(no subject)

[vivien]

Once home, more correspondence confronted her: two vexed owls waiting to deliver messages and letters from the Muggle post slide through the door’s mail slot. She took each parchment from the owls, not bothering to thank them.

One letter was from a former colleague, one from her Healer – she was long overdue for her annual appointment – and there was a letter from her parents. She scanned her parents’ letter; they’d be on a cruise for her father’s birthday this year, so she needn’t try to come. Frowning, she folded it up and pushed it aside. She couldn’t focus on anything at this point, aside from getting in bed.


On her nightstand was a picture of herself with Ron and Harry, back in sixth year right before everything went to hell. She stared at it, as she often did, once she climbed under the covers. If only Harry and Ron were still here. Things would be so different. For another… well, nothing was as she’d hoped it would be.

Her eyes fluttered close, and she tried to remember how Ron’s kiss had felt.

She couldn’t.

~~~

Hermione owled in sick for two more days. She had to recover from the latest trip into the diary and, she assumed, such close contact with Tom. While in bed, sipping cup after cup of hot tea, she researched the matter at hand. Again. As before, she could find nothing in her references on Horcruxes to explain the anomaly within Voldemort’s diary.

However, she did find an anti-vertigo potion to take the next time she descended into it. She also conjured up a slice of lemon cake and suffused it with Veritaserum.

When she arrived at her office, ready to try again, the first thing she noticed was a brand new swarm of paper airplanes rustling in wait for her. The second was her supervisor, Hector Praxton, sitting in the chair opposite her desk.

He stood upon hearing her enter. Hector was a weak-willed academic, if a skilled one. He had participated in the trials against Muggleborns but had been acquitted of any actual wrongdoing, proving he’d only done as ordered out of fear. Most of the Ministry employees had claimed the same. Even Dolores Umbridge had only served a year in Azkaban for her crimes. If only more of the Order had survived, if only Harry and she had had a chance to do something more to change things…

But they hadn’t. After Harry’s death, she’d been recruited to work in the Department of Mysteries, finishing up her final year and taking her N.E.W.T.s as she interned part-time. This was where they’d needed her most, or so she’d been convinced.

“Miss Granger, I’ve been trying to contact you for days,” he said, rising to greet her. “I trust you’re feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” she said with a curt nod, and strode to her own desk chair. She grabbed a paper plane and began reading the memo. “I’m just a bit behind on my correspondence.”

“Oh, yes, I see, well,” he said, squirming in his chair, “that’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about. You’ve seemed rather- distracted of late. I was wondering if there was anything wrong. Might you need an assistant to help with the workload?”


She took her time reading the second memo she’d unfolded, and the fixed the older man with a cold stare. “I’m fine. I’ve just been working on a project that requires a great deal of focus. Plus, my health has not been the best of late. I can assure you,” she continued, “that you’ll have a complete report on your desk, soon.”

She wasn’t sure what she was going to write about, come to think of it.

“Look, Miss Granger, I’ll be frank.” He leaned toward her, the whiskers on his chin waggling. He was the face of concern. “We’re all worried about your- er, your dedication of late. I wonder if this latest- artifact should have remained secured. Perhaps it’s time for a holiday? Or a change in focus? I know a young lady of your intellectual prowess needs challenges. We have many opportunities within the Department of Mysteries, or perhaps you’d even like a transfer to a different department.”

Hermione stood and walked to her office door. Her smile was fierce. “Thank you, Director Praxton, for stopping by and checking in on me. I do appreciate your concern, but truly, I am fine. I see no need for any changes in my work environment.”

As she knew he would, Praxton rose and scuttled to the door in response. “Please, Miss Granger, if you need anything, ask for it. You’ve done so much for us all, already. We owe it to you.”

“I certainly shall,” she managed to say.

She closed the door and leaned back against it, eyes closed. She could leave. She’d practically been given permission. Before the war had broken out in earnest, she’d wanted to work in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, to set things right for those who’d been under Wizarding dominance so long. The current regime, though, had not made such tasks easy. Remus had often said in the days after Harry’s death that Kingsley Shacklebolt could have all made the difference as Minister, but he’d died in the final battle as well.

No. She had work here to do. Maybe after she figured out what to do with the diary and the man within it, but not until then. With that, she made for her desk, took out the flask of anti-vertigo potion from a robe pocket, and downed it. Then she escaped into the diary.

She steadied herself on the bookcase. The potion was working, but only just.

Tom stood, his back to her.

“Tom,” she said, her voice hushed.

“I remember everything,” he said, his voice flat. “Everything.” She raised her wand as he turned to face her. “You knew, though, didn’t you?”


She nodded.

“And yet you still come, even though you lose a little more of your life with each visit?”

“I faced you more than once. I’m not afraid of death at your hands.”

He turned back around, facing the wall where an enchanted window might have existed once. “Lucky you. What the hell am I, then, Professor? I mean, Miss Granger.” He hissed her name with a sneer. “The spell is disintegrating, and if I – if Voldemort is indeed dead, I can only assume the Horcrux within this diary has been broken.”

“I don’t know what you are, T- Riddle, but the Horcrux was destroyed ten years ago. You are- unique. I have to hand you that.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, and for a flash, she saw the befuddled young man she’d befriended. He stalked to the desk, flung the chair out with a loud scrape, and sat down heavily.

“You’ve got the wand,” he challenged. “You might as well get on with it. Unless I take it from you by force.” He glared up at her.

“Try it,” she said, and her voice was cool and calm. “You’ll be incapacitated before you stand. Then I’ll leave you here and destroy this ruddy diary of yours once and for all.”

