A/N: Thank you for the favorites, follows, and Reviews!

Chapter Ten: Mortality

Harry froze at the appalling sight and watched as a severely weakened Tom Riddle conjured a handkerchief and wiped away the tears. Tom took a shaky breath before looking up at Harry.

"That one was a bitch." He rasped.

"What?"

"The ring. I had long regretted her death and yet getting through it was so much more difficult than the first."

"Probably because you care more about it, about who ever she was."

"My Grandmother, Mary. They used her as a human shield. I wouldn't have hurt her." He paused and looked at the floor, taking several huge breaths. "I'm ready." He looked back up at Harry with a determined look on his face.

"Curatio tristitia."

He hated the days that he spent kowtowing to the rich and influential. They all talked about him, not even giving him the courtesy of waiting until he was out of earshot. His stomach churned spitefully as he struggled to keep his charming smile in place. They were all fawning over his potential, his handsome visage, his power but they never indicated an interest in his patronage. They were content to use him for their own means and wiles. Out of all of them, she was the worst. Hepzibah Smith. He could feel her gaze on his body, her tongue kept gliding over her fat lips as if he would ever be interested in that. It took everything in him not to leave that first time. Perhaps he would have too, if she hadn't brought out Hufflepuff's cup and the locket. The one his mother sold to Borgin for gold while she was pregnant with him. He had seen red. That belonged to him, by right! How dare this woman dangle it in front of his eyes as if he was lucky to even be in the same vicinity as the ancient treasures.

He knew from the gossip of the bored pureblooded wives that he bed, that it was unlikely these would ever be sold. From all accounts, she kept them well warded. Tom momentarily oscillated between killing her and fucking her. He was so close to reclaiming his familial artifact, the spark of bigger ambitions bouncing around in the back of his mind. Seven Horcruxes. Seven. His mind whispered seductively. He wouldn't find two more worthy vessels for his soul anywhere. It would be ridiculous to just house his soul in them and entrust them back into her care. He was decided. She would have to die.

It had taken every ounce of self-control to leave. To not reach for his wand and claim them right then. He knew that he needed to make a plan. It couldn't be retraced to him, of that he was firm. He was going to quietly amass power in the background before starting his dominion. He would stand at the top of the power pyramid, the leaders mere puppets to his whims. If Dumbledore got even a whiff of his long-term goals that would be the end. He was not yet powerful enough to come head to head with the influential wizard and he knew it. He needed more of a following. The idea began to brew in his mind. He had heard often enough from the pureblooded wives that he was fucking that they felt very strongly about blood purity, more than even he was led to believe in school with his followers. He smirked. How would his knights feel knowing he was making their mothers scream on a regular basis? He could see himself rise on a tide of their wealth and influence. So what, if he had to pretend to care for their petty prejudices.

He quietly let himself into Hepzibah's kitchen to first deal with her ludicrously loyal house elf. It wasn't even that difficult, exerting his will on the trusting and naive beast. The mere suggestion of poisoning the woman's drink sent the poor imperiused elf into a shivering mess. It was futile to fight off his casting but he was almost impressed that she managed to hold off for several minutes. The elf loved her mistress. How misguided. He smirked. Love was an excuse to hurt someone, it made a person weak. There was no such thing.

He easily located the treasures and watched the sobbing elf dose her mistress. He felt high. He didn't even have to raise his wand this time. He frowned as he made the rash decision not to use her death to create a horcrux, she was not worthy of the honor.

Taking the time to change the elf's memories, he allowed her to take the blame for his misdeeds and left the house satisfied and laden with two priceless treasures that would never be connected back to him.

Except they were. Riddle remembered as he watched himself prowl for the perfect sacrifice. What better honor was there? He remembered thinking at the time. Tom blanched realizing just how unstable all of the Horcrux making had made him. He would still be like that, or worse if Hermione hadn't been forced into sharing her soul. He studied his memory, taking note of each and every mistake and misstep he took on his slow rise to total power. He should never had made any Horcruxes, they made him weak. It would have served him better in the long run to remain with an intact soul. He recognized that now. By creating Horcruxes, he had allowed himself to be exclusively targeted. He recognized that if he fell, the whole cause would crash and burn with him. He refused to make the same mistake twice. He knew he would come out of this experience alive and when he did, the first thing he was going to do was make sure that Hermione was his forever. She was the key to his glorious rise and he would be a fool to throw that away.

