I wanted to get this little chapter out so I wouldn't keep people waiting. The final installment will come next, but it will be quite long and will be more like a one-shot.

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It was morning by the time the Fiendfyre has finished its consumption of Riddle Manor and finally flickered out. Sometime in the early hours, Dumbledore and a number of Aurors had arrived to control the flames. A few headed into the local village to clear the memories of the burning mansion of the Muggles who settled there. Hermione sat on the rocky wall that surrounded the family chapel, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring vacantly at the crumbling structure. Dumbledore and Lupin were speaking quietly to one another a few metres away. She could vaguely hear their conversation, but the memories replaying in her mind overpowered their soft voices. How narrowly she had avoided death. She drew in a deep breath and grunted. Her chest ached from the acrid fumes that had been stagnating in the air for hours. Bruises from Tom's fingers were beginning to bloom on her neck. How lucky she had been.

Hermione.

The boy and his horcruxes had caused so much destruction, she thought, there was nothing left of this family, nothing left of their home. Merope was far too forgiving to her son. That, or she had been forcing herself into blindness for the sake of keeping him alive. Hermione suspected it was the latter - the older woman loved Tom, she wouldn't have wanted to lose him. The crackling of wood had quietened to a gentle creak. It was a cold morning, a thick fog had settled over the valley and blocked much of the scene from her vision. Her head felt too full. Hermione stood slowly, pulling the blanket closer around her chest.

Miss Granger.

A high pitched noise began to ring in her ears. She stumbled forward, feet sinking into the dewed-soaked grass. It felt as if something else was urging her tired body forward. There was a thick layer of ash over the ground, turning the once-beautiful lawn into a foul bog of thick, black mud. The woman raised her head and looked out over the ruins as she stepped over what had once been the front door. Using memory, she retraced her steps and found the pile of rubble that had once been the ballroom. Pieces of shimmering crystal still shone brightly from underneath the ash, the remains of the grand chandelier. She approached a large pile of the sparkling glass, eyeing it carefully.

Hello.

A soft voice called to her through the ringing. Hermione dropped to her knees next to the glass, ignoring the sharp pain as the shards dug into her skin. She blinked and shook her head vigorously, trying to get rid of the haze that was fogged her mind.

"What am I doing?"

Do you still want to know how to violate Gamp's Law?

Hermione looked into the crystal and saw dozens of her own, wide eyes reflected back. "I-"

You're powerful for a Mudblood.

The eyes that looked back were not hers. She reached forward and pushed her hand into the shards. The high-pitched noise in her ears had grown unbearably loud. Her eyes were transfixed on the way her blood spurted out of the small punctures in her skin.

I could use you, Hermione.

Her fingers hit something smooth amongst the jagged glass. The noise crescendoed. Her nose began to bleed.

Stay by my side.

With great pain, she dragged her hand out of the crystal, fingers wrapped around a small object.

We could be unstoppable.

She opened her hand and looked down. In the centre of her palm, covered in ash and clotted blood, was Merope's wedding ring. The noise quieted to silence.

"Hermione," the voice called.

She turned her head. Tom stared back, or rather what was left of him. The upper half of the left side of his face was covered in a thick burgundy crust, parts of which still seem to be smoking. The majority of his clothes were intact, but dirtied by ash and stained with blood on the side where the fire poker had impaled him. His lovely blue eyes were still beautiful, set perfectly in his grime-covered face.

"How are you here?" she whispered. Part of her brain told her to run, but the haze clouding her mind tempted her to stay.

"Take me home," he murmured, reaching a hand up to her cheek. His fingers felt strange - not quite solid, but definitely present. The sensation was like cool water sliding over her skin. It felt pleasant, calming. "Don't tell them you can see me."

"Who?" she asked, weakly.

He smiled slowly. "All of them."

Hermione nodded, transfixed by the smoke that seemed to endlessly pour from his forehead.

"Hermione?" a clear voice called. The woman jolted upright and tightened her fist around the ring. She drew the blanket around her, balling the fabric around her fists so it completely covered her torso and shielded her bloody hand. Lupin stood a few feet away and was watching her with a look of concern.

"You okay?" he asked, in a worried tone.

Tom raised his finger to his lips and winked at her. Hermione turned to face Lupin and gave him an exhausted smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, walking back toward him. Tom fell in silent step beside her. "I just want to get away from here now. I really need to sleep."

Hermione walked past Lupin, who turned to face her as she retreated toward the chapel. "Hermione?"

She turned back to look at him. He frowned.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

Her fingers tightened around the ring that sat cold in her palm. She opened her mouth to tell her friend the truth, but Tom's alluring presence by her side overwhelmed her thoughts. With outward calm, but inner turmoil, she nodded.

"Everything's fine."