It's finally over. It's done. Voldemort is defeated, but he's not dead. Whatever he's done to himself can't be undone and he's almost like a Phoenix in his persistency and dedication to death and rebirth and eternity.
Now it's come down to a trial before the Wizengamot and really, Hermione thinks, how can it be anything other than a Kangaroo court?
Hermione agrees to aid the prosecution, as she has extensive knowledge of both the war and wizarding law. She's eager to help, eager to see the man who's been haunting her nightmares since she was eleven put away for good. She arrives early to the court, notes and dates memorized, so she spends the time until the trial imagining how Voldemort will defend himself. Harry has told her that Voldemort is intelligent, charming and handsome. He has told her that it was easy for Voldemort to fool and manipulate people; it was easy for him to gain power and influence even among those who valued ancestry and money and useless albino peacocks waddling around the front garden. But surely, Hermione thinks, surely everyone is well past falling for that.
The trial is a farce, but certainly not the way she has expected. When he is first brought into court, Hermione is shocked. Voldemort no longer looks like Voldemort, at least not in the way she knows him from the Battle of Hogwarts. He is young and handsome - no, not handsome, that isn't the right word for it - he's perfect. He looks the way men described in romance novels are supposed to look; he looks the way she imagined her first love to look in her daydreams when she was a young girl. He is tall and dark-haired with pale skin and dark eyes set into a refined and angular face. Gone are his red eyes and noseless visage. Hermione does her best not to stare.
He has also hired a lawyer who does all the talking. Voldemort does not say one word until he is questioned on the stand. When the court asks him how he pleads he and his lawyer stand and his lawyer responds, "Not guilty by reason of insanity."
The uproar the court makes upon hearing that takes almost ten minutes to silence.
During his questioning Voldemort is soft-spoken, polite and concise. His lawyer makes him recount his childhood - the muggle orphanage, the blatant prejudice of his Slytherin housemates, the pressure he felt to prove himself, to prove he belonged in the wizarding world. He tells of how he searched for acceptance and appealed to their prejudice just to belong.
His lawyer claims that the circumstances of his birth, the trauma of his childhood and the pressure placed on him when he was thrust into a world he never knew existed until he turned eleven all caused him to steadily lose his grip on reality.
Hermione can't help but quietly snort as Voldemort tells his sob story; she doesn't think anyone hears her but Voldemort shoots a knowing glance her way, his lip curled into a tiny smirk. She meets his eyes for a second - they're dark and deep and... alluring.
She shivers.
On the fourth day of the trial the defense begins to call witnesses to the stand. His first witness is Hermione Granger. The court again erupts in cacophony and Hermione can do nothing but gape in shock.
Hermione's completely numb as she takes the stand. She swears to tell the truth and then Voldemort's lawyer asks his first question.
"Miss Granger, are you a muggleborn witch?"
"Yes," she replies.
"And is it true that you are the top of your year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"
"Yes."
"While at Hogwarts were you ever the victim of prejudice or bigotry based on your heritage?"
"Y-yes." Hermione does her best not to show it, but she is becoming unnerved by the amount of information Voldemort and his attorney know about her.
"Miss Granger, do you think this kind of behavior towards yourself was warranted?"
"No, of course not."
"Especially given your sterling academic record, I'm sure," the attorney added. "Miss Granger, did you ever feel pressured to outperform even your most vicious detractors?"
An image of Draco Malfoy attempting to out-brew her in Potions flashes through her mind. "I-well, I might have taken a certain satisfaction in doing well in my classes."
"But you went above and beyond, Miss Granger, did you not?" the attorney asks. "I believe you were granted access to a Time Turner in your third year in order to attend your classes, yes?"
"Yes, but I didn't take those classes just to prove a point to bigots," she replies. "I took them because I was interested in them."
"Of course you were, Miss Granger. You, much like my client, had no idea this world existed before you were eleven. You had to know everything about it, didn't you? Even if that thirst for knowledge became overwhelming, even if it became the source of unending ridicule from your prejudiced schoolmates, is that right?"
"I suppose, but - "
"And if it weren't for your friends and family I'm sure all that pressure might've made you do something drastic."
"Well - "
"In fact you did do something drastic in your third year, the same year you were using a Time Turner to attend all your classes, didn't you? Isn't it true, Miss Granger, that after merciless taunting and ridiculing, you punched Draco Malfoy in the face?"
How had he found out about that? She glanced at Voldemort; he was looking straight at her with the most unsettling mischievous look in his eyes. Legilimency, she guessed. She felt a surge of satisfaction at the fact that Draco was still haunted by it after all these years.
"Yes," she admits, tearing her eyes away from Voldemort. "But I would never - I mean it was only once. I just lost my temper; Harry and Ron calmed me down."
