AN: I OWN NOTHING
BETAD BY MOOMOOGOAT AND GECKOSHAN
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"Then Jesus asked him, "What is your name?" "My name is Legion," he replied, "for we are many.""—Mark 5:9 NIV
"The kids are finally asleep," Ron announced, "you about ready to come up yourself?"
Hermione lowered her quill, rolling her neck with a small sigh.
"Not just yet," she said, "still have a fair amount to do before calling it a night."
"Come on, babe," He whined, "you've been spending hours on this thing every day. After work, mind you. Just take an early night for once."
"I can't, Ron. I really need to finish this tonight. It's for tomorrow-"
"What's tomorrow?" He interrupted, walking further into Hermione's workroom and glancing at the desk.
The mahogany was all but groaning under the weight of its contents. Thick reams of parchment were scattered all around the table, with more pieces jammed into the eclectic collection of books scattered haphazardly around.
A pensive sat at the back of the desk, its swirling contents casting strange lights upon the dark computer screen beside it.
The computer had been Hermione's pet project for a while, as she'd tried to figure out how to get it to consistently work even with all the enchantments in their house. She'd managed it, of course, and had then moved on to her current project.
"Meeting with Harry," Hermione said, bending back over the parchment before her and lifting her quill again, "that's what this has all been for. I need to show him…a few things."
"Yeah? Well, since you're so close to the end, maybe you wouldn't mind practising your demonstration?"
"It's not quite done. I need to put the finishing touches and then go over it and-"
"It's not even ready to show your husband? Even though he's going to head up to the cold bed all alone, while his loving wife carries on with her life-saving work?"
She half turned, putting the quill down again.
He pouted, making puppy dog eyes and staring at her.
"Fine," she said, turning her chair and facing him, "but you need to hear me out completely, ok?"
"Great," Ron said, flashing her a bright grin and moving a few books off of the room's other chair.
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts as he sat down and looked at her expectantly.
"Harry's…changed," she said, speaking as quickly as she could in an attempt to get the words out before he could interrupt, "he's not the same boy we knew in Hogwarts, and he's not even the same man who we fought a war alongside. He's changed, and I think-"
Ron's expression shifted, going from bright interest to one of distressed worry.
"Oh, Hermione," he said, and she hated the pity lacing his words, "this again?"
"You said that you'd listen," she said, "you-"
"I know," he said, raising a hand, "and I will. But we've all changed, love. That's what time does."
"I know, but-"
"I'm not the same person I was back then," he said, "if I was still that lazy, demotivated sod, I'd never have made Chief Auror. It's been fifteen years since the end of the war. Of course we've changed."
"I just-I think there's something more to what's been happening with Harry," she said quickly, "something sinister."
Ron quirked an eyebrow, looking like he was going to say something.
He nodded, instead. "Ok. Go on."
She stood, turning back to her desk and grabbing a few old copies of the Daily Prophet.
"Here," she said, "look at the underlined sections."
She watched Ron's moving lips as he read, mentally going over the contents herself.
"So?" Ron said after a few minutes, "those are just interviews with random people after the elections."
"Exactly! See how they talk about him? Harry Potter is our hope, Harry Potter is the salvation we've all been waiting for, Harry Potter will return this nation to grandeur. There's a total cult of personality around him!"
Ron was shaking his head slightly, making a bemused face at her.
"Fine," she said, clicking her computer's mouse and selecting a file, "watch this."
The video began to play, the sound and picture grainy. It was clear enough to make out the crowd's expressions though, and that was what mattered.
"That's the Chinese Muggle who starved them all," Ron asked, sounding confused, "isn't it?"
"Yeah. Mao Zedong. Look at the crowd, look at their faces."
She watched along with him for a few minutes, even though she'd burned that clip into her mind. All those faces, lit up with excitement and almost religious fervour, craning and pushing to get closer to their leader, raising their children into the air.
"Hermione," Ron started, sounding actually worried, "I don't know what you're getting at, but this is just an old speech."