He said nothing for several moments, but instead dropped his eyes to stare at the wood of the desk. It seemed to be terribly fascinating.

Hermione did not move, nor did she put her wand down.

“I wouldn’t, you know,” he finally mumbled.

“What? Attack me for my wand? Seeing as you’ve committed murder a hundred times over, I think I shall not risk the possibility.”

“I haven’t. I’ve only-” he went quiet again. “Alright, I’ve done bad things, but I had only just begun when I created this diary. When I created- whatever it is that I am.”

She said nothing in response. Silence stretched between them before he spoke again, frustration clearly present in his voice.

“How long has it been? You’re not of my time, that much I can tell. Have I- has he been dead long?”

“It’s been sixty years, as near as I can reckon it, since this diary was enchanted. I helped kill Voldemort four years ago.”

“Sixty?” His brow furrowed deeper. “Sixty…” He didn’t look up again for some time. He looked- well, he looked lost.

Hermione’s brow furrowed in response. She’d talked to him for hours on end. She’d been helped by him when she was vulnerable. She’d kissed him, for Merlin’s sake. And she’d liked every moment.

It was different now, wasn’t it? He knew what he was.

She grudgingly admitted that he didn’t look dangerous at the moment as he sat slumped in defeat. Admitting this didn’t mean she was letting her wand down any more than her guard. She had no idea how to proceed, however, as she couldn’t bring herself to destroy him out of hand.

“What are you waiting for?” Tom finally snarled. “Sixty years has been bloody well long enough. Do you know that I had every one of those bloody books memorized? Can you even imagine?” He stood now, striding towards her. “Trapped in a room for sixty bleeding years with nothing but the same books day-after-day and a pair of insipid children as my only correspondents.”

“Those ‘insipid children’ were my friends.”

“Oh? Well, hurrah for you.” He stopped about a few feet from her, glowering.

“You’ve only yourself to blame for your fate,” she scoffed.

“What are you doing, then? Toying with me? What have the last few weeks been about? Or has it been years? I’m still not- time is hard to judge here.”

“Weeks,” she said in a flat voice, remembering his arms around her, his lips upon hers. “And I have no bloody clue what the last few have been about.”

His eyes slid sideways away from her face to stare at the floor, and silence fell between them once more. Hermione’s arm was getting tired from pointing her wand, and her head ached miserably. She breathed a frustrated sigh.

“Put your wand down,” he said quietly. He shoved his fists into his trouser pockets. “I’m not going to do anything more to hurt you more than what the spell’s already doing. Why have you kept coming? Surely I haven’t been that good of company, and if I’m- if he’s dead, you can’t gain anything from me.”

She carefully lowered her wand, but she didn’t put it away. “I got information from you. For a while, you also happened to be good company.” She shrugged. “I have no reason to have compassion for you, nor should I.”

“But you do.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Merlin help me, I do.”

He stepped closer, and she was reminded once more of his physical presence. Tall. Solid. Alive, or something so close as to be indistinguishable.

“I shouldn’t feel anything towards you, either. I never wanted friends, mates, people to talk to. I was above that. But I’ve looked forward to your visits. I was hoping against hope you’d come again, and not mind who I was if I told you. So. I suppose we both have shameful secrets to tell.”

He was close enough to touch now, though she didn’t move a muscle to do so. It was he who reached for her, his cool hand that slipped into her warm one.

“Each time you come here, more of you becomes part of me. You’ll either die as a result, or you’ll have to destroy me. Or- or you could help me escape.”

“I can’t,” she whispered in answer to all three possibilities. None of them could happen.

None of them.

He pounced upon her, pushing her back against the bookshelves as he embraced her. His lips crushed against hers; this kiss was anything but chaste. Her mouth opened to his and she threw her arm, with her wand still gripped in her hand, around his neck.

The kiss broke and they both gasped for air. Tom didn’t let go. Instead, his arms tightened around her and he began kissing down her jaw line. “Please?” he breathed into her ear. “Please, Hermione? Save me. Save us both.”

She pushed him away. “I can’t. This is- this is wrong, and I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“I can’t be the same person I was. I want to live, Hermione. I want to learn everything I can about the world out there. I’m not as interested in what I wanted at age sixteen.”

Hermione laughed. “You can’t be serious. I’m not letting you loose upon the world again with only your word as promise.”

“But- you- you have to,” he said, as petulant as a spoiled child.

“No, I don’t,” she said, stepping backwards. “You cannot compel me, Voldemort.”

He wrinkled his nose at the name. “Don’t call me by that failure’s name.”

“You’re going to have to make up more aliases at the rate you’re going. You’re running out of appropriate ones.” she said. “I’m leaving. Goodbye.”

She raised her wand. Before swirling out of the diary, Tom began hurling books off the shelf beside him in anger. He was not, she couldn’t help notice, hurling them at her.

Once back in her office, Hermione picked up a quill as soon as she could do so. She wrote to Praxton, informing him that she would like to take advantage of his offer after all. Her leave of absence would begin immediately. When she returned, they would discuss her future placement.

She sat there, before charming the paper to fly off to its recipient, staring into the distance. Then she pointed her wand at the diary. Incendio would take care of all of her problems.

But would it really? The diary would be gone, along with Tom or Voldemort or whoever he was. But the emptiness in her life, the ache for what might have been, would still be there. Her isolation from all that mattered to her and her disaffection for how her life had turned out would still be there

If she went back into the diary, she knew she faced danger. However, she couldn’t help but feel sure that she was the one with the power this time, and she could handle him. And perhaps, just perhaps, she could save them both.

Besides, she hadn’t given him the slice of cake yet.

She tapped her note to Praxton, charming it into a plane that took off immediately. Then she slipped the diary into her purse and left her office.

Upon leaving the Ministry, she felt better already.