He was no longer a dispassionate observer as he watched himself choose a pureblooded woman to sacrifice. In his mind's eye, her long red hair curled and changed into a brown halo. He was once again cutting open Hermione's body, her extremities twitching.

As much as she had come to mean to him over the course of their marriage, he was becoming more aware of what his feelings actually were. He shook as her lifeblood drenched the ground beneath her, her lips not yet even blue. He had made her death long and torturous. If he hadn't silenced her, she would have screamed herself hoarse, bringing everyone in a mile radius on his head. Unheard whispers dropped from her lips at the end. Tom leaned forward studying the movement hoping to understand what she said to him with her last breath. It was something that he couldn't have cared less at the time. His head snapped back as if he had been hit and covered his mouth with a shaking hand. I forgive you. She whispered in a continuous loop. Why? Why would she forgive her murderer?

Remorse rose up in his chest, restricting his breathing. He was gasping for air, for life, as he tried to choke down the regret that strangled him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness. He shouldn't have brutalized them both the way he did. How did he become so cold? He shuddered. The books did not warn about this particular side-effect. Perhaps he should write a book about Horcruxes. After all no one had documented creating more than one. He would be doing the world a favor at imparting the information. He grimaced. Hermione would not be on board with that.

He quickly fixed her body to look untouched as he did every other time and walked away. He viewed the scene unfolding in front of his eyes, his next victim was easily led like a lamb to slaughter. He was a young man who was a few years younger than he was, a trusting foolish Hufflepuff who worshipped the ground that he trod on. The sheer amount of feelings began weighing him down, as all of his victims began melding together in one sickening slide show of his inner depravity. Warren, Mary, Hepzibah, the unnamed pureblooded woman who forgave him, and now him. Even with fear in his eyes that appeared too late, he still looked confused as if to say; why was Tom even there? His denial at being mutilated by his highly esteemed previous head boy was overwhelming, even unaccepting in death as Tom disfigured his youthful body.

Tom could feel the conflicting emotions in his body. The cold calculating of his memory and the shame and guilt that washed over him.

Tom came back to his battered body that lay mangled on the floor. He was bleeding from several cuts and wounds all over his body. As bad as he felt physically, he felt more rational and cognizant that he had in years. He let out a strangled laugh. Four down, three more to go and he didn't know how he was going to survive it.

HGHGHG

Dumbledore walked the labyrinthine corridors of the Department of Mysteries. He was on a carefully calculated trail that wound through its individual sections. When he finally reached his destination, he pursed his lips, his hard, blue eyes sweeping the cavernous room.

"It's no use trying to locate me unless I want to be found." A wizened, discombobulated voice reverberated off of the unadorned ceiling and walls, the acoustics stunning in their perfection.

"Do you have the item we discussed?" Dumbledore asked.

"This kind of magic always comes at a price. Are you prepared to pay it?"

"I cannot in good conscience leave this to chance. If he manages to heal his soul, he will be free of the bond. I am certain of it."

"He will not be the one paying the price."

"I am aware."

"Are you willing even to sacrifice your life?"

"If needs must."

"And if it's the life of another that it claims?"

"If he is not stopped we will all die. I accept the consequences of using this."

"Merlin save us all then."

"Quit the theatrics and give it over. It's not as if I am forcing you or short changing you. You have been handsomely compensated."

There was a whisper of movement before he saw a thin coiled ribbon slide across the floor. Dumbledore hovered over the ancient relic for a moment before picking it up and marveling over its incredible lightness and silken feel.

"Incredible."

"It will hold for eternity. It's brother still restrains the mighty wolf of legends in the bowels of empty dwarven caverns. Remember, it will hold but always at a price. Make sure it is worth it."

HGHGHG

Harry looked nauseated as he pointed his wand at Tom Riddle. The man was clearly and unquestionably at his mercy. His hand shook. He was tempted, so tempted, to end all of their problems right then. Thinking of Hermione, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Curatio tristitia."