"Your friends, correct?"
"Yes."
"Would you say that if it were not for your friends your temper might've gotten the better of you on more than that one occasion?"
Hermione desperately wants to say no - she can control her temper just fine, thank you very much - but her promise to tell the truth holds her back. She can recall several instances in which either Harry or Ron had successfully talked her down from her (admittedly righteous) anger.
"Yes, you could say that," Hermione replies.
"Thank you, Miss Granger, you may step down."
Hermione nearly balks at her abrupt dismissal, but returns to her seat with the prosecution. Hermione can feel Voldemort's eyes on her for the duration of the trial, even if she can never catch him looking at her.
"Mr. Riddle, unlike Miss Granger, did not have a family to rely on, nor did he have close friends to help him through the traumatic transition from the Muggle to Wizarding world," Voldemort's lawyer begins his closing argument.
"He was confused and without a compass. He was caught up in the dichotomy of his ancestry - on one side descended from one of the very founders of Hogwarts, the founder who held blood purity above all other qualities, and on the other side descended from that which his noble ancestor and the namesake of his Hogwarts house despised.
"Mr. Riddle had no one to turn to, no one who would not judge him for either his humble beginnings or for his preternatural gifts that unfairly marked him as dangerous. So Mr. Riddle did the only thing he could think to do - assimilate, and find a place in this strange new world. As he was driven further and further into the Dark Arts - a practice which was revered by his peers - Mr. Riddle's psyche, already fragile from his difficult childhood, began to fracture and break past the point of repair.
"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, I beg you not to overlook my client's crimes and misdeeds, but to try and understand his reasons, his drive to prove himself and earn his place. He must be confined, of course, but not without empathy and not without the help he so desperately needs - the help which was denied him as an adolescent. Thank you."
After a few hours of deliberation, court is called to session again. Voldemort – or Tom Marvolo Riddle as he's been referred to throughout the trial – stands to hear the Wizengamot's decision. Hermione is glad for this ridiculous circus to be over – as if the darkest wizard in an age could simply be let off for pleading insanity. It's hardly a reason or an excuse for all that he's done – rallying an army, murdering hundreds, torturing and kidnapping hundreds more, and for what? For power and immortality? No, the evidence is stacked against him, and it's time for him to rot in Azkaban.
It's so rare that Hermione is ever wrong that she doesn't recognize the feeling welling up in the pit of her stomach as the verdict is read.
"We of the Wizengamot find the defendant, Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr., not guilty by reason of insanity. He is henceforth put in the care of the high security ward of St. Mungos until such time as his condition can be deemed improved."
All around her chaos ensues, people jump up from their seats yelling and pointing, but Hermione remains seated; she's reeling from the injustice of it all, from the impossible outcome that she has just witnessed.
Voldemort is being led out of the courtroom by a retinue of aurors and for one second he looks behind him – right at Hermione – and winks.
Her fists clench and she rises from the table before she realizes what she's doing. She swiftly runs after him. No one notices.
She catches up to him just after the aurors have returned him to his holding cell. He no longer has his wand, and his magic has been suppressed, but he still feels dangerous; he still feels like she remembers from the Battle of Hogwarts. She does her best to collect herself – slow her racing heart, regulate her breathing – but Voldemort's looking at her like he knows how she feels. She hates it.
"You," she says, her voice barely above a whisper – it's all she can manage at the moment. "You used me."
He looks at her, his head slightly titled to one side as if surveying an oddity. "Do you feel used?" he asks. His voice is soft and smooth and unlike the high, cold tone she remembers.
She starts to nod her head, but changes to a shake at the last minute. "I don't understand." She says. "How could they… after everything you've done, how could they?"
His lips curl into a condescending grin. "They feel sorry for me," he tells her. "And for you too. Because we're so different. Because they made us feel unwelcome."
"No, it's not their fault that you – "
"Isn't it, though? We made them blame themselves. We showed them what their world has wrought."
"But I didn't become a Dark Lord and terrorize everyone," she snaps.
He gives her a thoughtful once-over. "No, and more's the pity," he says. "You easily could have."
She gapes. "I would never, ever, not in a million years, become anything like you," she replies indignantly.
"Of course not," he says quietly. "No one is like me."
Hermione huffs and turns to walk away.
"Thank you so much for your help, Miss Granger," he calls after her. "Your testimony helped my case quite a bit."
Hermione takes a deep breath and stalks up to his prison cell, eyes blazing. "Enjoy this while it lasts, Riddle," she sneers. "Because I will spend however long it takes to make sure you pay for everything you've done down to the last Cruciatus Curse."
Riddle smiles, an expression that is both handsome and terrifying and Hermione fights the urge to step back. "I look forward to it, Miss Granger."