A/N: First and foremost, I want to thank you, my readers. This story would not be possible without you. Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and/or reviewed!

I also want to thank ladyofsilverdawn for her incredible work on this story. She has spent the last year at my side making this fic what it was. Hilariously, when I recruited her, I told her this would be a 50k fic. We managed to double that, haha.

Finally, I want to thank brownlark42 as she was the behind the scenes alpha/idea bouncer/woman who kept me sane throughout this whole ride.

I've been at this a year, and I can't believe it's finally over.

Also - Happy Birthday Hermione!

If you liked this chapter, (or hated it), tell me about it in a review!

I make an aesthetic for every chapter, see it over on my Tumblr, crochetawayhpff.

Chapter 26: New Beginnings

Voldemort was used to having the best of everything. He'd not grown up with the best, but over the last decade, he'd come to expect it. Needing to live in the Muggle world didn't change anything. He still ate at the most proclaimed restaurants and stayed in the most luxurious of accommodations. But he was the Heir of Slytherin, so ambition was in his blood. He had goals, and to achieve those goals he would require the best Muggle education and connections. The problem? He couldn't get into Cambridge, the top-ranking university in Britain. Oh, he could fake his test scores: he did. He could use Imperios on the entrance examiners: he did that too. But he'd still been denied.

The reason? A Squib by the name of Josiah Boot was the Director of Admissions at Cambridge. Somehow he'd recognised Voldemort for who he was and, hiding behind the power of the university, had blacklisted him. Voldemort wanted to curse the man but decided the little magic he had left wasn't worth wasting on a fucking Squib.

That one Squib was complicating an essential part of Voldemort's plan. Voldemort relocated to the Muggle world a little over a year ago and, ever since, had carefully orchestrated his comfortable Muggle identity. But to advance his pursuits, it was vital he had a reputable presence in the science community.

Peering at his laptop screen with frustration, Voldemort decided that maybe it was time to leave British soil for a while. There were some excellent universities in the States, but the States were too far away. Voldemort wanted to stay near Britain and therefore would have to settle for ETH Zurich.

In less than an hour, Voldemort's travel arrangements were set. He wasn't about to trust his fate to an aeroplane. He would take a train from London to Paris, and from there, he would ride another train to Zurich.

Voldemort packed light, everything fitting into a small suitcase. All he really needed was his laptop, but he did pack a few essentials. He would purchase a new wardrobe after he arrived.

The March wind was blustery as Voldemort stepped outside. Pulling his suitcase behind him, he quickly found the taxi he'd called for earlier.

The drive to the Eurostar station took longer than Voldemort had expected, but he still had a spring in his step. It had been several years since he'd had the time to travel beyond the British Isles, and he was very much looking forward to it.

Settling into his train seat, Voldemort planned to sleep during the two-hour ride to Paris. It would be another four hours to get to Zurich, and he'd have more uninterrupted time to work, then.

About halfway through the journey, Voldemort began feeling ill. Afraid he might sick up on himself, he rushed to the nearest toilet. Just after he locked the door of the cramped compartment, the sensation of something yanking him forwards hit him.

The next thing Voldemort knew, he was landing hard on his arse in the middle of a torrential downpour.

"Who dares?" Voldemort growled and stood quickly, looking around. It appeared he was now on the white cliffs of Dover. How had he arrived to be here? It hadn't quite felt like Apparition, more like a Portkey. As wind buffeted his body, he turned around, finding no one and nothing.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, ducking his head to keep the rain off his face. He contemplated whether or not he ought to cast an Impervius Charm when he discovered a rolled scroll in his pocket that hadn't been there before. He pulled it out and read:

Dear Mr Tom Marvolo Riddle:

The Assembly Against the Spread of Dark Magic (AASDM) on behalf of The International Confederation of Wizards has placed a quarantine around the United Kingdom and Ireland. This quarantine bans magical beings and creatures from travelling beyond the borders of the British Isles and will remain in place for as long as the AASDM deems fit.

