Good evening readers! So I haven't quite finished replying to reviews via PM. I'm trying. L'Archange & Lions Wings, thank you for the marvelously detailed reviews! I loved your comments! For the folks who are posting large anonymous reviews, please set up an account so I can PM with detailed replies if you want that. I don't want to artificially bump the word count with endless author notes, nor subject all readers to them. If you don't particularly want/need a response, then by all means continue to post them anonymously or as guests. Here's the next installment. Update: probably looking at 200k words or thereabouts, so plenty to go! Thanks so much, you are all wonderful!

Hermione ran. She dodged dueling opponents, bursting clear from the castle into the cloudy day and heading for the Forbidden Forest, uncaring of the Dementors swooping about overhead and the shouts of Death Eaters pursuing her. The branches slapping against her were inconvenient, but the roots were the real problem, causing her to almost stumble several times as she dodged curses and zigzagged through the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione threw curses and hexes with precision whenever she could, keeping her shields as strong as possible and hoping to get past the anti-apparition wards. The noise around Hogwarts was diminishing, but there were at least four Death Eaters in pursuit, maybe more. She didn't have time to think about why she was running away, she only knew she had to escape. There was no possibility that it would end well for her otherwise.

"Ossio dispersimus!" Hermione's curse hit a Death Eater's hand and he dropped his wand, and she wordlessly conjured Spiritus caput, a distraction but one that bought her more seconds. She had seen a flash of white, a mask nearby, and had to slow them down before they caught her.

"Stupefy!" The spell narrowly missed her left shoulder as she twisted past a beech, her ankle twisting painfully in the roots. She kept going. I'm still alive, I'm still alive, she thought to herself and zinged off another hex, halting a Death Eater behind her. They were flying now, a bad sign, the smoke causing her to wonder if the shadows were Death Eaters or simply her own nerves as she kept running.

Hermione was hoping to make it to the centaurs' stomping grounds. Magorian owed her a life debt, and her chances with them were better than with the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort. They could engage them, hold them off. Her lungs were bursting, her wand flinging curses with precision as she heard them getting closer, then felt the ghost of a hand nearly grab her.

Finally she reached the darker part of the forest, where the trees were narrower. It was harder to run with her ankle, but she kept on, the Death Eaters falling back due to the close trees while she could slip through them. Hermione knew this part of the wood better than they, the noise of the battle for Hogwarts completely gone now and the silence aiding her and them.

"Miss Granger."

Severus Snape materialized from smoke before her and Hermione felt a cold rivulet of sweat roll down her spine. He shouldn't be here. Hermione was well and truly panicking now. He had been dead, attacked by Nagini! Her wand flashed as she engaged her former professor in a duel for her life.

"You should be dead," she said, her brain trying to make sense of the insensible. "I saw you die!"

"Clearly not," Professor Snape snapped, tossing her curses aside while trying to talk sense to her. Snape was obviously annoyed and it showed in the way he rebuffed her efforts, the curses hitting the ground with hisses and pops. "Stop this madness. You know he won't harm you."

"Enough of this!" Another voice joined with Snape's, and Hermione had a split second to realize she was outnumbered. The white flash from the black walnut wand was bright and on target, the hissed "Petrificus totalus" enough to render Hermione frozen. Severus Snape caught her easily with his wand before she could fall to the ground, keeping her upright as Lucius Malfoy walked into view, his mask puffing away with a flash as he looked at Hermione. The last thing she saw was the red stunner Snape fired at her, then she lapsed into blissful unconsciousness.

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, like the drip of hot water through coffee grounds. She heard rustling and quiet whispers, followed by the sensation of a cold draft of air passing over her arm. The darkness around her was disorienting. She was again suspended upright, her arms out at ninety degrees from her body with her hands bound on either side by invisible tethers. There were torches visible at the edges of her vision, but the shadows were clearly people, all in dark robes. She was close to the floor, her feet touching but not supporting her weight at all. She thought she could see another figure suspended to her right, but she couldn't turn her head, and her peripheral vision was limited in the darkened room. Her robes appeared to be intact, but she was still immobilized, facing a sea of masks, who all bowed or kneeled in unison as someone approached behind her, the whoosh of air the only indication that he drew near. Her breath began coming in shallow pants when that voice began speaking, just behind her right shoulder.

