September 2nd, 2004
It was 11:37 AM, and Hermione had already downed her third cup of coffee in an attempt dull a skull-splitting headache.
With a wave of her wand, Hermione conjured Firestone's schedule. Blessedly, the witch seemed to be booked in meetings all day. Firestone's keen eye would spot Hermione's bloodshot eyes and bushier-than-usual ponytail in a second.
Hermione groaned audibly as bits and pieces from the night before flooded back.
Like a blasted idiot, she had cried in front of Lord Voldemort of all people. It was humiliating. And what was worse, she may have unknowingly divulged some important information about her work at the Ministry.
And the baby shower. Dear gods, what a mess. Hermione knew she had spoiled everything by reacting so emotionally to Celine's manipulation.
She needed to find a way to prove to Ginny that Celine had bad intentions.
The witch considered a Pensieve, but knew she couldn't risk being caught using Ministry property for personal use.
Hermione laid her head on the desk. The bond wound tightly in her empty stomach, aggravating her nausea. This would be a long day.
Tom awoke the next morning to dim morning light streaming in through the mouth of the sea cave. For the first time since he had returned to the physical plane, he felt hungry. Tom considered it a good sign.
Tom apparated to town, landing in the surrounding woods where no Muggles would notice. After casting a disillusionment charm, Tom walked in through the back door of a local bakery, grabbing a handful of croissants while the shopgirl had her back turned.
As he ate the croissants, Tom walked along the sea shore near the town, which was deserted on such a dreary autumn day.
He resisted the urge to moan at the pleasure of biting into the flaky, buttery pastry. It felt odd to have food inside him again, and Tom wasn't sure how his half-corporeal body would react.
His mind wandered to the curly-haired witch with whom he had spent the previous night. Even in her drunken state, Hermione continued to surprise him with her cleverness. Obviously, Tom's cognitive abilities far surpassed hers. But the witch had a voracious curiosity and a quick wit that was refreshing.
So, Tom found it strange that Hermione hadn't ever interrogated him on where he was staying, how he was getting around, or on what he was subsisting. But that was good thing. Tom didn't want her asking too many questions, after all.
Tom brushed crumbs off his T-shirt, and smugly reminisced on Hermione's girlish blushing. Without much effort, he had helped her achieve what seemed to be a significant breakthrough in her research. Tom was willing to bet there were a lot of things he could help Hermione with.
The wizard skipped a rock across the risen tide. He couldn't help but smirk at the thought of taming that ferocious mind.
No matter the supposed progressiveness of the new millennium, it was clear that Hermione's blood limited her both professionally and socially. Tom had never once heard Hermione breathe a word about a friend of hers. She was available for lengthy brewing sessions every night, even on a Saturday.
The witch was obviously lonely, and that suited his purposes perfectly.
Hermione was an untapped resource. And Tom was nothing if not resourceful.
After a slow, dreary day at the office, Hermione stopped by the Muggle supermarket. She was out of eggs, tea, and pasta. Though the wizarding market was closer, Hermione took comfort in the neatly arranged aisles stocked with familiar products.
Hermione shopped mindlessly, feeling slightly numb after the day of work. She found herself almost looking forward to Tom's visit, but explained it away as nerves and apprehension.
On her lunch break, Hermione had formulated a plan. She had hidden away in a quiet corner of the Ministry library and pored over the soul bond chapter in Magia.
Hermione felt confident that she was mentally prepared to help Tom- Voldemort- brew the restorative potion. Of course, she would continue to keep an eye out for any volatile combinations. Hermione didn't need any alchemical explosions in her flat- her crabby old landlord reported her to the Ministry at the slightest bump in the night.
According to the old book, when Tom's corporeal form was restored, he would be massively weakened. With no wand, the wizard would be utterly helpless. That was when Hermione would kill him.
Hermione wasn't sure what kind of bond linked her and Tom. Magia claimed these bonds were created undeveloped, and strengthened over time, like a newborn baby. The stronger the bond became, the more lethal severing it would be.
Maybe Hermione would survive. Maybe her soul would be thrown into limbo, imprisoned behind the veil like Tom's had been for so many years. She was ready to take that chance.
After ringing up her groceries, Hermione took a shortcut home through the nicer part of the Magical neighborhood. She admired the impeccably groomed foliage and clean streets, in contrast to her more dingy neck of the woods.
In her Hogwarts days, Hermione had heard of the residential part of Wizarding London, but was never able to visit. She had been so excited to move in with Ron after the War.
Hermione had pictured a friendly community of young wizards who would pop over for butterbeer and a game of Exploding Snap.
In reality, it was rather lonely. Most young professionals kept to themselves in a pristine luxury condominium called the Echelon. Lower-income wizards and witches like she and Ron were tacitly relegated to the older, poorly maintained area of town. On Ron's trainee Auror salary, and her glorified receptionist role, they had no other option but thin walls and shoddy plumbing.
