Chapter Text
February 14, 2000
The moment the red light flashed, Tom fell in slow motion.
Hermione was prepared, catching him with a wave of her wand and levitating him to her bed. She tucked him in gently, laughing at the absurdity of the gesture when she’d just stunned him so she could force feed him a potion that would trigger unimaginable pain. It was a small comfort to her that he was warm, at least.
She paused to observe his serene face — his delicately arched eyebrows that rose in amusement with her every emotional outburst, the straight nose that crinkled in irritation when she mentioned her friends, the full lips that had been attached to her own not long before. This was for his own good. And her own good. For the greater good.
A knock at the door startled her, and she swiveled her head so quickly that her neck twinged with pain Taking a deep breath, she rushed over to let Draco in. He stood in the doorway, the fear in his eyes betraying his mask of indifference.
“Is he here, then?” he murmured, voice trembling. She nodded, offering him a small smile and stepping aside to let him in. He inhaled deeply and strode inside, and she locked the door behind him.
“He’s unconscious now, but we don’t have long,” she explained, casting a glance at the bed where Tom was lying peacefully. She stuck her hand out. “The potion, please.”
Draco handed it over without looking at her. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something, though she didn’t know what. She didn’t much care, under such a time crunch. She shuffled over to the bed and sank to her knees beside Tom’s sleeping form, slipping one arm carefully beneath his neck to angle his head enough to pour the potion into his mouth.
“Granger,” Draco began, voice tinged with confusion. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she snapped, pressing the rim of the flask between Tom’s lips. “Would you rather me wake him first?”
She watched the emerald green liquid trickle into Tom’s open mouth, and he stirred slightly, groaning. She tipped the flask further, emptying it down his throat before he had the mind to spit it back out. He choked and sputtered, but she held his neck up until he had consumed it all. She tossed the empty flask to the side and laid his head back on the pillow. She brushed that one loose curl over his forehead to the side, as she always did, before she remembered that there was someone else in the room. She stood quickly at the realization and backed up towards Draco, who remained silent.
With a rush of ice prickling across her skin, Hermione took in the shocked expression on Draco’s face: he had been staring this whole time. Not at the young dark lord, but at her. She turned around to face him, crossing her arms.
“Granger, are you-”
“You should go now, before he wakes,” Hermione interrupted, flushing. She shouldn’t have done that, how embarrassing—
“You’ve gone completely mad,” he choked, backing away from her.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Look, Draco, I know how it looks but—”
“It doesn’t look like anything!” he burst out, pointing at the bed. “You’ve just poured out the potion I slaved over for months. All over your bed!”
“What are you-” Hermione began. But then she heard Tom exhale sharply through his nose behind her, and she tensed. A rumble followed, deep in his chest. Was he choking? Was it the beginnings of painful moans? She wanted to turn and look him in the eye, but she found herself unable to look on while he suffered at her hand. The rumble became louder, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Was that… Was he…
Laughing?
Two very familiar hands clasped her shoulders, and she froze in fear. Before she could spin around, Tom’s chest pressed against her back, and one hand snaked around her hips to pull her flush against him.
Even more shocking than Tom’s consciousness, combined with his amusement, was the fact that Draco wasn’t looking over her shoulder. He was looking at her.
Like she was insane.
Tom’s other hand trailed from her shoulder down her arm, leaving gooseflesh in its path to her wrist, where he grasped it. She watched detachedly as he lifted their conjoined arms, and she gripped her wand tighter.
“Granger,” Draco warned, eyes on her wand.
“Stupefy,” he whispered against the little curve of her ear, and the second red light of the evening shot from her wand, straight into Draco’s chest. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
“Well done,” Tom praised, lips curving into a smile against her skin. A shudder ran through her as she stared down at Draco’s crumpled form, eyes wide with shock.
“He couldn’t see you,” she murmured in disbelief.
“That’s right, Hermione,” he confirmed, voice tinged with amusement. “Put the pieces together. I know you can.”
Hermione deflated against him, defeated. It hadn’t worked. Months and months of planning, trial and error, pain and suffering.