~~~

“Back for more taunting?” Tom didn’t look up from the spot where he knelt. He was piecing pages back into the broken binding of a book on the floor.

There were books and ripped pages strewn all across the darkened room. “Had a right temper tantrum, did we?”

He said nothing in response, but his glower deepened.

She walked unsteadily to the desk, wand in her hand but not pointed in his direction. “I brought you something. Meant to give it to you last time, but, well,” she trailed off, setting down the slice of lemon cake. “Oh, and I brought you a butter beer, as well.” She pulled the bottle from her purse.

He glanced at her and then at the items on the desk and frowned in confusion. “You brought me treats? Why? Are they laced in Veritaserum or poison or something?”

She rolled her eyes. Of course he’d guess. “I promised I would. Remember?”

“You take a bite first, then.”

With a huff, she grabbed up the fork and took a large bite of the cake, transfiguring the Veritaserum before it touched her lips. She wrinkled her nose. “It would be better if it were chocolate, but there. No poison. Come and eat. It’s a peace offering.”

He stood, watching her closely. “Why did you come back?”

“I’ve unfinished business,” she replied with a shrug. Silly boy. If he thought she’d be foolish enough to let herself be questioned under Veritaserum, then this might work out after all.

He hesitated once more and then a very faint smile played about his lips. “I shouldn’t have acted as I did. Last time.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. I trust it won’t happen again.”

He did not answer, but he nodded as he walked over to the desk. Sitting down, he took a bite of the cake and closed his eyes. “Oh. I’d forgotten how good sweets were.”

She sat on the edge of the desk, her arms folded in triumph, and let him eat a few more bites before beginning.

“Why haven’t you tried to take my wand?”

He blinked. “It would do me no good. It can’t get me out of here.” He blinked again. “You- the cake- damn you,” he spluttered. “You were in Slytherin, weren’t you?”

“Oh please, as if you wouldn’t have done the same thing. No, you wouldn’t have done, would you? You’d have just used Legilimency instead. Or the Cruciatus curse.”

He nodded his head yes, and angrily forked another piece of cake into his mouth. Her lips twitched into a smile. She supposed he figured he might as well enjoy the cake at this point.

“For your information, I’m a Gryffindor. Are you Lord Voldemort?”