"I know," she said, exiting the clip, "now, watch this."
She tapped her wand on the rim of the Pensieve, concentrating and muttering as she did so.
A memory rose into the air, displayed like a hologram.
"This," she said, "is Harry's speech in Diagon. When he announced that he's reforming the military."
She knew what the memory showed. After all, it was one of her own.
Still, she watched, looking at the crowd, focusing on their faces. Seeing the absolute lack of difference between them and the Chinese of old.
"Hermione, I think you're-"
She tapped the pensive, making the memory stop. With a fluid motion she turned, grabbing a thick pile of parchment and thrusting it to Ron, who warily accepted it.
"The right column is excerpts from Harry's speeches since he first ran for Minister," she said, "the left is from famous dictators. The underlined parts are comparisons between their nationalistic and xenophobic statements, and where they set up the-the adoration of themselves."
She watched nervously as Ron scanned through it, his eyes widening slightly.
For nearly fifteen minutes he read, mostly in silence. Occasionally he'd let out an exclamation. Probably, she assumed, at seeing the times when Harry's speech echoed one of the others' word for word.
"Ok," he finally said, handing the parchments back to her, "I see what you mean. But-"
She passed him another ream of parchments.
"Selected laws that Harry's passed over the last eight years," she said, "note my conclusions at the end."
When he finished, he looked up at her, his freckles standing out on his pale face.
"You really think he could do this?" He asked, glancing back at her conclusions, "declare a state of emergency and take total control?"
She nodded, her anxiety lessening a bit now that Ron seemed to be taking her seriously.
"Think about it, Ron. It's what he's aiming to do. He's got that option for a state of emergency, he's got that option for wartime, and he's got that option if Britain is attacked. And it seems like he's planning for something like that."
"The military?"
"Exactly. Wizarding Britain hasn't had an organized military for over two hundred years. What do we need them for?"
"It's like he's preparing to need them," Ron said, meeting her eyes.
"And there's more. One of the things a lot of these dictators do before taking over, they put their family in key governmental positions. Their family and people who owe them. That's what Harry's been doing."
"You mean-"
"You've been his best friend since he was eleven years old. You're also Chief Auror," she raised her hands hurriedly in a conciliatory gesture, "not that you aren't a good Auror, but you're the youngest Chief Auror in history. By over thirty years."
"I-"
"Percy Weasley," she continued, "Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Harry's brother-in-law, a member of his surrogate family. The chief editor at the Daily Prophet, Wizarding Britain's only real news source, is Harry's wife. The only government watchdog agency is headed by Harry's other best friend-"
"You don't seem too biased," Ron muttered.
"Harry's also very close friends with the editor of the only other news source, albeit one most people don't take seriously. Remember how shocked we were when he started the Death Eater Rehabilitation programs? How many of those people ended up with government jobs? People who owe their freedom to Harry."
"Hermione-"
"Ron, he gave Draco Malfoy a job as Minister of International Relations! Draco Malfoy! Harry spent most of his school career hating him, and now he's given him an extremely powerful position! And he's not the only one! And with the laws about Ministry oversight at Hogwarts, Harry's got the youth under his thumb!"
"I just-I can't see Harry doing any of this," Ron said weakly, "Harry's not the type of guy to want power. He's never been. He wanted to make things better, that's why he became Minister."
Hermione leaned back in her chair, grabbing one of the last piles of parchment.
"I don't think Harry's entirely making his own decisions," she said softly, "I think he's being controlled."
Ron blanched.
"What-what do you mean?" He spluttered.
"The Elder Wand," she said, giving him more notes, "almost everyone who used it throughout history, they all kept reaching for more and more power, trying to take as much control as they could."
"It's just a wand," Ron said, "it's-"
"That's what Harry says. But look at the bit I put in the bottom."
As Ron paged through the parchment, she grabbed a heavy tome from the desk behind her and flipped to a bookmark.
