Tom took it firmly in his, and she pulled him across the barrier.
He stepped gracefully into her room, straightening up to look around, hand still clasping hers. She felt suddenly shy, having him in her room after so long.
“It’s a bit of a mess, sorry. I haven’t had much time, with the election and St. Mungo’s and-“ her nervous rambling was interrupted by the sensation of his hand stroking her wrist, thumb brushing the raw skin left behind by the rope. Her wounds had nearly faded, thanks to the treatment she received, but some things couldn’t be fixed with magic.
“Who did this to you?” Tom asked sharply.
“Well, Greengrass and I dueled. He destroyed my office, actually, but this particular mark was from the incarcerous spell, he-“ Hermione explained quickly.
“And he’s still alive?” He interrupted, tentatively stroking the sore flesh of her neck, eyes grazing the nearly invisible bruise on her forehead.
“He’s on house arrest,” she informed him, feeling a bit touched by his evident concern. And then a sly smile crept across her face. “I figured he wouldn’t be able to follow my career as Minister if he was in Azkaban.”
Tom chuckled. “How devious of you.”
Hermione beamed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I really shouldn’t be as pleased to hear you say that as I am.”
She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He leaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. She sighed, loathe to end this moment after so many weeks apart.
But alas, she thought as she slid her hands up and pressed her wand into the groove of his spine.
There's no other choice.