“You’re not really here. You never were.”
All for nothing.
“The pieces…” Hermione’s voice shrilled with panic. Her throat became too tight to breathe as she ran through the events of the last year and a half in her head. Finding the mirror, which no one had heard of. The soul bonding potion, which no one could replicate. The Itch, which no one could cure. Tom, here, whom no one could see. “That means that-”
“That all of this,” he finished for her, weaving his fingers into her hair until the heavy heat of his hands engulfed her scalp. He squeezed lightly before finishing, “has been in this lovely head of yours.”
“When?” was all she could choke out.
“Fifty years, technically. But for you, well, I’m sure you can remember the precise moment you decided to let me in.”
“That’s impossible,” she gasped, feeling as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. “We even went outside, I met people, I-”
“Just memories,” Tom explained. “You asked me to open up to you, and I obliged. How else could I gain your trust?”
“You gained my trust only to betray it.” Tears spilled from her eyes, and she swiped at them viciously.
“While we’re on the subject of betrayal,” his voice hardened and his fingertips dug into her flesh like a vise. “You seem to have forgotten that you kept my identity from me for years. My own demise. All your scheming and planning with the Malfoy boy to destroy me. And yet I still forgave you.”
“Not destroy you! I wouldn’t do that! I just wanted to help you, make you whole again. I’m not a killer!”
“Oh, but you are,” he grinned maniacally. Tendrils of ice crept through her veins.
“That’s absurd! How could you—” She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head furiously. He circled around her like a vulture, sizing up its next meal before he struck, hands gripping hers bruisingly and pulling them away from her face.
“Who do you think murdered the Minister, Hermione?” he pressed. She kept her eyes clamped shut, unable to look him in the eyes. She couldn’t look. Couldn’t breathe.
“It was your body, your wand.” He placed his palms on her cheeks, suddenly gentle, and ran his thumbs beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears. “I just gave you the push you needed.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a sick imitation of a comforting hug. He patted her back and nuzzled her hair tenderly. She was nauseous. “This mirror has been very useful to me. As both a link to you, my dear, and a precaution against my death. Once you revealed my fate, I took matters into my own hands, naturally.”
“You made a Horcrux,” she gasped, her tears staining his shirt. Why hadn’t she seen it before? She’d been so preoccupied with the discovery of the soul glass, her soulmate, she hadn’t thought that it could’ve been used the way the others had been. Another rare, precious commodity of his.
“I knew you’d get there.” Tom smiled proudly down at her.
“Then, the soul bond… The itch…” Hermione faltered.
“Another trick of the mind, I’m afraid.” Tom shook his head, looking apologetic. “At first, I was only planning to use you to restore my body. But I needed time, in this era where my power was weak, and ‘the itch,’ as you call it, was the only way to ensure you kept the mirror in your possession long enough.”
“Is that your plan for me, then? Drain my magic force and leave me to die?” Hermione murmured softly, a twinge of sadness gripping her heart.
“Oh, no,” Tom resumed stroking her hair. “We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we? We are truly soulmates, in every sense of the word.”
Hermione’s heart warmed, then, melting away the cold fear that had gripped it. It wasn’t all a ruse. That part had been real. She leaned away from him slightly and lifted her hand to her chest, soul mark glimmering against her skin. “The soul glass, then-”
“That was real,” Tom assured her, taking her hand and running his thumb over the golden band on her finger. “It was simply a coincidence that you came upon it. Imagine, had you not, I’d never have had the pleasure of meeting such a vital piece of my soul, who would effectively bring me back from the dead. You could call it destiny.”
Hermione released a breathy laugh. Destiny. They say you can choose your own destiny. Had she known, would she still have made the same choice? Not likely. This time, destiny had chosen for her.
“Precisely. There’s no need to cry, Hermione. Now that I’m here, nothing will stand in your way. I promise you that.”
Hermione finally raised her eyes to his, took in the sincere expression gracing his handsome face. His drawn eyebrows and kind smile. But his eyes, well. They were as black and cold as ever, rimmed with blood red and glinting wickedly.