He had been roaming that Merlin forsaken forest for what felt like months. That stupid bint said it was a split tree where she hid the diadem as if there weren't a million identical copses. He waved his wand for the thousandth time.

"aperire magicis." A revealing spell that he could now preform in his sleep flew from the tip of his wand. His eyes widened as he watched an old split tree light up with a white aura.

He couldn't believe it. After all the time searching, he finally found it. He reached into the cavity and pulled out the tarnished crown. He was jubilant. Another priceless relic to add to his already impressive collection. He was a connoisseur of the Founder's artifacts. He smugly thought.

Now it was time to get out of that forest and find his next sacrifice. He used his newly learned skill, flying, to quickly eat up the land so that he could apparate back to his camp where his loyal followers awaited his command.

He apparated just out of camp, a stone's throw from the nearest village and walked along the ridge that led to the woods. There was a girl around the same age as he, walking ahead of him. Normally he wouldn't notice the comings and goings of muggles, but this girl stood out. She had long curly brown hair and a long scarlet cloak with the hood pushed back. As a child, he had been read to, the story of Little Red Riding Hood at the forefront of his mind. He smirked. He was the wolf in the story and she was his prey. Except in his version she would never make it to grandmother's house.

He turned on the charm and sped up, walking alongside her, trying to catch her attention.

"Përshëndetje." He said in greeting.

She looked at him startled. He was a handsome man, devestating when he smiled and he knew it.

They exchanged pleasantries as they walked, stopping only when he put his hand on her arm in a flirtatious invitation. She blushed and followed him into the glade, veering off of the beaten path. He pulled her by the hand until they were deep enough into the forest to obscure their presence for any passers by.

Pulling out his wand, he warded the place well, ignoring the confusion that spread over her lovely freckled face. Once he was finished he turned to her and his smile became predatory. He was the hunter and she the pray.

A conjured cord wrapped around her neck, her face turning a mottled red before it drained completely.

"Oh, sweetheart, had you only known what I truly wanted with you." He taunted seductively.

She fell to her knees, her crimson cloak bunched beneath her, dirt and leaves clung to the fabric as if it were a magnant. She fell to the side, her last gasp of air expelled by the force of impact. He waited for the moment that she stopped moving, releasing his hold on his magic. With morbid curiosity he studied her lithe body, moving her limbs into a more natural position on her back as if she were only sleeping. Her bulging eyes stared up at the leafy canopy, every sign of life absent.

He unclasped the cloak and cleaned it, folding it painstakingly, so as to keep it undamaged. He tucked it into his small bag that he carried with him and pushed it to the side. He slipped off his robes, unbuttoning the white oxford at the cuffs and rolled them up his arms. They would get bloody but he didn't care. His heart was rapidly beating, nearly flying out of his chest. This would be his fourth Horcrux, an accomplishment that no other wizard that ever was could boast about. This proved it. There was no one who could match him with power. He was a Master of life, the dark arts, and of people. They should bow to him and offer their bodies for his throne.

He opened her chest with a cold detatchment that disturbed the watcher. He was horrified at his own lethiality. Was that him? Usually the deaths meant something, a lesson to his followers, a message to his enemies but this was senseless. The only reason why he attacked her was because she looked so innocent in that red cloak. It drew him, made him want to destroy her. Watch while the light left her eyes.

It sickened him and her hair looked just like Hermione's. He watched as the wind tossed her curls around the ground, collecting sticks and wrapping around the underbrush. This could have easily been her. Had she been traveling all those years ago, he could have pulled her into the glade, bound and determined to destroy her despite the fact that she turned out to be the only person in the whole world that could save him. The blood flowed freely from her body, wrapping around her in a grisly imitation of her fine cloak. He tore his eyes off of the dead girl who so resembled Hermione and watched his own face. There was nothing there; no feeling, no remorse, not even any pleasure. This was the very definition of what a monster was. He was too horrified to even scream.

He came back to himself and laid on the stone floor, his unblinking eyes staring at the ceiling in shock. If this was what he was at that point, he shuddered at the thought of continuing. He watched as the life literally bled out of him, getting progressively worse as he created more and more horcruxes. How had he not noticed?

