~ Epilogue One ~

Hermione stood on the back veranda of Malfoy Manor, glass of punch in her hand. Tom had, most aggravatingly, charmed her somehow so if she picked up a glass with alcohol in it he was summoned and he'd pluck the drink out of her hand and replace it with something else. He never scolded, never bullied, never did anything other than make sure he got his way every moment of every day and if she weren't so tired all the time she'd express her feelings on the issue more clearly.

Draco came up behind her. "Cuz," he said. "Nice wedding." He looked her over. "Nice dress."

Hermione tugged at the bodice of the white gown. "Your grandfather picked it out," she muttered. "Man still has opinions about clothing."

Draco laughed. Abraxas Malfoy had, in this universe, managed to avoid being carried off by a case of Dragon Pox, presumably because Tom Riddle had promised her not to kill the man. People around him still tended to die, she'd noticed. They fell ill. They went on long trips and met with tragic accidents. His hands, however, remained publicly clean of blood. She suspected that he and the other members of what had remained a secret society got up to things she didn't want to know about when they went on 'spiritual retreats'. He'd actually patted her head and told her not to worry her pretty little self about that. She'd pointed out his week of guaranteed safety at her hands was long over and he'd smirked and said, "Horcruxes."

Draco was regarding her now with a curious look in his too-intelligent eyes. "You've changed," he said. "You're harder. Colder. Much more like Minister Riddle than you were a month ago when you subjected me to a 3-hour monologue about this season's parties."

"I'm sorry about that," she said.

He leaned on the stone railing next to her. "Interesting," he said, "given that never happened."

Hermione's fingers tightened on the stem of her punch glass.

"You'll break that, if you aren't careful," Draco Malfoy said. Hermione put the glass down with careful movements on a nearby table. "I used to have very weird dreams about you," Draco went on. "Visions, you might say."

"I didn't realize," Hermione said.

"Yes," Draco took a sip of his drink and Hermione thought with some bitterness his was probably wine. Of course, he seemed deliberately sober so perhaps not. She could see whatever verbal traps he was laying closing around her. "We weren't cousins, a situation that's always been a bit peculiar given the Muggle-born thing but grandfather insisted I cultivate you and hauled out some excuse about squibs and obscure, bastard relatives. We were a bit more in the line of enemies." He took another sip. "You were a Gryffindor with a mean left hook."

She swallowed hard and Draco watched the movement.

"So they weren't just visions," he said. "Explain."

She turned away from him and rubbed her head. "I remember a different world," she said at last. "Your visions, I think, are what I lived."

"Do you remember anything about the time we snogged for hours in the Ravenclaw tower?" Draco asked.

Hermione looked at him in unfeigned horror and he began to laugh. "You really have no idea about anything that happened, do you?"

She set one hand on his shoulder and said, "I do remember marrying the Minister of Magic, a man who made a world for me and around whom people tend to disappear." It was Draco's turn to swallow hard. "I remember needing a secretary," she said, "Someone whom I can trust without reservation and who can help me with my… memory issues."

"I really can't imagine you as a Gryffindor," Draco said, implicitly accepting the offer. "You'll have to tell me how that happened as we go over some details of your school days."

"I was best friends with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter," she said softly. That loss still ached. She suspected it always would. She'd gone and watched them both play Quidditch in a park and if she'd sniffled at how happy and carefree they both were, well, pregnancy did terrible things to her emotions. She had even told Tom she loved him in a fit of hormone induced sentimentality.

"Weasley and Potter? The Gryffindor jocks?" Draco sounded like he thought she was pulling his leg now. "You and Padma wouldn't even go to games most of the time. You told me it was boring."

"It was," she said. "Is. Hand me that."

Confused, Draco passed over his drink. It must have been alcoholic because Tom was at her side within moments. "My love," he said.

"I think I've grown to like this little summoning charm," Hermione said. "It keeps you on your toes which, given how elderly you are, is no small feat."

He chucked her under the chin in amused tolerance and said, "Might I ask for what you summoned me, my love? And I prefer ageless to elderly."

"Draco here has agreed to be my personal secretary," Hermione cooed with manipulative pleasure. "He'll help me adjust to this lovely version of reality. And, love, you're elderly."

Tom gave her an annoyed look. "I am ageless, as you will be as soon as you aren't gestating. I am concerned how pregnancy and suspension of the aging process might interact and have no intention of using you, or my child, as test subjects." He turned to the blond trying not to attract attention and added, "Not to seem overly inquisitive into your staffing decisions, my love, but how is Mr. Malfoy aware of this little shift? Do I need to kill him?"

The boy tried not to look nervous as he murmured, "I've always had images of Hermione - many things - that were different than they were. They stopped happening when you two announced your engagement and she was suddenly… not the same person."

"He was always good at occlumency," Hermione said. "At least in my world."

"That might explain it," Tom Riddle agreed. He was watching Draco with a little too much interest. "We'll have to explore in more depth whether such does allow people to see both versions of the time loop." He pursed his mouth in a dramatic moue to convey he was thinking and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Who else is good at occlumency?" he said.

"Try Draco's mother," Hermione suggested. "Or Severus Snape."

"Who is Severus Snape?" Tom asked.

"Hogwarts Potions Master," she said.

Draco shook his head. "Horace Slughorn is Potions Master at Hogwarts."

"And a less pleasant sycophant never did brew up Felix Felicis," Tom said. "Still, I shall find this Snape. I assume you'd prefer I not do anything unpleasant to your secretary or his family, love? You were quite protective of Abraxas when he was young. But Snape is acceptable?"

Draco's eyes widened as Hermione sighed in much put upon agreement that, no, she really didn't want Tom Riddle hurting the Malfoys. She'd given him a list when she first arrived back in the present and he'd made a fuss about how difficult she was but tucked it away with a not-quite-agreement to leave such people on it as were still alive alone. Snape had not made the list as Tom well knew; he'd memorized the names as soon as he'd seen them. Of course, Draco Malfoy hadn't been on her list of friends that required sparing either. Draco would live, however, and Severus Snape would probably end up mentally dissected in some remote Malfoy property as Tom attempted to find out what unusual magical abilities allowed people to sense the original version of the world he'd changed.

Tom took the glass of wine from Hermione's hand. "Watch her," he instructed Draco. "She keeps trying to sneak unpasteurized cheese as well and I've yet to figure out a charm to stop that. If you're going to be her secretary you'll have to join my little organization but we can Mark you after the honeymoon." Hermione sighed at Tom as he took her fingers and kissed them. "I have to go smile more at the French Minister of Magic," he said. "I made Regulus take on the Bulgarian delegation and last I heard they were arguing about creature rights." He made one of his false shudders of distaste before he leaned in over to whisper in Hermione's ear, "And I do love you, my blushing bride. Very much."

"You are biased as my advice kept you sane," she said as he pulled back from her. "And alive."

Draco managed to become very interested in the view of his own yard as Tom Riddle expressed his sincere appreciation for both his bride and the results of her advice.

. . . . . . . . .

A/N - One more epilogue after this one. Then really truly done. If you have any particular characters you'd like to know "where are they now" now is the time to mention them.