Summary: Hermione is sent to an alien world, much too remnant of her own, only to find that everyone she has ever deemed good is now the enemy. Not knowing who to trust, she finds refuge in the home of Tom Riddle, the leader of a dwindling rebellion against Albus Dumbledore, a master of the Dark Arts, and develops both unexpected and reluctant alliances in a war that has already been won.
Note: Dark/mature themes, Alternative Universe, Light!Voldemort
Disclaimer: All rights go to JK Rowling, I am not making any money from this story, nor am I claiming ownership of the Harry Potter Universe.
Prologue: The Upside Down
The war ended with a bright light.
Voldemort had finally been defeated, his remains scattered in the whirlwind of smoke and rubble, and the cheers that had followed were deafening.
Harry stood in the courtyard, his hair matted with dirt and grime, and his forehead glistening with sweat. He staggered on his feet with relief, turning to face the onlooking students with a crooked grin.
Hermione surged through the crowd, her hair flying behind her in a banner, now free from its braid, and she crushed her weight against his, a sob breaking through the raucous sounds of victory behind them. He stumbled in surprise, and his hands reached around her shoulders to pull her closer, leaving no room for hesitation.
"He's dead." Harry mumbled against her neck and she felt him shiver at the weight of those words.
"He's dead," She repeated, and looked up a the sky, feeling something break in her chest. "And we're okay."
It had taken the rest of the day to tend to the wounded—hundreds upon hundreds of them. The bodies were stacked in heaps in the courtyard, and the corridors; spread till the horizon of her vision; hills upon hills of lifeless skin. Some of them she didn't know, and too many of them she did. She helped the mediwitch clean wounds, and sets bones, and it wasn't until Luna came over with a cup of tea, that she stopped to take a breath.
She worked until the blood of her patients turned dry, and the sharp smell of rotting flesh became familiar, and only after the dust had finally settled, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked down towards the bridge.
They stared at the setting sun, the taste of death still thick on their tongues, and Hermione felt the gentle brush of Harry's hand against her own; a remembrance for survival, and a tether to reality.
They stayed like that until the sky bled a faint pink, and Ron kicked a spare piece of castle debris into the ground below.
"I reckon we'll finally be able to get a normal year now." He joked and glanced at his best friends to soak in their reaction.
The tense moment that passed was palpable and Ron began to shrink into himself with a grimace until Hermione burst with laughter; so loud and carefree that she felt as if she were watching herself from afar. Harry and Ron shared a look of confusion until they joined her, their faces lighting up with easy smiles, as if it were just another day at Hogsmeade on a Christmas morning instead of the beginning of the end of a war. Hermione beamed at them both, and their laughter faded into comfortable silence.
Harry's hand twitched in her own after a moment, and her eyes flicked down to see him holding the Elder wand.
"Harry?" She asked, her eyes searching his own. "What is it?"
"The wand," He said, his gaze meetings hers. "We throw it away. We throw it away and hope no one finds it."
Ron shot him a quizzical look of mild alarm, and stepped forward in disagreement. "Harry, no. That wand probably holds more power than the entire force of the Wizengamot. You could practically do anything with it."
"Exactly," Harry shot back impatiently. "That's why we need to destroy it. We can't risk another war. Not after Grindelwald, and not after Voldemort because another one will happen if we don't take the necessary precautions."
"Precautions?" Ron asked. "Mate, the war just ended, why would there be another—"
"Harry's right." Hermione intervened. "We have to destroy it."
Ron looked at Hermione, then back at Harry, and held up his hands in defeat. "Okay," He said after a slight pause. "If you're sure."
Harry nodded, and let go of her hand, bringing the wand level to his chest.
"Wait!" Hermione exclaimed compulsively, moving forwards to grab his wrist. He stared at her in surprise, and a hush blanketed the world around them. She loosened her hold with realization and swallowed the dryness of her throat. "I want to."
The seconds bled to minutes, and coldness seeped into the warm flush of her cheeks.
"What?" He asked, belatedly.
"The wand. I want to break it."
Confusion etched itself onto his face and he raised an eyebrow, goading an explanation from her.
"Closure." I want to feel the magic fade out of whatever's left of his soul.
The explanation was enough for Harry, and he surrendered the wand, placing it in the palm of her hand.
Light surrounded her, blinding and unbridled in its rage; cold despite its alluring colour; bleeding into her brittle bones.
And she screamed.
"Hermione!"