"Alright?" Harry asked, passing him another clean handkerchief so that he could wipe the welling blood off of his face.

"No."

HGHGHGH

"Fuck!" Snape cursed as Hermione's body began jerking. This was the worst one so far. He smoothed the hair out of her face as she fought against the pain she was experiencing.

"I am sorry. I wish I could take your place." He whispered, readjusting her blankets as she settled back down. He conjured a white linen handkerchief and daubed at the blood that ran from her nose.

He was furious. Not at her obviously, but at that bastard who calls himself her husband. He didn't deserve her. She was the embodiment of happiness and intelligence, she deserved better. His thoughts turned grim after a moment of reflection. It wasn't like he deserved her either. There was a time when he was a young man that he did unspeakable things just because he could, just because he wanted to.

He let his head fall on her shoulder as his hands caressed hers. Despite knowing he wasn't good for her, he knew deep down that he could never give up like she wanted him to. He allowed that to happen between him and Lily and the outcome was gruesome. He had been the catalyst in her death. His teeth clenched. Never again would he be so foolish as to give anyone the opportunity to hurt someone he loved. His lips peeled back, baring his teeth. Voldemort destroyed his world then and he would be damned to let that happen twice. He would fight to the death for her, his Hermione. She was his Helen of Troy. He would wage war, march armies, defy kings to have her.

Hermione awoke confused. Something heavy was pressing her into her bed. She groaned and immediately the weight lifted and Severus Snape came into focus as her blurred eyes adjusted to the darker light.

"What happened?" She groaned. "Is this because of the spell that Harry and Tom were working on?"

"I believe so."

"Bloody hell!" She threw the blankets back and stumbled to her feet, Snape catching her just before she fell.

"Stop. Get back in bed and ride it out."

"Severus, I have to go to him. I feel like I am being turned inside out. What spell is it?"

"It is a spell to relive the worst and most defining moments of a person's life and replace the victim with someone who they care for. I believe they are trying to heal the Dark Lord's soul and if your reaction is anything to go by, they are actually succeeding."

"Cerci. The longer I wait the worse I feel. I am being pulled and to deny it any longer will cause me horrible pain. I feel it on the edge of my mind, waiting to drown me in agony. Please, help me, Severus." She pled.

When she looked at him like that, he knew he would do anything she asked. He was a sucker for a woman who believed in him, who trusted and relied on him. She made him feel as if she would die without him, that the weight of the world could not be born unless he was there with her.

He closed his eyes with defeat a moment before he swept her off of her feet, literally, and strode out the door. She laid her head on his chest, slowing her breathing to match his. He was in great shape, easily cradling her in his arms, as he made his way to the seventh floor.

HGHGHGHGHGHG

"I think we should stop." Harry said. Tom hadn't even bothered getting up off the floor this time. Laying on his back and staring unblinkingly at the ceiling had been his only response for several minutes. It unnerved Harry, the way Tom Riddle was acting as if he cared about the myriad of deaths on his hands.

"Again."

"I think it will kill you."

"Again!" Tom demanded.

"Curatio tristitia."

It was all going to end tonight. His last and greatest obstacle standing in the way of his rise to omnipotence. A child that had been eluding his day of death since he was born. He was calm and focused, more assured of his place in the world than he ever had been.

He walked along the road, the leaves rustling at his feet, a chill in the air. It was All Hallows Eve, an auspicious day that he felt was more than coincidental. The universe wanted him to do this. Why else would the information land at his feet from one of the supposed loyal courageous Gryffindor's that Dumbledore so cherished at this moment in time?

He could see muggle children moving about the square, paper spiders hung in the shop windows, pumpkins adorning entryways. He sneered.

"Nice costume, Mister!" A little boy shouted.

He glared at the filthy wretch and watched as the boy recoiled in fear before running back to his friends.

Voldemort took a moment to savor his impending victory when he came to the house he had been searching for. A messy haired man was babbling to an infant, conjuring smoke rings while the mother entered the room unnoticed with a smile. He studied her for a moment. Why did Severus want to keep her? It wasn't like she was anything special. He could have someone better, someone more deserving of his faithful spy.

