AN: A thing for Colubrina.
I'll be forever thankful to my beta team ash-castle sableunstable, worthfull1, chiseplushie and disillusionist9. They are the best and I'd get nothing done without them.
...
"What is it, Marcus? You know I've gotten very little sleep this past week, this better be worth my time." Hermione swore mentally, hoping he wouldn't do what every other idiot that worked in the Time Room always did.
"Don't you know that I can bend time?" The wink made it somehow worse. Noticing her grimace, he cleared his throat and said something useful. "That consultant of yours might be paying off. He found another witness whose testimony matches another irregularity."
The Unspeakable paused at that. This was the third time the same consultant had brought useful intel on her current case. She cursed under her breath, hoping nobody else would hear about it. It was very unlikely that someone who was either present or had intel on two or more cases wasn't involved.
"Well, my partner is nowhere to be found. Let's go have a chat with him and probably detain him before everyone comes in for the morning shift." Without another word she headed to the exit, her robes billowing behind her.
Marcus followed as best as he could; the witch was fast for a petite woman. He was also an Unspeakable but he could have been a mere secretary for all the desk work hours he did. No interest in the Research or Investigation, a serious fear of Field Work and an aversion of even going near any of the Subject Rooms. Nobody really understood why he worked at the DOM at all, but he would earn his stripes that day.
"Are you certain you can't take anybody else? I feel underprepared to sub as your partner, Miss G." The trembling in his voice didn't bother her, but his demeanour reminded her of a nasty Animagus she'd met in her third year. The similarity left a bad taste in her mouth.
She ignored him and carried on, knowing that at 3:27am, her source would be selling… his products in a corner of Knockturn Alley, but he wouldn't be there for much longer.
Stopping outside the Ministry to wait for the fumbling man behind her, Hermione pulled him by his arm to a dark corner and apparated. Knockturn was full of shadows and yet she could clearly see the unease on Marcus' face, only accentuated by the sharp contrast in lighting.
"You'll survive," she said to him before venturing further into the alley.
One turn left, two to the right and a half street away was her source, her "consultant". He had been a brilliant potioneer once upon a time and she couldn't help but wonder for the millionth time what had led him here.
"Winikus, I hear you have reliable intel… Once again." The man in question was wrapped in layers and layers of coats, giving the appearance of an overstuffed turkey and yet his face was sickly and slim.
"It appears I do!" His voice was as thin as his wrists, almost a screech, making the hair on the back of her neck stand in discomfort. "A teenager came to me the other day, trying to buy some of my products, claiming he'd met his own mother before she'd had any children at all."
He was talking about the Abbot boy, Hannah's son. She'd never married and the father of her child remained unknown. The blond had shown up to Mungo's claiming her son had been poisoned and he remained in observation. The healers couldn't give her a proper answer but they believed the teen to be insane.
Hermione, on the other hand, was investigating certain time irregularities that had been happening of late. Time. Such a strange concept and yet…
She knew the boy had somehow gone to the past and returned. The residual magic and the aftershocks caused by the changes were still perceptible in the air, for those who knew what to look for.
"Could you explain, Winikus, why there are three cases out of five that are somehow linked to you?"
The older man was startled by the question; it clearly hadn't occurred to him that by giving information he might be putting himself in a delicate position.
"Me? No, no, no. Certainly not me! What would I know about any of this nonsense!
I just thought I'd be an exemplary citizen and help out the force!" He was gesturing wildly now, trying to prove somehow with his exaggerated reaction that he was not involved.
"An exemplary citizen that sells hallucinogenic potions?" It was the first time Marcus had intervened and she wanted nothing more than to smack the idiot on the back of the head.
"I provide what potions I can for the community! MY COMPANY USED TO PRODUCE SKELE-GRO, BOY! The very same that fixed your bones, I'm sure! Do not presume to tell me what I do or have done for our society!" The poor skeleton of a man looked just about to pass out from lack of oxygen.
"Nevertheless, Rubens, I'm sorry to say we're going to have to bring you in for further questioning on the matter." The man was about to protest when she interrupted him swiftly in what she hoped was an appeasing voice. "No charges are being raised against you, we only want to understand what's happening with these people."
He relaxed somewhat but watched Marcus zealously. The poor idiot didn't even notice he'd done something wrong, but rather kept looking behind him as if expecting to be jumped.