This is your first and last warning. Those found in violation a second time will be killed on the spot.

Best Regards,

The Assembly Against the Spread of Dark Magic

Voldemort's jaw dropped. He had thought his Blood Curse was a nasty bit of magic, but this? The magic required for such a quarantine was incredibly sophisticated. He was instantly furious that he hadn't sensed it. The International Confederation of Wizards included all countries with routes out of Britain. He was trapped just as his followers were.

Livid, he screamed into the sky.

In May, Voldemort finally admitted to himself that maybe the reason magic had receded so much from Britain was due to the Blood Curse. Magic was inherent in the land. It was possible that the Blood Curse had hemmed the flow of magic. With little or no magic able to pass, it would appear as though magic was weakening.

It was as good of an explanation as any. Voldemort hated to think that the disappearance of magic was something he had caused, but seeing as how neither Severus nor Hermione had figured out what was truly going on, it was all he had to go on.

The Blood Curse had been quite the invention, or so he'd always thought. He'd Apparated to specific locations all over Britain, laying his very own blood into the soil to craft the complex spell. Even though he was now contemplating taking down the Blood Curse, he still thought that it was an exceptional achievement. He only hoped once it was gone, magic would restore itself quickly.

For three weeks, he prepared for the removal of the Blood Curse. He'd meticulously reviewed his notes and had then rested the last week leading up to today, making it a point to use no magic whatsoever.

It took him most of the day to travel to the small beach near Trearddur Bay where he'd first placed the Blood Curse. Standing on the shore, he cast a low-level detection charm and was pleased when a solid wall of red rose before him. The curse was still active and wholly intact. It was really a shame that it had to come down.

Voldemort took a deep breath and sank to his knees. He raised his wand before he began muttering a Latin chant. With a slash of his wand, he opened his left wrist, allowing his blood to seep into the ground.

The magic built up around him, producing a strong wind. Sand and his clothes swirled around him chaotically, but he kept his hand steady and his voice sure as he continued the chant.

With one final shout and a jab of his wand, the Blood Curse blew apart.

A huge wave of Dark magic rolled over the land and flattened Voldemort onto his back. He gasped in a few breaths before he passed out entirely.

When Voldemort woke up, he found himself in a Muggle hospital. He wasted no time checking himself out.

The first thing he did when he was alone was to cast the Lumos charm.

Nothing happened.

"No," he muttered to himself and tried casting it again. Still nothing. He did it again and again and again. Each time the result was the same.

Voldemort fell to knees. "NOOOO!" The destruction of the Blood Curse had removed his magic entirely. For the first time in his nearly ninety years of existence, Voldemort felt like crying. The idea that magic was dying had been abstract as long as he still had magic. But now that he didn't, he felt worse than dead.

Nearly nine months after the loss of his magic, Voldemort's plans were finally coming to fruition. Unable to go the education route, he went the business route. Behind the front of a false corporation, he signed the lease for his new laboratory in Taunton, Somerset, just this morning.

His first employees would start as soon as next week once all the required equipment was delivered. Yes, it was all coming together rather nicely.

For the first time since he'd disappeared from wizarding Britain, he felt it was finally time to begin tracking down his followers and favourites.

Muggles were still inferior in Voldemort's eyes, but now he knew they weren't so different from wizards after all. Soon after he learnt magic was weakening, he'd researched Muggle science to see if they had developed a means to steal it. He found nothing to indicate they could; instead, he discovered the field of genetics and had become very, very interested in it.

A reason for Squibs and Muggle-borns had never been fully explained in the wizarding world. But genes? After a few months of intense study, a gene that caused magic made so much sense to Voldemort. He'd cursed the fact that he hadn't realised it sooner. In hindsight, it was unfortunate he'd killed most of the Malfoys. He tried not to think of such things; such thoughts made him...uncomfortable.