He pushed open the gate and watched as the man handed the baby off and tossed his wand onto the cushion next to him, obviously trusting in the safety that friendship afforded him. Oh, how very wrong he was. One of their oldest and best friends offered them up to him to save his own hide. Their friend wasn't as faithful as they believed. Voldemort felt nothing but derision for the trusting fool. Trusting made him vulnerable and weak, ultimately the price he would pay was not just his life, but also the lives of his entire family.

Voldemort blasted open the door and trained his wand on the man who didn't even have time to grab his wand.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Did he truly expect to hold him off without a wand? Him, the greatest wizard alive?

"Avada Kedavera." He whispered. A flash of green light suffused the room, burning the image of a man trying to protect his family into his mind.

For a moment, he split into the two parts of his being. As his memory-self moved up the stairs, he stayed behind as the image of Hermione sobbing over a man who was nearly identical with a scar on his head. It didn't matter if he was innocent of that particular scene. If he hadn't bonded with Hermione, it would have been more than a possibility. He had spent the greater part of his adult life trying to kill Harry Potter, his wife's best friend. He choked on his remorse. The pain that was etched on her face as she wept for him. It made him crazy with jealousy and sadness. He had done this, it was his fault. They did not deserve to die by his hand. Hermione who was everything good and meaningful in his life, did not deserve to be hunched over a man that she considered family. He wished he could take it back and ignore ever hearing the prophecy, wishing he didn't act on it. For her sake, for his, and for this man who looked so much like a replica of his son that it was a punch to his gut.

He slowly walked up the stairs knowing that he was going to watch as he killed the mother, Lily Evans Potter. He looked through Severus' memories when he first came to him to take his mark and watched with a morbid fascination, Snape's absolute fixation on the Muggleborn. He saw the similarities now between Hermione and Lily. Fierce, protective, brilliant, and beautiful. His Hermione, however, was so much more insatiable for knowledge of any kind. Hermione's face amalgamated with Lily's as he pushed her out of his way. After all, he only wanted the child dead. She wouldn't move. She begged him, pled for her son's life and the only thing he felt was annoyance. Why was she still there? Wasn't she honored that he would allow her to live? His annoyance soon overtook him and he struck her with the same spell that had forced many witches and wizards to fall at his feet dead. Lily/Hermione was dead.

His body merged once again with the memory as he burned with panic. He no longer could distinguish events from reality and memory. Tom could only ride the hallucination where he replaced the Potter family with his own. He killed her. He used his wand and pointed it at Hermione and killed her. All so that he could kill that child, their child. The child that they could have had together.

The dam broke and he was swept through. He deserved to die, should die. Life was for men who didn't kill the very best parts of themselves. He would do anything if she would only be alive. He needed her. Yelling until he blacked out, he didn't realize that he was still trapped in his memory. The pain of his remaining soul being ripped from his body before merging with the pain of his remorse.

What was there to live for if she was dead?

HGHGHGHGHG

Hermione rushed into the Room of Requirement, the pain was a fading echo in the back of her mind as she fluttered her hands over his unconscious and prone from on the floor.

"Harry what happened?"

"I tried to get him to see reason, to stop for the day but he insisted and to be honest I thought he deserved this. He is finally understanding what it means to have murdered people, to have created Horcruxes. It would serve him right if he died."

"Harry Potter!" She yelled, utterly infuriated.

He refused to look at her, stubbornly staring at the floor.

"He chose to continue. I did not force him."

"How dare you! Aren't you supposed to be the bigger man here?"

"Potter always has a blind spot when it comes to his adversaries." Snape drawled, muttering healing spells over his former master. It nearly killed him to do it, but one look at Hermione's distraught face and he capitulated. Like he said, he would do anything for her, even this.

Tom groaned as Hermione flipped him over, caressing his cheek with a worried frown.

"Hello, Love." He grunted.

"I thought you were dead." She whispered.

"I couldn't tolerate a world, mortal or otherwise, where you were not with me."

"Tom." She whispered sweetly.