"My loyal servants, what a precious gift you have given to me this evening. And after such a successful battle today…" Lord Voldemort strode forward, the Elder wand held with careless ease. He brought his hand to his chest, saying, "If I had a heart, it would be touched!"

A low roll of laughter echoed through the room, and Hermione both wished and dreaded to see his face. He was still ignoring her for the moment, his attention fixed on the front row, his most loyal Death Eaters. "Lucius, Severus, rise and come!"

Hermione watched her captors rise from their bows and stride forward, while Lord Voldemort finally turned to look at her, cocking his head to the side with a curious expression on his face. He sidled closer to give her his full attention, moving until he was slightly in front of her. He turned her head toward his with his right hand, a gesture that those kneeling would interpret as one of dominance but which possessed far more meaning than any present knew.

"Hello, my dear. I've waited a very long time for this," he said softly, the muted red in his eyes gleaming as he met her fierce brown ones. His hand trailed down her neck and over her breast, then moved lower with surety as he moved behind her and wordlessly released the spell, causing her to collapse slightly onto her feet as he smoothly pulled her against his chest with his hand at her navel. She felt the pulse of magic from his hand, the victorious thrill that raced through him inciting panic in her brain as she realized her worst fear: the bond between them was, in fact, as strong as ever.

"Perfect," he whispered into her ear, the tone of his voice luscious and deadly all at once. Hermione felt nearly sick, the jumbled up pieces of her past and present sliding nonsensically in her brain and then coming up against the jarringly hard reality of Tom's touch, Lord Voldemort's touch. She had to try, had to try something…

"Tom…" her voice was a whisper, a shell of what it should be, but she felt the white hot whip of his magic as it flowed and melded with hers, silencing her more effectively than any spell; larger, darker, more powerful than anything before. He looked up at the startled but quickly disguised expressions of two of his top Death Eaters. When he spoke again, his voice rang out through the hall with satisfaction.

"Severus, Lucius, I offer you my gratitude for returning my wife to my side. I am extremely pleased with both of you for so scrupulously following my orders that she not be harmed."

Hermione could not hold herself together any longer. She fainted in the Dark Lord's arms.

"Drink." The voice was firm and authoritative, a hand holding up her head so she could drink from the cup. She drank several swallows of the cool water before her consciousness kicked in and she shut her lips, her eyes opening suddenly to an intricately embroidered bed canopy.

"It's just water, Hermione. I have not gotten you back after fifty three years to simply kill you," Lord Voldemort said, his tone laced with irritation.

"I'm not drinking anything you give me," she hissed, trying to scoot back once before she found herself held quite firmly in place without so much as a word from her erstwhile husband, silken bonds holding her easily without so much as a wave of his hand.

"I think you'll find you will," Voldemort said slowly, "Or I'll take it out on your friends."

Hermione looked at the creature Tom Riddle had become. She had known it, had been trapped unwillingly with him, and instinctively ran from him when she was sent back to her own time. But this was so wrong—he had been killed at the final battle, she had seen it! Yet here she was. She refused to meet his eyes, looking past his left shoulder instead.

"It's no use," he said, grabbing her face in his hand, his long fingers holding her still as his red eyes bored into hers. "You can't hide anything from me, Hermione."

Hermione was extremely weak from the time travel, and thus her attempt to keep him out of her mind was ruthlessly overridden, aided by the matchless grace of the bond between them. His skill with Legilimency was now unparalleled, having been honed for fifty three years. Voldemort zeroed in on her memories, picking a particular one that would answer a question.