He scoffed. “I hope not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He failed. Besides, I’ve been on my own for a while now, if the Horcrux was destroyed as long ago as you say. It had been driving my actions. Now I am myself, whoever – or whatever – that is.”

“If you could escape the spell, what would you do first?”

He ducked his head so she couldn’t see his face. “Have a fine dinner. With you, if you’d go. And dancing, if you like that kind of thing.”

“What?” she asked in surprise.

“You heard me. Dinner and dancing.”

“Are you suppressing the Veritaserum?” Her mouth was agape.

“No, how could I? I’ve no wand, remember?”

“Why do you want to go to dinner with me? You don’t- you can’t like me, can you?”

He glared up at her. “I think I might, despite my deep desire at the moment not to like you at all. I don’t know. I can’t describe how I feel about you. You vex me, and I want to use you to get what I want, but I want to be with you when you’re not here. It’s bloody annoying.”

She shook her head in bafflement.

“Well, go on,” he said, finishing the cake. “Continue this most bizarre of interrogations.”

“Alright. After dinner, what would you do then? In general, not in specifics.”

“You mean, will I take over the world straight away? No. I should like to see it, though. I want to go to the magical bazaar of Alexandria and the Wizarding museums of Amsterdam. I want to see every place I’ve read about in these books over the decades. I want to walk under the stars of Scotland again, and feel grass under my feet. I want to feel the heat of the desert and the cold of the Alps. I want to live, Hermione, and be. I should like for you to be with me as I do. You can show me this new world. I’ve had seventy-six years of isolation; I think that’s enough.”

She slid closer to him and tipped his chin up to look into his eyes. “If I help you get out, will you hurt me? Physically, mentally, or spiritually?”

He met her eyes without hesitation. “No. I should try to never let that happen.”

“You’d owe me your life, as well. That’s no simple debt.” She knew from her research that Voldemort had always been bound by his own code of twisted honor. Perhaps now it was not as twisted.

He shook his head in agreement. “I know. I would be in your debt.”

She dropped her hand from his chin. “But the thing is, I’m not sure I know how to do such a thing. I mean, I can try, but my research hasn’t exactly been turning up insight into this situation.”

Silently, he opened a drawer, triggered a hidden switch, and withdrew a small book from its hiding place. He handed it to her.

When she touched it, she couldn’t repress a shudder. The book was bound in cracked leather the color of dried blood. She knew this to be a book of the Darkest of origins.

“This will tell you how. I can’t do it alone. I need you, but Hermione, I’m not using you. Not like I could.”

She stared at the book a moment longer, and as she did, she made her decision. It might be the wrong one, but she didn’t care any longer. This was something over which she had power. He needed her. She could save him, and she could make this right.