"It's from Ollivander's book, A History of Wandlore. I quote: the change from families passing down wands, usually from mother to daughter and father to son, coincided with the Ministry's standardization of wand prices. This, of course, was precipitated by Mykew Gregorovitch's proof that ancestral wands often absorbed some of the personalities of their former masters, and would then affect the personalities and decisions of their new masters."
She stopped talking, watching Ron shake his head.
"Hermione," He said, "Harry threw off the Imperius before any of the rest of us could. And Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, and it didn't affect him."
"You're right," she said, grabbing the final ream of parchment, "and if it was just the Elder Wand, I'd agree with you. But Voldemort possessed Harry, remember, in the Department of Mysteries, and they had that connection. I think that-"
Ron flinched, going white as snow.
"Voldemort's dead!" He whispered, "He's dead! We saw him die after all of his Horcruxes were destroyed! He's dead, Hermione. He can't possibly be controlling Harry!"
"He's not," she quickly agreed, "he can't be. But possession always leaves scars, and their connection probably would too. Those scars, the marks from the possession, they don't usually do anything. But with the added influence of the Elder Wand, I think Harry's being affected by them. I think he's got a bit of-of Voldemort's personality, or something like that."
"There's no chance," Ron said, face beginning to flush, "Harry's not-"
"He is!" She exclaimed, "Just look at the evidence!"
"How come you're the only one to see it then?" Ron asked, clearly making an effort to keep from shouting as he jumped to his feet, "How come I haven't noticed if Harry's becoming a-a power hungry lunatic? How come Ginny hasn't noticed?"
"Because you wouldn't! You'd only see this if you're looking at all the laws he passes, if you're going through all of his speeches and interviews! That's my job, Ron."
"You're wrong," Ron said stubbornly, shaking his head with a mulish expression, "you're wrong."
"I hope I am," she said quietly, "I really, really do. But what if I'm not? What I actually am right?"
Still shaking his head, Ron flopped back into his chair.
"Just...assume that I'm not wrong," she said, "and think about how badly this could all turn out. If I'm wrong, I'll accept it gladly. But if I'm right, we need to act."
Ron sat silently for a few minutes, his face slowly returning to its normal hue.
"I still think you're wrong," he said, "but even if you are right, what do you plan on doing about it?"
"There's a spell," she said, "a spell that should show whether he's still being affected by the remnants of that possession. I want to cast it on him, and when it shows positive get him help. And get him to get rid of that wand."
"You think that's safe?" Ron asked doubtfully, "you're completely sure he's really not in control of himself, but you're still willing to go and confront him like this?"
"I think all of this...stuff that's affecting him, it's all happening on a subconscious level. I know for sure he's got plenty of rational reasons for his decisions, and I think he actually believes them. He wouldn't be able to attack me. Not if he still has any level of control over himself. And if he didn't, things would be far worse."
Ron bit his lip, gesturing curtly for her to go on.
"All I need is to lay this all out for him. And then I'll cast the spell and he'll see the results. He won't be able to argue then."
"What type of help do you have in mind for him?"
"There are some Healers who've specialized in this type of thing," she explained, "mostly in the Far East and India. There's one, this Tibetan wizard who comes highly recommended. I didn't tell him who I was asking for, of course, but he's extremely discreet. He's agreed to take a secrecy oath if he does end up treating Harry."
"What if he doesn't let you test him?"
"I'll cast it anyway," she said with a shrug, "hold my wand under the table and do it silently. It doesn't even need any motions more than a small flick, so he shouldn't notice."
Ron nodded, scratching at his stubble, his eyes half-closed.
"Is there anything I can help with?" He asked, gesturing to the desk.
"I don't think so. I just want to finish writing this all up. Shouldn't take more than an hour or so."
"I'm gonna shower and head to bed," Ron said as he stood, "I'll probably read a bit. You never know, I might even still be awake when you come up."
"I'd like that," Hermione said absently, her quill already back in her hand, "night, Ron."
"Night, babe."
Harry sighed, massaging his temples with both hands, his eyes closed.
His office was spacious and richly decorated, with wall-to-wall carpets and lovely paintings.