Hermione and Ron raced into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, heading straight for the serpent tap that marked the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Ron's attempts at Parseltongue were crude, but on the third try he got the syllables close enough to cause the chamber to open. They ran as fast as possible toward the skeleton of the basilisk, where Ron wrenched a fang from the mouth and Hermione placed the cup on the ground.

"Are you ready?" Ron asked, and Hermione gripped the fang tightly, then nodded.

A black spectral form of the teenage Tom Riddle rose from the cup as she approached. He spoke, so charmingly, of all the things he could give her. As she raised the fang to strike, his tone changed, his mouth now spewing vile threats, the last of which was:

"I will know of this, Hermione Granger, and I will return."

Hermione brought the fang down decisively, causing the teenage boy to disappear with a shriek as the cup oozed black goo and split in half.

"That's done then," Hermione said with a far greater degree of nonchalance than her racing heart would attest.

Hermione felt Voldemort leave her memories abruptly, although she vaguely noted the lack of pain as he did so.

"It's the bond," he said, his voice a low hiss. "Even then you still kept things from me. Do you realize how bloody aggravating you are?"

Despite the bonds on her wrists and legs, Hermione felt her anger rise at that.

"I didn't ask you to do this! I didn't ask to be bound to you! You chose all of it!"

He smirked, twirling his wand lazily in his fingers as he sat back and watched her, like a cobra mesmerizing its victim. "Yes, I did. You'll imagine my surprise with the comparison of my youthful self's activities, laid out so starkly next to how things played out originally. I confess, I had no idea I would choose that specific path when I sent you back, but given the outcome I've decided to forgive you your impertinence."

"How gracious of you," Hermione said bitterly, and Voldemort fixed her with a cold stare, his eyes smoldering, his wand pointed easily at her.

"Be careful, witch. You may be my wife, but that does not give you the right to sass me."

"It gives me exactly that right!" Hermione retorted. "And you like that, because I don't behave like a toadying sycophant."

Voldemort let the tip of his wand drop, and then he surprised Hermione by letting out a full blown laugh. He smirked and crawled slowly over her prone body on the bed, his slit-like nostrils flaring as he smelled her, then briefly kissed her jaw. Hermione noticed how cool his flesh was, that odd flash and heat even more markedly different whenever his skin brushed over the small amount of her own that was exposed. It was strangely reassuring; a reminder that she knew him far better than this role, this mask he had assumed for himself.

"What outcome exactly has you so pleased?" Hermione dared to ask, that little frisson of remembrance enough to temporarily overcome the fear that the state of him would ordinarily engender.

"Such bravery mixed with forthright honesty…I had forgotten how amusing you are," Voldemort mused as he gazed down at her and ignored her query, supporting himself easily on his forearms. It gave Hermione a chance to study him up close. His skin was much more translucent, but his bone structure was remarkably similar, the same high cheekbones…his lips were a bit fuller, in contrast to the utter absence of his nose.

"What are you doing?" he demanded to know, in that arrogant manner he had possessed even as a teenager.

"I'm looking at you," Hermione replied, being honest even if she was terrified of him. "Your face is similar, except for the nose, of course."

A corner of his mouth twitched, in a manner that could indicate he was amused, or getting annoyed. "Of course, you knew what I would look like, didn't you? A helpful little tidbit I never managed to pry out of you. What does that say about your willing participation in our little bonding rite, I wonder? But none of them know what I looked like before—what do you think, Hermione? And don't try to lie, because I'll know if you do," he murmured darkly, his eyes raking over her face.

"If you let me, I'll show you what I see," Hermione said, faking a calm she didn't quite feel as she gestured with her fingertips, the silk pulling against her wrists before it shredded into thin air at his acquiescence. Voldemort could probably tell that she was nervous—her heart was hammering at an increased rate, but she was determined to begin as she meant to carry on, if she was stuck here until she could find a way to escape him.