“I have a few errands to run before the day is over,” he announced, stepping back and gripping her shoulders. “Would you like to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”
Hermione sighed, defeated. How many years must she fight against him? She’d brought him back, and Harry would never forgive her. The wizarding world would shun her if they knew. She’d lose everything, and all her hard work to better society would be thrown out the window.
This version of Voldemort was young and manageable. He listened to her, and compromised. He respected her, even cared for her. She knew it. They were partners in every sense of the word.
She wouldn’t let it become like last time. She was the Minister for Magic. She could control the narrative.
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his chest. His arms encircled her, and the last thing she would remember for some time to come would be the soft whisper before darkness took her.
“That’s my girl.”
-
February 14, 2000
“Hello, Gareth,” the girl greeted warmly, pushing past him into his living room.
“After all you’ve put me and my family through, how dare you-”
“Hermione was generous enough to agree to house arrest, as she thought Azkaban was a bit harsh for your petty attempt at assault,” the girl continued, as if he’d never spoken, referring to herself in third person. Gareth tilted his head. Something was… off.
“Generous?” Gareth scoffed, narrowing his eyes. The girl met his gaze confidently, flecks of red adorning her black irises, like hot coals clinging to the remnants of heat. A shudder ran through him. He’d been sure her eyes were honey brown.
“Unfortunately for you, Gareth, Hermione and I don’t share the same… inclination for mercy,” she grinned, and her perfectly straight smile looked a shade more sinister than the triumphant grin she’d taunted him with just days before.
“Miss Granger, you’re acting quite strange,” Gareth declared, backing up toward the kitchen.
“I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that I’m not, in fact, Miss Granger,” she replied. The color drained from Gareth’s face. “But Miss Granger is very precious to me, you see. And there are few things that enrage me more than someone touching something that belongs to me.”
At the wave of her hand, ropes shot from thin air and curled around Gareth’s limbs, eliciting a gurgled shout of surprise from his tightly constricted throat. The ropes fastened him to his armchair, and Hermione Granger sauntered toward him. His skin burned from the restraints as he struggled against them. She hadn’t even drawn her wand! This kind of power, at that age-
“Yes, she’s remarkable isn’t she?” She chuckled. “Now, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. First, I’m going to need just a bit of your magic. Then, I’ll make sure you live a long, full life. It won’t be a happy one, I’m sorry to inform you, but as the saying goes, you reap what you sow.”
She placed her hand gently on Gareth’s head, and a sharp pain shot from the top of his skull to his toes. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. It was like a nightmare. She was like a nightmare. And that crazed, maniacal gleam from the depths of her black eyes was the last thing he saw before the pain took over, and would be the last thing he saw each time he closed his eyes, for the rest of his life.
-
February 15, 2000
When Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place, the others had already gathered. Harry, Ron, and Ginny. The only living inhabitants of the Wizarding World left who’d seen the face of Tom Marvolo Riddle. She’d taken care of the others quite easily, just a visit for tea, a swish of the wand, and voila. There was no need to remove the memories entirely, just alter them a little. She’d already been quite adept at memory charms, but now it was near effortless.
But for these remaining three, the ones who’d been personally affected by Tom’s magic, it was more complicated. It would take more than just plucking out a memory or a mere alteration of a moment — it would be months, years of the residual feelings left behind by Tom’s Horcruxes. She’d need the time, concentration, and emotional strength it would require to pick through their minds and distort nearly ten years of painful memories.
A year ago, she might not have been able to bring herself to deceive her friends like that. But she comforted herself with the thought that they would be much happier without the recollection of so many difficult times. She could do it. And once she did, she’d have nothing left to hide from them and they could all move on with their lives without anyone constantly questioning the other person’s motives or putting their noses where they don’t belong./p>
She took a seat across from Ginny, who was eyeing her with poorly concealed suspicion. Ron didn’t bother to conceal his, though this didn’t surprise her at all. Harry had told them about their conversation, it seemed. That might make things a bit more difficult than she’d initially expected.