"All set, Dr Valdemar."

Voldemort turned to the estate agent and smiled politely. "Thank you, Miss Crandon. You've been most helpful."

Crandon blushed. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to get coffee?"

Voldemort would have rolled his eyes at her persistence, but she'd been a superb agent. She'd found him a location perfectly set up for his needs, and he might require her again in the future. After kindly explaining he had equipment arriving later, he thanked her once more and ushered her out.

Turning around, he sighed in relief and then gazed into the space admiringly. His laboratory would serve two main functions. The primary focus would be genetic research, specifically looking for the magic gene. Voldemort planned to lead that team himself, but he would need help.

The lead scientist that would aid him was Klaus Wagner, a German national he'd met this year while attending a fundraiser at Imperial College London. Klaus had started his career almost two decades ago as a family doctor and, after a recent interest in genetics, had gone back to school to earn that degree. Klaus had approached Voldemort, unconsciously recognising Voldemort's superiority. Voldemort always attracted a certain calibre of gentleman.

"A fine space, Tom," Klaus said as he walked through the area.

"It is," Voldemort agreed with a soft grin; an expression he wouldn't have thought he'd be making two years ago. The disappearance of his magic seemed to have made things clearer in Voldemort's mind; it was as if a veil had been lifted. He felt better now than he had at any point in his life.

It was a phenomenon he'd spent a lot of time thinking about but hadn't found a concrete cause. It was possible a long-acting curse had been placed on him, and with magic gone, so went the curse. But something about that didn't quite feel right. When would it first have been placed and by whom? Or was it something inherent in the magic? Did all British wizards feel a mental clarity now that magic was gone? Voldemort didn't know, and he couldn't afford any more time on it at the moment. He actually had to leave Klaus in charge of accepting deliveries since he had other things to see to.

Voldemort clapped Klaus on the shoulder. "I'm off, Klaus. Ring my mobile if you need anything."

Just as the first delivery arrived, Voldemort strode out the door.

A few hours later, Voldemort was sitting across from Dr Richard Fitzgerald, a medical doctor that specialised in fertility.

Dr Fitzgerald took a sip of his vermouth. "And what exactly is the purpose of your clinic, Dr Valdemar?"

"It's a dual-purpose clinic. One half of the practice will be for research, specifically genetic research, which will be funded by the other half of the practice: infertility treatment. That's what I'd like you to head up."

"You plan to eventually treat prenatal genetic disorders, don't you?" Dr Fitzgerald asked.

"Yes, that is my plan. Obviously, the technology, nor the science is there yet. But in ten or fifteen years, it will be. My hope is to actually cure the mutations, not screen between different embryos."

What Voldemort said wasn't a lie, but he wasn't as altruistic as Dr Fitzgerald assumed. Voldemort would likely aid others in the way he'd stated, but his real goal was to repopulate Britain with wizarding children. Hopefully, in ten years time, the wild magic that had left Britain would begin to return and be able to support a magical population. To help those efforts, he had to find the gene that induced magic in humans.

"That is a very noble goal," Dr Fitzgerald conceded. "Send me the details, and I'll think it over."

"Of course." Voldemort smiled. "You won't regret coming to work for me, I assure you."

After shaking Dr Fitzgerald's hand, Voldemort made his way out of the restaurant. Since he was in London, he had one more stop to make before he could head back to Taunton.

Voldemort stepped off the escalator and onto the sixth floor of Harrods. The Salon de Parfum was one of the most exclusive places to buy perfume in the world, although Voldemort was not in the market for perfume today, rather he was checking in on an old acquaintance.

While shopping a few weeks ago, Voldemort had spotted Katrina Selwyn. Imagine his surprise when he realised she'd been under his nose this entire time. To say he was not pleased would have been an understatement, but he had to admire her drive and cleverness to survive. Many of his Death Eaters probably couldn't have stomached getting their literal hands dirty the way Selwyn had when she'd skewered Bulstrode, nor would they have acculturated as well as she apparently had.