"Your brow is more pronounced, here—"Hermione ran her fingertips lightly over where his left eyebrow should be, "And your cheekbones are still high, angular…perhaps a tad more pronounced…" She felt a bit emboldened that he was letting her touch his face, and brought her other hand up, letting both hands trail gently along his jawline, deliberately avoiding his mouth. "And your jaw is the same—strong lines, same broad chin, no cleft…at least you won't cut yourself shaving nowadays, I suppose?"

A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes, but was gone again quickly. "Go ahead, if you dare," he hissed softly, aware that she had purposely skipped his nose.

Her fingertips gently drifted upward, past his nostrils to where his nose should have been. "It's like you're missing all the cartilage…" she said quietly, fingering the top of the ethmoid bone.

"You're already trying to think of a potion, aren't you?" Voldemort scowled, floating off of her and to his feet, his wand flicking into his hand. "Enough show and tell. It's time for you to learn what I expect of you."

Hermione sat up in the bed and kept her attention on him. Her wand was nowhere in sight, but from the size and furnishings of the room, there was no doubt that this was his room. He was studying her in that calculating manner he had, then he lazily waved his wand and the bonds on her ankles disappeared.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing them slightly before she made to swing them off the bed. Voldemort almost paused mid-stride. That was another thing he had forgotten, her damnable manners in spite of any treatment she received from him. He ignored the brief flash of…something that caused.

"Stay there, unless you want Nagini's attention," Voldemort said, and Hermione heard the large serpent slithering forward from beneath the bed. She had to work to control her response, but control it she did, tucking her legs underneath her with the appearance of nonchalance even as her mind sustained another blow, another domino that hadn't fallen during the battle. She was tired and hungry, but clearly Voldemort was not done teasing her yet. She hoped that was all he was doing.

His lips moved and again she heard the sibilant hiss of Parseltongue as Voldemort commanded his familiar. The huge snake raised itself up to look at her once, flicking its tongue idly in her direction before it sank back down, hissing back to Lord Voldemort in a manner that indicated they were carrying on some type of conversation.

"She smells like you. I remember her."

"She is gravid with my young. Protect her until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Master."

The python slithered off into a dark corner. Hermione had no idea if the snake had actually left the room or was just invisible to her eyes, but she made a mental note to stay away from that corner.

"Now, as I was saying: you will obey me, period. If I tell you to stay in this room, you will. If I permit you to have your wand, you will not use it except in self-defense, unless it is me—in which case, I expect you to receive your punishment with dignity. You will treat my Death Eaters with respect, as they will you. If I ask you to perform a task, you will do it with speed and thoroughness. If I choose to instruct you in a spell, you will become proficient in it. Am I understood?"

Hermione snorted, and he cocked his head. "Were you under the mistaken impression that I have not learned from the past fifty years during your absence from my side? Or did you honestly think it was a mistake that you made it back to my time in the first place?"

"You must remember that I don't respond to your orders very well," she said bravely. His eyes gleamed as he almost glided over and grasped her chin firmly in his hand, his long fingernails touching her skin. Hermione could see the thoughts flickering through his countenance, and shivered from the awareness that she could still read him in a way, and that she knew him well enough to do so.

"So young. So defiant. I remember that about you. But I am five decades ahead of you, young witch. You have much to learn still. I will teach you, or I will break you."

"Because you had so much luck breaking me before," she replied. He tightened his hold on her chin.

"Do not make the mistake of assuming I am the boy you knew. If all I wanted was to break you, you would not be here," he said softly. Somehow the quietness of the statement made it more menacing.

"I know full well that you are different," Hermione whispered back. "I do not see the benefit for you. What purpose does it serve to keep me? I can only conclude that you have not assured your victory, and hope that my capture will undermine your opposition."

His eyes gleamed with interest. "Assigning me only one motive? You disappoint me."

"I merely state the obvious motive. I have no doubt that you have several others, which you will play to maximum effect when you deem the time is right."