“Congratulations on your win, Minister,” Ginny smiled weakly. “We knew you could do it.”
“Thank you, Ginny. I couldn’t have done it without all of your support.”
“Let’s get to the point, then,” Ron insisted, scowling. “We heard about Greengrass.”
“You mean, about him attacking me?” Hermione interrupted, tilting her head in confusion.
“How he was found in his home just this afternoon,” Harry spoke, his voice frosty. “Tortured, driven mad. He’s been taken to St. Mungo’s, but isn’t expected to ever leave.”
The color drained from Hermione’s face. “What?”
“Don’t act like you had nothing to do with it,” Ron scoffed.
“I’m with Ron on this one,” Harry agreed. “The incidents happening around you have been far too coincidental.”
What in Merlin’s name? She didn’t know what exactly had happened to Greengrass, but she had a pretty good idea of who happened to him.
This was not part of the plan. She was meant to come, participate in idle talk, then swiftly knock them out before correcting their memories. With their obvious suspicion and disdain, it would be nearly impossible to execute. She’d have to come back another day.
“Well, I didn’t come here to be interrogated,” Hermione stood quickly. “Especially by my best friends. How could you think I’d do something so heinous?”
“Expelliarmus,” Harry called out, hand raised to catch her wand as it soared through the air. “I’ll need to examine your last spells.”
“Are you…arresting me?” Hermione gasped as Ginny and Ron moved toward her.
“Of course not, Hermione,” Ginny assured her. “We’re trying to resolve this between us. We don’t want to get the authorities involved.”
“Though Harry is technically the authorities,” Ron added, grabbing her upper arm to hold her in place. “If your wand checks out, we’ll let you go.”
“Resolve what?” Hermione growled. “I haven’t done anything!”
Harry sighed. “We’ve already discussed this, Hermione. Ever since you found that mirror, you haven’t been the same. It’s done something to you, and we need to find out what it is.”
“We’re worried about you, that’s all,” Ginny exclaimed. “We just want to help you.”
Hermione struggled against Ron, shouting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, now let go of me, and give me back my wand!”
Harry tapped his wand against hers, and a wisp of silver drifted out from the tip. Harry’s green eyes narrowed and shot up to hers sharply. “A memory charm.”
“Whose was it?” Ron demanded, tightening his hold on her. “Your witnesses?”
“That hurts, Ron!” Hermione pounded her fist on his chest. “Let go!”
“Hermione, you need to tell us, or we’ll have to pull it from your own memory. I don’t want to have to do that,” Harry said, standing.
“I don’t have to tell you anything!” This evening was not at all going to plan. Hermione struggled against Ron’s vice-like grip, eyes darting around the study to find something, anything, to get her out of this mess. “What’s wrong with you all?!”
“Just stupefy her and let’s find out ourselves. We can’t trust her Harry, she’s proved as much time and time again,” Ron raised his wand and pointed it at Hermione.
Hermione’s eyes, fixed on Ron’s wand, widened in fear. They were going to stupefy her? No, this was bad, she couldn’t let them see-
She flinched, braced for the inevitable crash and burn of everything she had worked so hard to achieve when Ron’s wand was suddenly jerked from his hand and soared into the air, disappearing behind them. Ginny and Harry gasped when theirs, too, followed suit, falling into the shadowy hallway, through the door that had been closed moments before.
Ron’s grip on Hermione’s shoulders loosened in his moment of shock, and he didn’t have time to shout before he was suddenly thrown into the bookshelves lining the wall with a sickening thud. A gust of cold wind blew into the study through the open door sending neatly stacked papers flying into spirals around them, and Hermione caught the comforting scent of sandalwood as the air brushed across her face. She froze in fear, a sudden hush settling over the room, no sound save for the whisper of a single word from her lips. “No.”
“Surely you didn’t think I’d stand by and let them do this, Hermione?” came a low voice from the darkness.
“No,” Harry echoed Hermione’s exhalation. Ginny froze beside him, the blood draining from her face.