Voldemort was here for a few reasons. One reason was he felt lonely. He'd surrounded himself with brilliant Muggles who respected him, but none of them could understand what he'd lost and what he was trying to bring back—but Selwyn would. It was the same reason he planned to track down Lucius Malfoy.

In the very last boutique, he found Selwyn alone arranging shelves. Voldemort's lips curved up into a slight smile as he quietly approached her.

Selwyn wore a red, form-fitting dress that hugged each one of her curves. The tall heels on her feet only added to the grace of her legs, and her lips matched the dress impeccably. If there was one thing Voldemort appreciated about Muggle Britain, it was women's clothing.

"Ms Selwyn, you are looking lovely," Voldemort said simply.

Selwyn's reaction was fascinating. She gasped and dropped the perfume bottle she'd been holding. Luckily, the boutique was carpeted, and the bottle did not break. Her entire body tense, slowly, ever so slowly, Selwyn looked up. Then all the blood drained from her face.

Selwyn gaped at him for a moment before dropping her eyes and dipping into a low curtsey. "M-My lord…"

Voldemort's smile turned wicked. She was terrified. Satisfaction rushed through his veins...but it wasn't the same; it wasn't as heady and enjoyable as he remembered.

"Kneazle got your tongue?" Voldemort said softly.

"It is an unexpected surprise to see you, my lord," Selwyn finally answered.

She still refused to meet his eyes; she didn't move a muscle. In fact, if Voldemort hadn't known better, he would have assumed she was under the influence of a Body-Bind Curse

"I wouldn't expect so. I've been busy...setting up a Muggle life for myself."

Selwyn's head whipped up, and she stared him right in the eyes. She indeed was a beautiful woman.

"What..." Selwyn murmured.

Voldemort walked closer to her. "Oh, my dear, I'm afraid you've been out of the loop. Magic has abandoned Britain; it's all gone." He came to a stop directly in front of her.

"I-I didn't know."

"I'm aware. You deserted the wizarding world to live as a Muggle. Well, you always were at the forefront of trends. We're all Muggles now. But hopefully, not for long," Voldemort grinned at her, "with your help, of course."

"My lord?"

"How do you like your job, Ms Selwyn?"

"My job? I love it. I've been working at Harrods for almost three years. I'm a manager now."

"You will need to sort your priorities. Can't work for both Harrods and me, can you?"

"You, my lord? I wasn't aware I was being hired." Selwyn coquettishly smiled, standing tall.

"Well, you are, and you may address me as Dr Valdemar. You will need to give notice to your employer immediately." Voldemort handed her large envelope. "Inside are all the details, including your starting salary, which will be three times what you're making now. Unfortunately, you will have to move out of London, but I'm sure you'll make loads of new friends in Taunton."

Selwyn respectfully gave a nod of her head. "Thank you...Dr Valdemar. I'll give my notice tonight."

Selwyn would do nicely. She was still unsettled by him, but she didn't have the mentality of a terror-stricken sheep. She was intelligent and a survivor. Selwyn would follow the winds of change, and he was that change. Voldemort lifted her hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. "Until we meet again." He then left her to her thoughts.

He grinned. That had gone better than he'd imagined.

It was a few weeks after Christmas, and Voldemort had been in Taunton almost a month. Settling his life and business in this particular city had been very deliberate.

Voldemort knew the Rowles lived nearby. Despite the years it had been since he'd seen Hermione Rowle, she was someone he thought of often. In fact, she was probably the person he thought about the most. There was something about her that he just couldn't get out of his mind. Hermione was brilliant, of course. There was no denying that. And even though he knew she'd never been truly loyal to him, Voldemort couldn't get rid of the soft spot that he had grown for her, no matter how hard he tried. Considering Taunton was a larger-sized town, he knew the likelihood of bumping into Hermione was slim.

