House: Slytherin
Category : Themed
Prompt : [Speech] "Care to tell me why you're bleeding?"
Word Count : 2010
As the green light speeds towards him, his own spell bouncing back towards him, Tom Riddle feels sheer terror. He is no longer the almighty Lord Voldemort, he is a lonely little boy, a little lost in a great big world, and he is very frightened. But then, he remembers a small detail. A safety net he had put in place many years ago, before the insanity crept into the crevices of his brilliant brain, and as the Killing Curse hits him, his lips curl into a small smile. This isn't the last you've seen of me.
.oOo.
HERMIONE GRANGER ELECTED YOUNGEST MINISTER FOR MAGIC EVER
This morning, Minister Shacklebolt was overjoyed to announce the election of Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age and war hero, as new Minister for Magic. At the young age of twenty-four, she is the youngest Minister we have ever known, but we do not doubt she will achieve great things. "I hope I prove worthy of the faith you put in my leadership. It is humbling, and I thank each and every one of you for voting for me," she said at the Ministry last night.
.oOo.
Hermione sat down behind the Minister of Magic's desk for the very first time and felt a little thrill race through her, quickening her heart. Everyone had told her she was too young, too inexperienced to be elected. They'd said that she needed to pay her dues, and work her way up through the ranks, but she'd proven them all wrong. She'd had a landslide victory, and now she could really change things and make the Wizarding World a better place for everyone, not just wizards.
She opened her morning briefing and started to read over the notices for the week, but her mind was already humming with all the ideas she had to improve life for sentient magical beings like Centaurs, House Elves, and people afflicted with Lycanthropy. She was going to wash away centuries of prejudice and bigotry, and drag the Wizarding world into the twenty-first century...kicking and screaming if she had to.
Everything went well, at the start. There was a lot of paperwork. Really a lot of paperwork. But Hermione loved it all the same. Then, she began to lose sleep, and before long she could spend entire nights just staring at her ceiling. She had tried working into the early hours, but even her mind could only stay focused for so long, and she would find herself staring blankly at the walls once again. Now, she just accepted it and hoped each night would pass a little less excruciatingly slowly than the last.
"Good evening, Hermione. I can call you, Hermione, right?" said a voice one night.
"Who's there?" Hermione shouted into the darkness, pulling her wand from under her pillow. "I won't hesitate to hex you." There was a pause, and for a moment she was sure she was just imagining things, but then the voice spoke again.
"Call me Tom."
"I don't bloody care about your name! What in Merlin's name are you doing in my room?"
"Relax, love. I won't hurt you."
"You say that, but I hardly feel any better." Hermione said cooly, gripping her wand tightly.
"Someone's not very friendly."
"I - You're in my house! I can't even - ugh - Lumos Maxima!" Light flooded the small room, and she shielded her eyes for a few moments. When she looked around herself, she was alone once again. Wiping her eyes, she glanced at her watch. 5:42. Sighing, she got up and turned on the shower.
.oOo.
"Minister Granger?"
"Oh - uh -" She shook her head, trying to focus on what Percy was saying.
"How does that sound?"
"That seems wonderful, Percy. I apologise - I must have drifted off for a moment." She covered with a polite smile, but in truth she had no idea what she'd just agreed to. She really needed to get some sleep, and soon.
"I'll tell the boys to start as soon as they can, then. Do take care, Minister."
"I will," Hermione said, the worlds curling up and drying like parchment in her parched mouth. She could feel herself wasting away, tiring with each passing moment. Another tension headache was building behind her eyes.
As Percy closed the door, Hermione heard the voice again. "Sleep, if you're tired. You're Minister for Magic, no one will say a word," it said.
"I have a duty to my people," she hissed. "I am not an all-powerful dictator."
"Yet," he whispered seductively. "In life, there are only those who have power and those who are too weak to seize it. I've seen you many ways, and feeble is not one of them."'
"Who are you?" Her eyes narrowed, a strange sense of recognition teasing at the edges of her mind.
"It would be too easy if I just blurted it out like some peasant. As I said, call me Tom."
Hermione crossed her arms, not caring if she seemed petulant. "I want to know," she huffed, but he was gone again. She shook her head, and after checking that she didn't have any meetings in the next hour, she allowed herself the smallest of naps.
A few hours later, she was sat opposite the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Really, Minister. The Department of Mysteries could be almost completely cut from the Ministry. It seems foolish to invest in that hocus pocus when our Aurors lack necessary funds to be out there helping real people."
"I understand your frustration," she soothed. "But there are important duties being conducted in each and every department, and I cannot -"
"Minister! Surely, you know - " He was drowned out as Tom began to speak to her. Tom's voice was clear, but it rung inside her head like it was her own. Tell him to sod off, he urged. No! Hermione thought, though she could feel the idea burrowing its way through her skull, begging for her to listen.