"He works alone, Marcus. Let's go." He looked more than happy to oblige but their detainee sported a less than pleased expression on his face.
"I'm going to have to confiscate everything in your possession at the moment, Rubens," she said when they made it back to the DOM. The potioneer had been blinded, of course, and was now in a black room with no windows or any sort of distinguishable way to discern if there were walls or even a door. The only thing that was visible was the Unspeakable in the room.
"You said that-" he started to protest.
"I said that no charges would be filed. If you're involved and you're carrying anything that could lead us to solve this, then we need to make sure you don't leave with it." He grumbled for a few moments but didn't move. "You know, I could just call in the Aurors and have them search amongst your possessions."
There was a moment where panic showed in his sunken eyes, but it was gone in an instant. He stood up slowly, almost without hurry. He was trying to appear relaxed, but as he stripped one layer at a time, she could see that all of them had enchanted pockets of some sort. When he was done, all that was left was the skeleton of a man in his undergarments, having removed his trousers.
"If I, or any of my coworkers, gets cursed for rummaging around those coats of yours… You'll regret it." Hermione didn't have to fake the coldness in her voice. She was fiercely protective of her people and if there was one thing about the lioness, it was that she always kept her promises.
"I left my wand at the entrance." Was his only reply, a smug look on his face.
Hermione breathed in through her nostrils, trying to remain calm. She lifted her wand, and with some satisfaction watched him flinch, before doing a series of diagnostic spells. Finding only some enlargement charms and a few simple curses and traps, she was pleased after a few seconds of counter curses.
Winikus watched in annoyance as she dismantled them with such ease the witch didn't even look surprised.
"Maybe you missed one," he said quite miffed.
Hermione rolled her eyes and levitated the coats to the door.
"Putting my co-workers in danger would be the stupidest thing you could do right now. Unspeakables are not a forgiving crowd, you see," she said as she walked away. "I am not so forgiving myself." With one last look into his sweaty, sunken face, she closed the door behind her.
…
"Marcus!" The young man in question jumped at her call, jogging behind Hermione as she walked into an Examination room.
Placing the coats carefully on a table she turned to him and said, "There are an unidentified number of pockets in these coats. Some of them have enlargement charms though I do not know which or how many." She signalled for him to move closer to the coats. "I need a full inventory of all charms, contents and samples of any potions you might find in all the coats and their respective pockets, yes?"
"Hmm…" was all he said before staring at her.
"Now, Marcus! Today!" The wizard jumped again at the volume of her voice.
Once she was sure he was on the task she turned to leave.
"There's a broken jar, it's spilling all over the place."
It happened so fast she didn't think she'd actually registered all the movements.
"Do not touch an unidentified substance!" She warned automatically. Teddy Lupin followed instructions and had better instincts than this wizard.
She was too occupied with rolling her eyes and turning slowly to chastise him once more, to see that Marcus had already grabbed the jar with his bare hands, had let go of the jar in the middle of the air, and cast a Protego on himself before it hit the floor.
"MISS G!"
But it was too late. By the time Hermione had fully turned back around, the jar had collapsed on the floor and in the crash came flying pieces of glass and spilt potion.
Neither of them moved for a moment and it seemed like nothing had happened. Hermione's robes had splatters of the substance all over but none of it appeared to have touched her skin. Marcus lowered his shield and stopped to the signal of her hand. Hermione was fuming.
The witch closed her eyes to compose herself and ran a hand over her face in frustration.
Over her wet face.
Oh, no, she thought.
When she opened her eyes she was no longer in the DOM. Instead, she was in the middle of Diagon Alley sometime after midday, given the position of the sun.
For fucks sake! I'm going to throw that pitiful excuse for an Unspeakable into the Brain Room as soon as I get the chance! she thought.
That line of thinking went on for a minute longer as she took in her surroundings. She suspected it was a Hallucinogenic Potion; after all, Winikus was known for them. Hermione had perfect sight and yet everything looked a touch blurry. It felt like a particularly lucid dream.
Movement caught her eye and she watched a group of men walking in her direction. The clear leader of the group was painfully handsome, sharp jaw, high angled cheekbones, full lips. His ebony hair was perfectly groomed, matching his dark eyes and making a striking contrast against his pale skin. For a moment she couldn't look away.