The window showed a beautiful field, more fitting for something in the countryside than a room five floors underground in London.
"We've been through this so many times, Hermione," Harry said, exasperation and fatigue making his voice sound like it should have belonged to someone far older, "I've literally explained every single one of my decisions to you. I am not being controlled by the wand, and Voldemort's too dead to possibly affect me. You're wrong, Hermione. Just accept it."
"If you're so sure that I'm wrong," she said, very slowly raising her wand under his table, "Why not let me test?"
Harry's hands fell away from his face as his head rose, his eyes flying open.
The wood of her chair made an odd squeaking noise as it shot back, coming to a stop halfway between his desk and the door.
She was stopped cold in her attempt at standing, caught in an uncomfortable half-crouching position as the air around her body seemed to thicken, making motion impossible.
Harry's eyes dimmed, the bright red flash that had so frightened her dissipating into his usual green.
"Brilliant, stupid little Mudblood," Harry said, his voice carrying a sneering edge to it that she'd never heard before, "you just have to keep niggling at an idea, don't you?"
His wand twitched in his hand, barely moving an inch.
The chair came moving forward and the pressure around her changed, forcing her into it.
"Ha-Harry," she whispered, "you-"
"For once in your accursed life, would you be silent?"
Her jaw slammed shut, trapping her words in her mouth.
She began to panic, her heart pounding and her brain speeding through dozens of impossible scenarios.
"Did it never occur to you to wonder how it was that Harry Potter defeated the most powerful wizard of all time in a duel?"
'Voldemort. Oh god, oh god, somehow-'
"Ah," Harry said, "you began to realize who you truly sit before. You never wondered? Harry was an above average wizard for his age, to speak truly, but I was a prodigy fifty years before his birth. How could he have defeated me? How could you possibly have believed that Harry Potter vanquished Lord Voldemort?"
Harry smiled, his eyes flashing scarlet again.
Absolute terror clouded her mind, thought all but vanishing in her desperate need to get away, to make sense of what was going on, to free herself and somehow save Harry.
"You see, Hermione," his lips twisted around her name, filling those three syllables with more condescension than she'd have thought possible, "as you recall, I possessed Harry Potter the night his godfather was killed. And it was then that I discovered the meaning behind the connection between us."
Harry leaned forward, a terrible, unholy smile crossing the face of the man she'd loved as a brother.
'No, no. I need to break this spell, I need to-'
"As you know," he said, his voice a silken whisper, "I created six Horcruxes. What you do not know, what even I did not know until that fateful night, was that I had unwittingly created a seventh. A living, breathing Horcrux, a shard of my soul encased in my prophesied enemy."
He smiled again.
His words drove her frantic plans right out of her head, wiping her mind empty of all thought.
She just stared, not even trying to figure out what spell was holding her in place, looking in horror at Harry. At Voldemort.
"I discovered this that very night. Oh, how it changed everything. My priorities were no longer about killing Potter, but about taking him, making him mine. And to that end, I forced myself through the agony of possessing him."
Something brushed up against the back of her head. She tried to scream, her mouth not obeying her directions and opening for her.
It brushed again, rubbing along toward her ear. Whatever it was, it felt misty and cold.
"His soul, so full of love, it burned against my mind. But what was that agony compared to the indescribable torment I suffered throughout my years as nothing more than a spirit? What was that agony compared toward the power it would gain me?"
He leaned back, looking at her in satisfaction, rolling the Elder Wand through his fingers.
The thing touching her rubbed up around her ear, circling it.
"Eventually, I began to persevere. I learnt how to be an unseen, unnoticed passenger at the back of Potter's mind."
His smile grew.
"I learnt to dwell in Potter's mind, even while I controlled my own body. His every thought, his every plan, they were all laid bare to me. The only one of my Horcruxes you arrogant children ever got your grubby paws on was the Locket, and even that served my plans. You never destroyed any of my real Horcruxes. I had more than enough time to replace them with replicas so well copied that I doubt even Dumbledore would have realized."