“If you try to hurt me, or anyone or anything I care about, I’ll destroy you,” she said quietly.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. She closed the gap between them and leaned down to kiss him. His arms went around her waist and soon she was in his lap, kissing him in a way she’d only ever dreamed about before.

~~~

The book was nefarious indeed. It was hard for Hermione to even read it, at first, but once she got used to feeling her flesh crawl, it got easier. Soon it almost became pleasurable. Dark magic was addictive; she knew this. She could stop whenever she liked, though. This was merely a project that she’d complete and then she’d move on.

A potion and a ritual, performed once it was ready, were required to bring Tom – they’d settled on sticking with this name after an afternoon of trying on other monikers and finding none that fit - from his enchanted state into her real world. The potion would be tricky to brew and would take a lunar cycle to finish. She was very pleased to learn that her blood, freely given, would be the key component of the potion. Blood magic was the most powerful, after all. Hers would be all the more powerful to bind him to her, because she was doing this for all the right reasons.

She stayed within the diary, as leaving it hurt her more and more each time. She ventured out every few days for the potions ingredients they needed and for food. This confinement wasn’t a problem, as they had found ways to keep busy, very pleasurable ways indeed. She’d transfigured the desk into a bed, and they spent much of their time under the silken sheets.

Hermione had only had a couple of lovers, and neither of them had been like Tom.

Even though the sex was brilliant, and he seemed more and more fond of her with each passing day, she had second thoughts. Whenever she thought of Harry or Ron, doubt consumed her. What they’d think if they knew she writhed in pleasure at the hands of their old enemy, she couldn’t face.

One morning, as the potion bubbled steadily in the corner of the room, she’d awoken from a dream of her best friends to Tom’s insistent kisses. Passion blossomed within her as his hands stroked her in just the right ways. He smiled sweetly at her and kissed her nose. “Thought you’d never wake up,” he murmured, slipping one long finger between her legs. She was already slick with desire.

She gasped in pleasure and her hips arched into his hand. “I’m awake now,” she said, trying to banish the past from her present.

He grinned wickedly, and began kissing his way down her body until his head nestled between her legs. His lips and tongue vibrated over her sensitive skin as he whispered against her in Parseltongue. He knew she loved this, and he knew he was the only one who could ever make her feel this way. This knowledge combined with the wistfulness of her dream and her resurfaced guilt made her heart sink even as she bucked against his mouth with a cry. Her orgasm washed over hers even as sobs welled up within her chest and escaped.

Tom sat up, alarmed. “Did I hurt you?”

She covered her face. “No. Not yet. But you will. Oh, Merlin help me, what am I doing?”

“You’re saving me,” he whispered, and he reached out to stroke her hair.

“I’m setting you loose, you mean,” she said, “and once you’re out you’ll do as you will.”

“We’ve discussed this before, you know,” he said with a sigh. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re evil, Tom. Of course you will.”

He slid down to recline beside her, his hands not leaving her flesh. “Maybe I am. But I’m not him. Not any longer. Dinner and dancing, Hermione, and then we see the world, just as I promised. What we do after we’ll figure out then.”

“Do you want to rule the world? Do you want to stamp out the Muggleborns? Do you want to vanquish death?”

“You forgot the dosed cake, dear, with your latest interrogation. I’ll answer you truthfully, though. I want power and control. I want to be above all others. How I do that and why I do it; that matters much less this time round. Who knows, maybe I’ll even go about it properly. I could still be the youngest-looking Minister of Magic ever.”

He kissed her. She let him.

“What’s brought this up again? The fact that we’re getting closer to the actual event?”

“I suppose,” she admitted. “I just- I don’t- everything’s turned out so badly. What if this does, too? What if I live to regret it?”

“What if you let me help you make everything right again? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To make things right for the house-elves and the werewolves and all those oppressed creatures? You want to be just and fair, and make sure everyone can hold their heads high. I can make that happen. You and I, we’re incredibly powerful. Together we can shape the world into any form we wish.”

When he talked to her like this, his eyes lit up. He was even more beautiful when he was promising her the world. They could do good; she could counterbalance his evil nature. If she didn’t entirely trust him, she didn’t think he was lying either. “Alright.”

He cupped her face. “Hermione? I can’t tell you that I love you, because I don’t know what that means, really. But I can tell you this; you mean a great deal to me. I owe you my life. You’ll not regret this, I promise.”

She nodded her head and closed her eyes. “I believe you.”

~~~

The time finally came. The potion coalesced and turned black as obsidian. She and Tom stood across from each other, hair mussed and color high from feverishly making love right before time. He looked uncertain for the first time; there was no guarantee this would work, after all.

She squeezed his hand. “It’s time.”

He nodded and they unclasped hands. He offered his to her, palm up and she slashed it with the silver knife, before slashing her own. Her blood poured into the cauldron as she spoke the necessary words. His beaded out in black drops, slowly dripping into the potion to mingle with hers.

When she finished the ritual, the potion was fiery red. It bubbled viciously as they poured it into the specially prepared goblet. Tom began drinking, and as he did so, wind rose in the room. Hermione covered her eyes as it picked up into a maelstrom around them, flinging books, quills, and parchment into the swirling air.

Then everything went bright red in a silent explosion.

When she awoke, she was too sick to open her eyes. The vertigo and weakness she always felt upon leaving the diary was upon her tenfold. She heard an odd rustling and smelled burnt parchment. What had happened? Had it worked?

She couldn’t lift her head, but she managed to open her eyes. She was on the floor of her sitting room, and there were burning scraps of paper fluttering down all around her. It was night, and in the moonlight, Tom stood stock still, naked, his skin white as marble.

“Tom?” she croaked.

He turned to her. His eyes were cold and black. He reached down, picking up her wand from where it had rolled from her. In a moment, he was clothed, and he was smiling an awful smile.

No. No, please… what have I done? I thought- She closed her eyes against her despair. She’d been tricked. She’d never been in control of this situation, and now she would pay.

She was dimly aware of his footsteps coming closer, but she wouldn’t look at him. Tears slid down her face.

Tom knelt beside her and then she felt magic raise her body gently from the floor. His arms reached for her.

“Dinner and dancing and then the world, just as I promised, Hermione,” he said as he stood again, bringing her with him. “But first I think we need to get you to St. Mungo’s. It’s still in the old department store, yes?”

She nodded weakly, listening to his heart beat strongly within his chest. He kissed her forehead and as she felt the telltale squeeze of Disapparation, she smiled with relief.

Together they would shape this world. They would make things right...