That was, until those dark eyes met hers and a chill ran down her spine.
Recovering from her moment of foolishness, she tried to decide on what her approach should be. If she was, indeed, hallucinating, then nothing she did would make a difference. Everything she saw was in her mind, so perhaps she could dwell within; enjoy the strange, if not unrequested, experience and perhaps try to recall as much as she could once awake for research purposes. It was unlikely that she would ever come in contact with another potion like this one, so… why not?
The answer came in the form of the group of men she'd spotted before coming towards her at an alarming speed. She didn't really think about what she was doing or why as she started to run in the opposite direction.
She reached for her wand and upon not finding it underneath her sleeve, where she usually kept it, she panicked and started patting her robes, hoping to Merlin she hadn't dropped it. Finally, her hand came in contact with the piece of wood in her back pocket.
My back pocket? If Moody is around in this hallucination he'll definitely murder me, she thought.
There was no use, the men were upon her within seconds and they vastly outnumbered her. Most of them looked about her age, if not older, perhaps 28 at most. She didn't feel safer, the wand in her hand felt foreign but she dared not look away from the wizards that surrounded her.
Then there was him.
"Who are you?" His voice was cold, like accidentally leaving a window open during a winter's night.
You're hallucinating, Hermione, she told herself. He can't harm you.
"Who are you?" If she was honest with herself it was a little difficult talking back to him, whoever he was, even in a hallucination. She didn't know what to make of him.
"I won't ask twice." His voice cut at her like a vicious knife and she couldn't understand why. Was this her subconscious version of her fear? Was he the embodiment of all the dark things that lurked inside her mind?
Despite his cool exterior, Hermione could tell he was about to snap and she felt her grip on her wand tighten.
His face looked as if it had been carved out of white marble into a solemn but furious expression. The wrath behind his black eyes was unmistakable and Hermione felt a cold sweat break out on her back.
Is this inside me? she wondered.
He raised a hand in her direction, the movement full of purpose. Did he mean to strike her? She didn't move away but nothing happened. It seemed impossible before but his fury doubled in intensity somehow.
The rest of the group appeared to be frozen in place, their faces betraying their shock despite their best attempts at masking it.
"Leave us." There was no hesitation in their movements. Spooked beyond question, they all fled at what appeared to be a nonchalant pace but she could tell it was rushed for men such as them.
"Perhaps this would make more sense to me, and therefore to you if you tell me who you are. Do you have a name?" Hermione said. Logic was the go-to route when trying to understand something, even the secret ways of the mind. This certainly was an experience unlike anything Hermione had ever known. She couldn't fight the eagerness at the possibility of learning something new, especially about herself.
"My name is Tom Riddle, but I presume you already know that."
"I'm actually quite surprised. I expected to be more afraid of Lord Voldemort than Tom Riddle." She was so immersed in her thoughts that she missed the sudden flash of ire in his eyes. "I've never even seen a picture of you, I don't think."
That seemed to give Riddle pause. The anger beneath the surface was still unmistakable but something changed in him.
"Is this what I think you looked like when you had a nose? You're almost unbearably handsome. Why this face? Is it because the contrast is so absurd?" He remained silent as she spoke her thoughts aloud, more curious, a reflexion of her own curiosity she assumed. "I did see the memory of the diary, though, from Harry's pensive."
That piqued Riddle's interest even further. A hungry expression took over his features.
"It's scary to think what you could have accomplished with that face as opposed to genocide," Hermione said, growing weary. The ravenous look on his face was unsettling and she couldn't pinpoint what it was about the hallucination that made her so on edge.
"How could I have made up that handsome face of yours? I don't understand," she didn't even realise she'd spoken out loud until he replied.
"And why is that?" If the floor had suddenly turned into the sky, it would have been less of a shock than the striking change in his voice. Now it was a smooth baritone that mimicked the feeling of melted caramel poured directly into her stomach.
"Well…" Even in her own head, she hated how her voice trembled. "If this is indeed a hallucination, then nothing I see in my own mind can be something entirely new. Meaning, everything in here has to be composed of things or features that I've already seen or experienced."
"New things are invented all the time, things that didn't exist before, how do you explain that?" He prodded.