Her face twisted into a grimace, her mind racing again, trying to find a way out of the spell he'd cast on her.
"And with the experience I was gaining," he continued, "I began to explore areas of magic none had dared tread before me. I discovered things, Hermione. Things that no wizard or witch have ever even dreamt possible, not even the great Albus Dumbledore. Oh, Mudblood, you cannot even comprehend how far I have moved beyond what was thought possible."
'Why is he telling me all this? What's he stalling for? Damnit, I need to get out!'
She began incanting in her mind, countercurses and charms.
The oppressive thickness of the air around her remained, holding her trapped in place.
"I began to realize a far greater way to gain the power I desired. And ever so slowly, I set my plan into motion."
Her inventory of silently cast countercharms exhausted, she began to hope for rescue.
'If I don't meet Ron for lunch, maybe he'll check in. God, please, please, please."
"Understand, Hermione. Harry Potter, Vanquisher of Voldemort, the Boy-Who-Lived. He could compel far more love and desire to serve than Lord Voldemort ever could. And he has. The people in this nation, so many of them would gladly die for him. Far more are willing to kill or die for him than ever were for Lord Voldemort."
His smile grew larger for a moment, splitting his face.
"And," He said, tapping the parchments now covering his desk, "you didn't even mention anything about British relations with France, how they are better than ever, how the adoration of Potter has spread to encompass France and begun in Germany. Think of that. Think of how much effort you have put into legitimizing this government. Legitimizing my government."
He nodded to her, his eyes sparkling with joyous malice. "Truly," He said, "I couldn't have managed all of this without you. You, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, you have made my ascension to power happen so much faster than it could have otherwise."
He chuckled, sounding no different to all the times she'd heard Harry laugh. Sounding exactly like the wonderful, brave boy whose body he had stolen.
'Someone needs to come in. It's already been a half hour, our meeting wasn't even meant to go on this long. Someone needs to come in.'
A horrific thought occurred, making her blood run even colder than it had until then.
'What would Har-Voldemort do if someone does come in?'
"Slowly, Potter's influence will grow, until he will be one of the most powerful men in Europe. As I said, that is thanks, in part, to your efforts. And how do you think the people will react when a disenfranchised Romanian assassinates him? Do you think Potter's successor will lead the British and their allies to war? And once they've won, do you think it will stop there?"
The cold tendril had moved on from circling around her ear and had started rubbing against the entrance to her ear canal. Her thoughts, however, were whirring too quickly for her to focus on that.
'Successor? What is-'
"You still haven't realized, have you? For all of your brilliance, you're barely more than an infant compared to me. You know so little about what's actually going on. So very little."
A miracle occurred, the blissful sound of an opening door sounding in her ears like an angelic chorus.
"I told you," Ron said as he walked into the room, his voice twisted with the same sadistic cadences as Harry's was, "I have pushed the limits of possibility far beyond your pitiful imagination."
"Perhaps it was my many Horcruxes which gave me this ability-" Harry said.
"To possess so many people-"Ron continued smoothly,
"In a way far superior to regular possession-"
"I override their minds, Mudblood. It is I controlling their bodies," Ron said, "I and I alone."
Hearing that word in Ron's voice filled her with as thick a horror as the rest of what he was saying. Her mind rebelled, her blood pounding in her ears along with that odd, icy sensation caressing it.
'This isn't happening, this is all a nightmare, oh god, Ron, Harry, help me, oh god.'
"Harry, of course," Harry said, "was the easiest. Ginny was almost as easy. You were right about the scars from possession. The Diary left its mark, just waiting for my action."
"As for Ron," Voldemort said, using her husband's mouth as his own, "well, the locket always affected him more than it did you. With Draco and the rest of my former Death Eaters, their Dark Marks acted as more than enough of a connection to me. For the average person, it takes longer than those with a connection to me."
"You, however," Voldemort continued through Harry, "have proven even more difficult than the French President. It would have been so much better if I could have Obliviated you of your suspicions again."