The wooden floors creaked with each step the figure took into the dim firelight, his shadow growing taller with each approaching step. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, half fear, half relief, at the sight of Tom’s grim expression as the flickering light was cast over his features. He stopped beside her and scanned the room before turning toward her. He leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, before replacing his lips with his fingers.
“Don’t worry, love, I won’t make you watch,” he whispered against her hair. Hermione crumpled into his waiting arms before she could reply.
“Hermione!” Ginny and Harry cried in unison, lurching forward, only to find that they couldn’t move. Tom chuckled as he laid Hermione’s sleeping form softly on the sofa in front of the fireplace, taking extra care to set her head delicately on the soft cushion there.
Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion at the gesture, and the tender stroke of Tom’s thumb along Hermione’s cheek before he straightened and turned to face them. The moment he laid eyes on Harry, his expression transformed. His soft smile now a bitter line, gentle gaze hardened as steel. Cold.
Deadly.
“I indulged Hermione’s request to keep you alive out of respect for her, but I must admit, I’m extremely disappointed to see that her feelings for you are so misguided. I was the one who took care of Greengrass, after what he attempted to do to her, but as her friends, shouldn’t you have gotten to him first?”
“How is that even possible? How are you here?” Harry demanded. “The mirror didn’t have any trace of dark magic!”
“I’m genuinely shocked that, after your experience, Horcruxes weren’t the first thing you checked for,” Tom responded with a smile. “But then, you always were a bit slow on the uptake.”
“He used someone to become corporeal, just like with me in the Chamber of Secrets,” Ginny muttered.
“Very good, Ginny. It was all thanks to Draco’s generous sacrifice. But he was not quite enough to strengthen me fully. My old friend Gareth gifted me this form, but leaving him alive to suffer was much more satisfying than draining him completely.” Tom paused and gestured at the couple’s immobile forms. “Luckily, your betrayal of my dear soulmate’s trust has resolved this problem for me.”
–
“Your dear soulmate? You’re just using her!” Harry shouted, struggling helplessly against the magic holding him in place.
“I am,” Tom admitted, nodding. “As is she. I’m no expert in the matter, but tell me, Harry… Isn’t that what love is? Making great sacrifices for the happiness of the other, infinitely, until death do you part?”
Harry and Ginny stared. Tom continued speaking, slowly pacing toward them.
“I’m told love is the most powerful of all magic, so naturally, I’m happy to harness it by stepping in to ensure nothing and no one gets in the way of Hermione’s wishes. That’s what someone like Hermione deserves. She’s ambitious, cunning, and loyal, even to those like you who don’t deserve it. She’d be a Slytherin if it weren’t for the unfortunate circumstances of her birth.”
Tom pulled out Harry’s wand and pointed it toward Ron, who was still unconscious across the room. “Now, we’ve wasted enough time talking. I wouldn’t like for Hermione to wake up before I’ve finished up here. I don’t enjoy seeing her in pain.”
He offered Harry a smirk and a wink, before the study filled with a bright, green light.
-
March 1, 2000
“We are still searching for the primary suspect in the murder of my closest friends, heroes of the wizarding world, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and his sister, Ginevra Weasley.
“When caught, Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, will be tried and punished to the full extent of the law for this heinous crime. Our Aurors are doing everything in their power to track him down, along with his inner circle, and we hope to have good news for you all soon.
“It is always our first priority to maintain the safety of the witches and wizards we have all sworn to protect. We thank you all for your support and for continuing to put your faith in us as we cleanse the wizarding community of evil and begin a new era of peace.”
Thunderous applause greeted Hermione’s speech. She glanced at the cameras, maintaining a solemn expression, tears tracking down her cheeks appropriately.
She held up an arm and waved to the crowd, backing away toward the curtain leading out of the auditorium.
“Excellent speech, Minister,” her aide squeaked as she stepped through the curtain and into the corridor. The aide rushed along beside her as she exited, handing her a tissue. Hermione took it with a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Felicity. I only hope things turn out alright in the end.”