"Most of what we call new is simply constructed by the merging of things we already know. The way muggles explain it would be with the idea of a unicorn or a dragon. A Centaur, for instance, is the merger of a human being and a horse." Even during a hallucination, she was capable of falling into what Harry called her "lecture mode".
"But those creatures are real, are they not?" Riddle couldn't hide his distaste, without a doubt directed at muggle thinking in general. Her mind's portrayal of him felt so accurate it was scary.
"Yes, but I'm sure it helps you understand the premise. Nothing your mind's eye can conceive can't be made also by forms or shapes you've already seen or already understand." He looked ready to argue so she interrupted. "Mind you, this has nothing to do with concepts or immaterial ideas."
"Then why do you question the fact my physical appearance was produced by your mind?"
"I suppose there is the alternative that I might be in a coma instead of undergoing the effects of a hallucinogenic potion. The contents of the jar were unknown," she pondered. "But then again, my damaged brain would still only be able to come up with images it already knows."
"That doesn't answer my question." The way he spoke sounded like an order. Answer the question.
"Because I've never seen a nose like yours." It was funny that it came down to the nose of the wizard that was widely known not to have a nose.
"But if this is indeed a hallucination, then wouldn't it stand to reason that there's a distortion of some sort? Perhaps the image your brain is trying to put forth isn't coming through entirely as it should." She went to speak but he kept talking. "You're also ignoring the possibility that if you are indeed in a coma, your partially damaged brain cells may be behaving unexpectedly, too. A third scenario you're not considering is that you may be dying."
At that last statement, she fell silent.
Is that it? Is that why my brain brought Tom Riddle forth? It would make a certain sense he'd be the reason for my demise, she reasoned.
"I have always thought of you as the symbol of inevitable death," she confessed.
"Because I bring it forth to whoever challenges me?" He seemed pleased with this assessment.
"No. Because despite your best efforts, you died like everyone else you killed trying to avoid that very fate."
Riddle's impassive face was suddenly and openly overtaken by a mixture of emotions. It was hard to tell but she'd have to guess between rage, disbelief and more prominently… fear.
Composing himself, he looked at her straight in the eye and appeared to be searching for something. He hesitated once, twice, before actually speaking.
"What do you think I could have done differently?" His voice was the same baritone but it sounded slightly more strained.
"For starters? How about not believing a baby is going to be your undoing? Prophecies are only fulfilled if you believe in them, you know? To be fair, I only learnt that when I became an Unspeakable but come on! The biggest, most terrible wizard of all times, killed by a baby! And indeed, off you went to waste one of your Horcruxes because you believed in a stupid rumour." she replied in one breath.
"And while we are on the subject, seven? Seven? Couldn't you be satisfied with two? How pathetic is that? Three is also a powerful magical number and it doesn't disfigure your face and your body beyond recognition. For someone so talented you always lacked the minimum understanding of human behaviour. With those bloody looks, you wouldn't have needed to murder everyone that opposed you. There are worse things to fear than death!" Hermione was on a roll now, she couldn't seem to stop the words from pouring out.
"Besides, people are idiots! They have no critical thinking, it would have been easier for you to use the influence and money from the followers you already had to become Minister yourself and just stay there, you wanker. But no, let's murder as many magical beings as we can, 'cause we have so many to spare to begin with, and leave only the disgustingly inbred ones so that everyone can turn out like the fucking Gaunts because THAT'S the dream, isn't it?" She had to stop to regain her breath.
It had been a while since Hermione had been so worked up while talking but she supposed it was all just so bloody infuriating.
"You've thought about this." He was… amused?
"Well, after going through a war and idiots wanting to kill you for what was possibly the stupidest reason ever, at some point you attempt to think like the enemy. But I could never make sense of your logic. The inevitable conclusion was there was none, which to me was always senseless. Every description I ever heard of Tom Riddle was that he was dashing and nothing short of brilliant. I guess I was always baffled by the fact that you only ever seemed to live up to being the madman rather than the brilliant wizard." This had to be one of the strangest conversations she'd ever had, even if it was to herself. She hadn't realised she'd actually given it so much thought.
"You didn't admire anything about me?" he asked.