"But you're close enough now," Ron said, starting to talk the moment Harry's voice faded from the air, "It will be far more painful than if you would have waited just another few weeks."
"But dwell on this, Hermione," Voldemort carried on, Harry's voice picking up where Ron left off, "why do you think I've bothered talking for so long?"
The thing plunged into her ear, tearing through her canal and reaching into her mind.
'OH GOD NO! NO! NO! NO!'
She heard their voices as if from a distance, their sentences being uttered at exactly the same time and with exactly the same tone.
"Don't worry, Mudblood, you won't be alone. Most of the others are quite mad, but at least you'll have company."
The pain tore through her, utter agony consuming her, a tormented scream that she could not vocalize echoing through her mind.
It went on forever, the milliseconds dragging out for an eternity as her mind was torn to shreds and her every cell howled.
After a few minutes, after a thousand years, the pain receded.
She was still sitting on the chair, still contorted into that position.
Her eyes were still closed.
And her mind was flooded with voices.
'Let her go!' a voice shouted, sending a jolt through her mind when she recognized it as Harry's. 'Let her go let her go let her go oh god why can't I let her go why can't I let her go why can't I let them go let me go!'
It dissolved into sobbing, aching cries that suited a wounded animal more than a human's thoughts.
'I am Draco Malfoy,' she heard, 'son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. I am-'
'Three little Kneazles, sitting in a tree. How did they get there, nobody knows.'
'Ron!' She shouted, trying to open her eyes and search for the source of that voice, 'RON!'
Her eyes stayed resolutely shut. She pushed with everything she had, forcing her eyelids to obey.
They stayed shut.
'One fell down, and then there were two. Two little Kneazles sitting in a tree, how did they get there-'
'RON!' She roared, the dozens of voices around her echoing off of one another and combining into a horrific cacophony.
If Ron heard her, he gave no notice. He just continued singing the same stupid song.
'One little Kneazle sitting on a tree, how-'
'why can't I let them go why can't I go why-'
'I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and-'
'Tu peux pas faire ça, je suis président, laisse-moi —'
'All my favourites go on to greatness,' Horace Slughorn thought, his voice sounding clearly over the others' for a moment, 'Harry Potter, of course, he's the Minister-'
'One fell down, and then there were none. Ten little Kneazles-'
'I'll do whatever you want, just-'
Her eyes opened.
She tried to move them, tried to look away from Harry and Ron.
Her eyes did not obey her.
'If we all fight him together,' she thought desperately, 'we can-'
A voice filled in her head, a thunderous bellow thousands of times louder than the most powerful Sonorous Charm.
The other voices fell silent as pain wracked her mind and she instinctively tried to put her hands to her ears.
Her hands did not move, and the voice did not stop.
'FIGHTING IS FUTILE. YOU HAVE LOST.'
The echoes died away, and slowly the voices returned.
She caught a snatch of what sounded like the Muggle Prime Minister before it was lost in the racket.
'Why are you making me do this? Why-'
'Gwenog Jones, she went on to-'
'Nine little Kneazles, sitting in a tree, how did they get there nobody knows. One-'
My name is Draco-'
'Let me go let me go let me-'
Voldemort smiled with Harry's face, and the spell around her was lifted. She didn't think, didn't make any decision.
She just stood up.
Her thoughts growing hysterical, she struggled, focusing all of her will on her right arm, trying to move her wand.
Voldemort's voice sounded in her head again, its volume blocking out all the other noises. 'YOU'LL SEE, MUDBLOOD, THERE'S NO POINT IN TRYING TO FIGHT. YOU'LL REALIZE IT SOON ENOUGH.'
"Hannah," Harry's voice called, "I'm done with Mr and Mrs Weasley. You can send in the German Minister now."
And though she tried to fight it, a smile formed on her face as she walked out of the door.
With the choir of the taken ringing in her head, Hermione walked past the German Minister for Magic, unable to shout out a warning even though she strained with everything she had.
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