“Of course they will,” Felicity nodded enthusiastically. “We are so lucky to have you in these dark times. And again, I’m so sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you,” Hermione nodded, dabbing newly formed tears. She reached the Floo and grabbed a handful of powder. “I’ll need some peace and quiet to read through the investigation findings, so you can take some time for yourself and pick up the signed paperwork around two.”
Felicity beamed, gazing admiringly at Hermione. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be there at two on the dot!”
Hermione returned her smile and threw the Floo powder into the fireplace, then stepped into the engulfing, emerald flames.
Her agenda for the day was endless, and she knew it would be another late night. But it would be worth it once she’d rounded up all the former Death Eaters and public opinion returned to the highs it had reached during former Minister Shacklebolt’s term.
He’d been very good, she thought to herself as she landed gracefully in her office and vanished the ashes from her suit. But I will be better.
She placed her wand on the desk and shrugged off her coat, hanging it neatly on the coat hanger beside the large, ornate looking glass in the corner, just behind her desk.
“It went well, I presume?” a velvety voice lilted from behind her.
“Of course.” She perched herself on the edge of the desk and smiled at the handsome man lounging on the office sofa. He offered a proud smile of his own, rising languidly from his seat. “Shame about Draco, though. I did quite like him.”
“It’s no matter,” Tom laughed, low and sinister. The heels of his shoes clacked softly on the marble floors as he approached Hermione. “Once the other traitors are rounded up, there will be nothing standing in your way. You’ll be a hero, yet again.”
He reached out and grasped Hermione’s hand gently, as if it were made of the fragile glass he’d come through, and brought it to his lips. He kissed a trail up her fingertips, to her knuckles, the palm of her hand to the inside of her wrist. She huffed and snatched it out of his reach.
“I already have far too much to do today, thanks to you,” she scowled. “And Felicity will be back in a few hours, so I’d better get a move on.”
Tom smirked and stepped aside, allowing Hermione to slide off the desk and plop into her desk chair. He sauntered over to stand behind her. “When should I expect you at the cottage tomorrow? We have to discuss-”
“I will owl you when I’m available,” Hermione interrupted, picking up her quill. “I have several meetings, and I’m not sure when they’ll finish.”
Hermione yelped, startled, as Tom’s fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, his breath grazing her ear. “Do not interrupt me again. Need I remind you who put you in this seat?”
“How could I forget, when my own hands are stained with the blood of my friends?” Hermione replied tremulously, reaching up to grasp Tom’s wrists.
She sunk her nails into the tender flesh, and a pained hiss escaped him. She pried his hands off her and rose suddenly from her chair, spinning to face him just as he shoved it aside, where it clattered to the ground. She fisted her hands in his robes, and he pressed her into the desk, the wooden edge prodding the back of her thighs. They moved in tandem, each one predicting the other’s movements, like a dance they’d performed too many times.
“Everything I did, I did for you,” Tom insisted, grasping her shoulders tightly. Her eyes stung, a single tear escaping the corner of her eye, though she’d fought hard the last month not to cry. She knew he’d done it for her, but it didn’t stop her from resenting him for it. She missed them, and she knew he hated it.
“You did it for me, because in this timeline, you’re nothing without me,” she spat, tugging his robes down until he was inches from her face.
“And you’d be nothing without me,” he retorted, the anger twisting his face melting, giving way to a self-satisfied grin. His hands slid down her back to rest on her waist, the sudden tenderness of his touch stirring something within her.
Hermione shivered. It was always like this. A power struggle. A cycle of affection and guilt and conflict. It ate her from the inside out, toxic emotions melting away the last of her humanity, scar tissue growing in its place, hardening her heart against the truth of what she’d done. She didn’t need anything else, anyone else. She had her soulmate, and the fate of the country resting in her trembling hands. The world was much bigger than three individuals, after all.
Tom pressed his lips to her forehead, then leaned back to capture her gaze, devoid of the rage from just moments before.
“You have a bright future ahead of you,” he reassured her. “Leave the past behind.”
Hermione nodded. “It’s for the greater good.”
Tom smiled, a dazzling sight, as always. Save for the clouded darkness of his eyes, untouched by his apparent joy. “For the greater good.”