"No. You disgusted me and I was relieved when we killed every piece of your twisted soul. I could never admire someone that would want to kill my parents because they were non-magical or even me, because my last name was Granger and not Black." She thought about Dumbledore for a moment. A man she used to idolise until she understood just who he had been, though she never brought it up to Harry. "I suppose that something could be said about your talent for research and dark magic. But your blind hate would always hinder even those things. You never saw the value of love or the value of other kinds of magic. Death and pain were not all that you envisioned and it was because of that lack of understanding that you didn't see it coming."
Riddles face was completely blank by then but she found it harder and harder to make out his expression. She looked around and everything started to turn completely blurry and she realised she must be waking up. When she turned back there was no Tom, instead she found a face she dearly wanted to punch.
"Miss G? Miss G!" Marcus' annoying voice was unmistakable, even with a splitting headache.
"Get off, Marcus. What time is it?" Hermione grunted through the pain and noted she was lying over her desk, all of its contents currently thrown in no particular order in the corner of the room.
"Just WHAT were you thinking when you did that?" She said, pointing to the pile of very delicate objects huddled in the corner.
"You were unconscious, I didn't know what to do!" His panic was justified, because Hermione was going to murder him as soon as her head didn't feel like it wanted to implode.
"Mungo's, next time take me to Mungo's, you idiot! You are so lucky it was only a hallucinogenic potion or I could be dead by now. Again, what time is it?" she ground out.
"8:30 a.m."
"Great, now I have a whole workday of headache to look forward to. Thank you, Marcus. Now get out."
She didn't have to turn around to know he'd raced for the door; as soon as she's reached the drawer of her desk, he was out with a bang and a muffled apology. Hermione reached for the pain relieving potion she left there as a precaution. The witch knew she'd also need a Pepper-Up if she was going to get through the day.
Wanker, she thought.
A memo had slipped by him and was now floating around the office aimlessly. She had to jump a few times to catch the slithering thing, which didn't help with the headache.
It read:
Miss Granger
The Minister would like to see you in his office just before lunch,
R. Beethus
Race was Kingsley's secretary and only wrote notes for him when he was truly busy, especially if they were directed at her or anyone in the Order.
11:00 a.m. should do it. I can take a statement from the boy myself and finish Winikus' brief before then, she figured.
By the time 10:30 a.m came about she was feeling more and more uncertain about the case. As her headache wore off, she noticed that there must have been another major time irregularity. The residual magic all around almost looked like the dust from a room that had been undisturbed for a long time. Wherever she went she could see the ripples of a great change flutter through the floor or around a particular person.
Hannah's boy only added one piece of information to his previous statement. When he went back in time, he had not done so in his own body. He had inhabited someone else's temporarily or so he thought. When asked why, his reply had been: "My mother told me she could see me, me over the body of a friend. Like a ghost of sorts that is over the body of someone else. I didn't mean to possess anybody! I just wanted to have some fun with my friends." He'd promptly burst into tears and had been completely useless after that.
Winikus had also changed his tune when confronted with the fact that an illegal dragon egg had been found in one of his coats.
"I have no idea what's been happening! The only thing I did was sell my usual potions! Granted, this batch might've been a bit wonkier 'cause I dropped something or another into the cauldron while brewing it. I don't know what it was before you ask! It dropped out of one of the antique shelves from the old factory, I don't know! But I figured that could only improve the trip, you know?"
Hermione's mind was reeling, but still no immediate theory came to mind, the hangover from the botched potion still very much affecting her thought processes.
Before she realised it, it was time for her meeting with Kingsley. She dropped her report on her bosses desk and headed out.
Race was sitting at her desk and she noticed her fiancé's picture was nowhere to be found.
"Hey, Race. Is Allain alright?" She shouldn't ask, Hermione knew she was intruding but they were meant to be married in a week's time and her curiosity got the better of her.
"Allain who?" Was her sole reply. The break up must have been pretty nasty for her to pretend she didn't know what she was talking about so she let it drop.
"Is he ready for me?" She asked motioning the closed door next to the desk.
"Oh, yes, he is. It's been a strange day, so far. I don't think I've ever seen him excited before, but he was when he asked me to send that memo to you this morning." The secretary looked about ready to head in with her and see what all the fuss was about.
"I'll head in then, thank you."
While opening the door she had the feeling that she was missing something rather important, something she should have worked out by now but she didn't know what.