"You see, you do learn. Imagine what sorts of things I have to show you now," he said, a brief spark of magic dancing between them.

"You have never lacked talent or drive," Hermione admitted, and she knew it made him preen a bit, "but you have always lacked empathy or even the desire to understand other points of view." She silently added, and it ultimately stunts you, but she knew better than to say it to him.

His eyes narrowed at that. "I will refrain from using the Cruciatus on you because of my offspring within your body, but there are many other ways of disciplining a wayward wife. This is your one and only warning on the subject."

He released her suddenly and walked away, taking a sip from a goblet on the table by the fire. Hermione felt the absence of his hand as the contact was broken, and wondered at how he perceived the same sensations. His body was so changed from the multiple Horcruxes, the many transfigurations and potions he must have taken or used to doggedly cling to life and reassert his right to it. Thus it took a few seconds for her to process what he had just said, gasping as it hit her.

"What?"

His mouth twisted cruelly into a semblance of a smile, mocking her. "Did you think that potion was for your comfort? It was quite a powerful fertility potion, just in case the vernal equinox bonding failed in that respect."

"I…" Hermione began, but some innate sense of self-preservation warned her when his eyes flashed dangerously and his grip on his wand changed slightly. Hermione noticed it was his yew wand that he wielded with her, not the Elder wand. This was not a youthful Tom Riddle, but a battle hardened Lord Voldemort. She knew things had changed, but she had no idea how much. She instantly grasped there must be a reason he wanted a child, but now was not the time to ask. She changed the subject instead.

"How much have you changed? I remember the original timeline, not this."

Her throat was suddenly parched again, and she wished she had not pushed away the water, her voice sounding a bit hoarse. He smirked, and she realized he knew she would be thirsty. His head was still cocked to the side, and an amused glint gave his eyes an unnatural fire.

"It is unpleasant not knowing large parts of your life, is it not, Hermione? Of course, I might enlighten you, in much the same way you enlightened me. However, just so you are aware—you and I are the only ones who remember your original timeline."

"The object of the spell and its caster," Hermione whispered. She wouldn't remember any of the new timeline yet, and Voldemort knew it. He had drawn closer in that floating walk of his, and the cold satisfaction of his tone told her exactly what he intended. He would draw it out, tease her with information, and revel in her ignorance of the true state of affairs. And without the ability to contact her friends, she would have no way of knowing whether or not he was telling her the truth. He could read the realizations easily in her eyes, not even needing Legilimency to see her thoughts.

"But time will work to resolve the paradox. Eventually I will receive all of the altered memories," Hermione said quickly, and he flicked his wand once, her clothing changing from her muddy robes into a warm pajama.

"So intelligent, my wife," he complimented her softly, drawing her to him using his magic alone, until she was caught to him at her waist, his hand easily sliding beneath the flannel encompassing her hip. "You have nineteen years of memories to catch up on. How long will it take you?"

He played with her a bit, letting a bit of his magic run along his skin to play with hers, entice it. Hermione's magic was responding to his, and she cursed the bond he had placed between them. Her fingers unconsciously curled up, her thumb rubbing the scar on the inside of her ring finger and palm. He caught her chin again with his hand and lifted her face up to look at him, his eyebrows raised. "I think we both know, Hermione, that you are out of options…and your magic agrees with me."

"I hate you," she whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing hot and her jaw clenching. They both knew it was a lie, however. Her magic was entwining itself with his own, the combination sparking in that way that had spelled disaster and good fortune for each of them. Lord Voldemort let it linger, the seconds of their magic mixing a more potent reminder of the bond they had forged than any scalding words. It made a mockery of Hermione's anger, and they both knew it.

"Of course you do," he said, a hard glint in his eyes. "Now, be a good pet and go to bed. I'll send a house elf with some dinner."

With a flick of his wand he sent her flying across the room, a small shriek escaping her lips. He was through the door before she landed with a soft 'Oomph' on the bed.