It was with those thoughts running through his mind that he entered Tesco. Voldemort grabbed a shopping basket and proceeded to head straight for the tea aisle. He knew it was silly, but after he had placed a box of Yorkshire Tea into his basket, he walked through the store looking for Hermione. As usual, she was nowhere to be found.

Walking to the checkout line, Voldemort nearly ran into the person in front of him. There, pushing her trolley towards the exit, was Hermione.

Voldemort's heart beat faster. He dropped his basket and shoved his way past other patrons, ignoring their angry protests.

By the time Voldemort made it out of the store, Hermione was already loading groceries into her car. He continued walking towards her, desperate to break into a run, but refrained, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Voldemort didn't want to scare her away.

A woman with a child approached Hermione and asked if she was done with her trolley. Hermione smiled at them and nodded.

Too soon Hermione was in her car and driving away.

Voldemort had only been able to get a glimpse of Hermione, but he did notice one obvious thing: she was pregnant—again.

As Voldemort made his way back inside the store, rage boiled through his veins. Could all Rowle do was rut against her like a mindless animal? It seemed every time Voldemort saw Hermione, she was near bursting. The children were just going to be Squibs anyway. It was disgusting.

His foul mood hung around for days after seeing her.

Voldemort had been quite busy working at the fertility clinic and the research lab the past two months. He'd named the company New Beginnings Fertility Clinic. It was fitting, if a little cliche, but was proving an outstanding choice from the number of potential parents coming through the doors.

Hiring Katrina to run the office had been a laudable decision on his part. She was respected by both scientists and doctors, and the patients adored her. Voldemort loved having someone who truly understood just who he was. He also found himself admiring her tenacity.

His efforts to track down Lucius Malfoy had proven fruitless. Voldemort wondered if that meant the man was dead, but he couldn't find any evidence of that either.

Unlike with Malfoy, it had been easy to find where Hermione lived and worked. Her address was a matter of public record, and there were only so many places nearby that Hermione would find worthy enough to work at. When Voldemort had driven by Rowle Rock, he had taken note of the security system. It would be nearly impossible to trespass onto the property unseen. No, he wanted to catch her off guard. To perhaps, make her gasp when she realised who he was. Maybe she'd bite her bottom lip, a delightful nervous habit of hers.

Voldemort felt an uncomfortable tightening in his trousers at the direction of his thoughts and scowled. He would have to ask Katrina to stop by his office before he left, as she had almost every evening soon after she first started.

A few hours later, Voldemort left New Beginnings and headed across town. Hermione worked at a posh laboratory that catered to a niche market. He found the building easily and entered the car park, searching for her car.

Voldemort found her people carrier with little trouble and parked in a spot three spaces over.

It wasn't long before people began coming out the door in dribs and drabs. Then finally, he spotted her.

Hermione was animatedly talking with a male coworker, oblivious to her surroundings.

Voldemort exited his car and waited next to hers, leaning on the driver's side door.

The coworker said goodbye, and Hermione looked down at the mobile in her hand. She was much more pregnant than the last time he'd seen her. He scowled at that. He didn't like the feelings that a pregnant Hermione brought up in him.

Hermione hit a button on her key fob, and the car's lights blinked, but still she didn't glance up from the device in her hand.

It wasn't until she'd almost ran into him when she finally looked up. Her reaction was everything he could have hoped for: She gasped and took an involuntary step back. Her eyes widened, and her breath quickened. Then she flicked her pink tongue out to lick her lips before drawing her bottom lip between her small white teeth. Colour bloomed on her cheeks and down her graceful neck. Katrina's work earlier had been for nought as he found himself hard again.

Voldemort would have Hermione, and with her at his side, it would only be a matter of time before magic returned.

He gave her a breathtaking smile. "Hello, Hermione."

~Fin~

A/N: Right... I should address the elephant in the room. I am planning a sequel. but not until 2019 or 2020.