"Hello, Hermione, it's been a while."
And as she saw his perfectly chiselled jaw, the pale high cheekbones and those ebony eyes, she knew something had gone incredibly wrong.
Her blood ran cold and she heard the door close behind her. She immediately reached for her wand but his reflexes were faster, and so she found herself disarmed in a closed room with Tom Riddle.
"Am I still hallucinating?"
"I'm afraid you never were."
Every shred of hope dimmed away as she understood exactly all that had happened. She'd done this. He was alive and in power because she had supplied him with enough information to guarantee his success.
A small treacherous part of her revelled in the fact that Lord Voldemort hated everything about people like her but he'd heeded her advice. He'd listened to her.
"I have to say, it's been many years. I've been waiting to properly meet you since 1955." His baritone had only gotten deeper, the notes lower somehow.
It was almost enchanting.
Shaking herself out of her stupor she tried to make sense of her thoughts but all she could manage was work herself up into a panic.
"Breathe, Hermione."
That only served to inflame her growing sense of panic, she could feel herself growing dizzy.
Then he was beside her, touching her face and looking into her eyes. It was as if he was willing her to breathe slowly, to not jump to any conclusions. Maybe he heard all I had to say. Maybe he's changed. Lost in his eyes she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him and…
She pushed him away forcefully, interrupting the contact necessary for Legilimens to access the mind. He didn't even stumble. When Hermione didn't speak but seemed to have regained her stance he took the initiative.
"I was leaving a meeting with my associates, and on my way to see Hepzibah Smith when I noticed this blur of a person. It appeared to be a ghost within another person's body. Now that in itself, while unusual, wouldn't necessarily be construed as a threat. What unsettled me was that none of my inner circle was able to see what I was seeing."
Throughout his explanation, she stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move, not by magic but by sheer terror. What had she done? What had she done?
"I could never have dreamed of finding such a treasure as you. I was so baffled after I tried to… persuade you to tell me who you really were. You see, at that point, I thought you were there to attempt to kill me. Only someone particularly powerful could have achieved such a disguise and I couldn't think of another reason why you would need it."
Think, Hermione, think. He's obviously still partly human, he can't have more than three Horcruxes. If he was on his way to find the cup and the locket, then he only had the diary and the ring by then. If I managed to distract him and if I kill him now somehow, I'd only have to find those two and I know where they are, she planned.
"But then, you spoke my chosen name. I hadn't told a single living soul about it up to that fateful day in 1955. I resolved to listen to everything you had to say and kill you after. Of course, midway through I understood where, or when, your knowledge came from and I was… astounded. You fell right into my path as I was about to make a horrible mistake. The path to my doom."
I'll be a fugitive. No one except perhaps Dumbledore will understand why I murdered the bloody Minister for bloody Magic. Ugh, I'd hate to look for his help of all people. Perhaps he's the only one who can help, the only one strong enough now, she wondered.
"But no, there was a ghost brunette inside Bellatrix Lestrange who was so intelligent she figured out she couldn't be dreaming or hallucinating, and yet I managed to derail her and she ended up telling me exactly what she would have done in my position."
Oh, Merlin. What can I use to kill him? What? she thought as she looked around. I can't kill the Dark Lord with a fucking stapler! Not that I'm going to find a stapler in a magical office! Focus, for fuck's sake!
The panic was getting the better of her, she needed to find a way to execute her poorly laid out plan.
"No, this woman, this amazing witch was proof enough, like me, that heritage means nothing. I didn't want a world full of Gaunts, you were right. As it turned out, you were right about everything."
"Dumbledore," she mumbled accidentally.
"Dumbledore's filthy secrets came out decades ago and he was dubbed a fraud and a crazy old fool. I couldn't have planned it better, really. He was the only one that posed a threat to my peaceful conquering, the only one who knew what I was."
This time, she did notice when he came closer. He was a mere inch from her face; she could feel his warm breath on her face.
"The only thing I have yet to conquer is love." He stated. "I want to conquer it all with you, Hermione."
Years later she would wonder what it was that prompted her to say what she said next. She would never really understand why she hadn't spat in his face and tried to kill him with a chair, as pathetic as that sounded.
"Why me?"
"Because you showed me the path to achieving true power."
After that, she was lost.