She can't help the words from falling out. "No. I'm sick of hearing you complain day in and day out when your department has more than sufficient funds. Perhaps if you used a little less of it on presents for your mistress - yes, I know about Penelope, everyone does - then you could afford to pay your bloody aurors."
"Calm yourself, Mi-"
"I am calm. Please, don't trip on your own self-importance on your way out."
Visibly shocked and indignated, the poor man gathered his things and stormed out. Sitting back in her chair, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Good job," Tom said.
"No," she says, having given up on trying to glean personal information from the mysterious stranger. "That was awful. He'll lodge a complaint, and -"
"With who? You are Minister. You're untouchable."
"We live in a demo-"
"Don't act like you're naïve enough to believe that. You have witnessed the ministry's corruption first hand."
"Things have changed. Death Eaters have been erad-"
"That does not matter. The very nature of power corrupts. A government free of corruption is an oxymoron."
"I am the living proof that power does not corrupt. I am still good, and kind, and - "
"But you do not have any power."
"I'm the Minister! Of course I do! You said so yourself!"
"Did I? I do not recall. You do not have true power. You push paper around and let the Wizengamot make all the decisions. You are a very nice figurehead, but nothing more."
"What do you know about it?" she hissed, feeling her blood begin to boil.
"More than you do," he drawled. "I had true power, once. It didn't look like this."
"Shut up!" she screamed, and then she was alone, once again. He didn't come back for a few days, after that, and Hermione thought that she had perhaps finally managed to get rid of him. One night, as she slipped into bed, she feels an arm wrap around her. She tried to cry out, but she was paralysed, frozen in fear.
"Shh-" she heard, and she recognised the voice - Tom. "I won't hurt you. I just thought you might've missed me."
"I don't even know you!" Hermione protested, regaining her voice.
"You do, you just don't realise it yet. I was hoping we could make a deal, of sorts."
"Who are you? And what on earth do you want?"
"No need to alarm yourself. I only want to help you realise your potential. You are a good witch, but you could be great."
"What would you want in return?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued by his comment on greatness. She didn't need to accept the deal, she was only checking the terms, she told herself.
"A small favor," he said. "I need you to help me regain my corporeal form."
"Are you a ghost?"
"No, not particularly. It's old and complex magic that kept me alive after death, but I cannot escape the limbo I now find myself in alone."
"What magic?"
"I can't remember the intricacies, but I believe a future version of myself found a way to reverse the sands of time and bring a past version of himself into his present as he died." He spun his tale, wanting to grab her curiosity.
"That sounds like Dark Magic." Hermione frowned, uncomfortable with the idea.
"I really couldn't say. The lines between good and bad that your Ministry likes to draw are blurrier than you might like."
"It doesn't matter. I'm not helping you," her voice held finality.
"That seems awfully selfish."
"Who knows what you could do? Perhaps you'll murder me in my sleep!"
"Perhaps it doesn't mean much to you, but you have my word I won't harm a hair on your bushy head." Tom fairly purred, tempting her to believe him.
"You're right, it doesn't."
"Please, Hermione. You'll be free of me forever. Or I can be your right-hand man, your closest confidante. Whatever you choose. Your wish would be my command." The ghostly touch stroked along her arm, soothing and comforting.
"This all just seems awfully convenient," she whispered, but her mind was whirring with the possibilities that were opening up to her. Someone who could play with the fabric of time itself must be one of the most powerful wizards of all time, and to have access to that kind of magic… She was so deep in her thought process that she didn't notice as the man began to slip inside her mind, lacing it with evil. His grip tightened around her, preventing any possible escape. When she felt it, it was already too late.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," she could hear him say in her own voice. "I didn't want to do this, but you left me no choice. Far too much uncertainty." She tries to fight, but she is just so tired…
The next morning, the familiar figure of Hermione Granger strode through the Atrium of the Ministry, heels ringing confidently on the polished tile. There was a little gleam in her eyes, a darkness that had never been there before. Tom was roiling in pleasure, so much power and so much potential with this one. No one would ever see him coming in this form. He could shape the Wizarding world to his purpose, and no one would be the wiser of it. He stepped into the lift, and nodded to the very man responsible for him needing to steal the body of this witch.
"Care to tell me why you're bleeding?" Harry asked, concern on his features.
Tom lifted a hand to Hermione's nose, coming away with red. A minor side effect of the possession. In time she would cease fighting his control, but until then he'd need to take care. "Oh, it's nothing...Harry. Just the dry air," her voice was light.
"Take care of yourself, Mione. You know we'd hate for anything to happen to you."
"Don't worry Harry, I'm not going anywhere." Tom purred in Hermione's stolen voice. No, he was never going anywhere again.