Hermione was hauling her paper bag of groceries- she still forgot she was a witch sometimes- when she spotted a familiar face across the street.
"Neville!" Hermione cried, freeing an arm to wave at the tall wizard.
Neville looked up, startled. A strange expression flickered across his face before he crossed the street to greet her.
"Hermione. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Neville said, giving her an awkward side hug.
"It's so great to see you, Neville," Hermione gushed. "What's new with you?"
"Well, not too much. I've just finished up my Herbology apprenticeship," Neville said. "Now I'm going to be working alongside a mediwizardry lab."
"That's absolutely wonderful, Neville! I've always said the Wizarding world was behind on medicine."
Neville gave a tight smile.
Hermione had the strange feeling that he wanted to leave.
"Well, I've got to get home. Hannah's waiting for me."
"Oh, right! You've just moved in together. How is she?"
"She's well, thanks. I've really got to go."
"Well, it was good seeing you!" Hermione said, before Neville sped off in the opposite direction.
Hermione gazed at his retreating back, not noticing the glimmer of a disillusionment charm as Tom slipped around the corner.
Tiny green particles flew through the air as Hermione forcefully hacked a bunch of knotgrass, narrowly missing her unmanicured fingertips. When Tom asked her to stir the brew, she waved her wand so violently that drops of potion sloshed out of the cauldron and burned a hole in her faded carpet.
Hermione huffed in frustration.
"Look what you've done now!" She spat, mending the carpet with a stabbing motion.
"That was hardly my fault. You are using your wand recklessly."
Hermione directed an acid gaze at him.
"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be making this ghastly potion in the first place!"
Tom looked back at her with expressionless black eyes, like dark pools that invited her to slip in and drown. She quickly averted her gaze.
"Hermione."
"What?" She said, using the knife to gather a lump of minced knotgrass on her cutting board.
"Breathe."
Hermione set the knife down and sucked in a lungful of cool air. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop tears from spilling out. Hermione wouldn't let him see her cry, not again.
Tom noticed the wave of emotion ripple across Hermione's delicate features.
Under the cloak of the disillusionment charm, Tom had observed as that idiot Neville had snubbed her. The memory made him curl his lip in distaste.
Hermione was easily twice as intelligent as that wizard. Tom had a keen sense for intellectual capacity, and he could tell this Neville was a dolt.
Pureblood, no doubt. He wondered if that was why he wouldn't speak to Hermione.
The witch opened her eyes and began sprinkling the knotgrass into the cauldron.
"What's the next step?" she asked, as if nothing had happened.
Tom raised his eyebrows and explained the next round of ingredients.
A few minutes later, he broke the silence.
"I wanted to ask your opinion on something, Hermione."
Hermione's eyes flickered over to him, ignoring the electric shock that went through her when Tom said her name.
"On what?"
"I noticed a volume on Elrodor in your bookcase. I've been thinking about his Theory of Transition," he said.
Hermione knit her eyebrows together in visible surprise.
"Er, alright. What about it?"
"I was thinking about its applications in potionmaking. Say, when a reactive ingredient is added, and transforms into a product… could there be a sort of quasi-equilibrium in between those states?"
Tom was testing her. If she was smart, she would recognize the flaws in his premise.
"I suppose that could be true."
Tom was disappointed. Hermione wasn't quite as analytical as he had suspected. Perhaps her intelligence was due to simple rote memorization, rather than any sort of creative reasoning of her own.
"Well, actually, there are considerable limitations to that theory."
"Why do you say that?" Tom asked innocently.
"Boltzmann's distribution of magical energy would imply they could reach a sort of equilibrium, but some ingredients have no transitional stage- Dragon's blood, for example."
Tom allowed the corners of his lips to rise slightly.
"That's precisely the conclusion I came to. Dragon's blood is, after all, the most unpredictable substance in potionmaking," Tom said proudly.
He turned his gaze towards her pointedly.
"Most wizards would never have reached that conclusion. Even those well-versed in athrimantic potionmaking."
Hermione tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. She stared down at her cutting board, letting her curls obscure her face so Tom wouldn't notice the faint blush that spread across her cheeks.
"Are you aware of your intelligence, Hermione?" Tom said.
The witch finally looked up at him, then, her wide honey-colored eyes swimming.
Hermione realized that, somehow, this time spent with Tom was one of the few pockets of joy she had left. It scared her.
But as she met his gaze, any skepticism left Hermione's mind. She marveled at Tom's finely-sculpted cheekbone, the perfectly tousled inky waves that fell across his forehead.
Tom seemed to be equally spellbound by her. He leaned in closer, reaching out a hand to tuck an errant curl behind Hermione's ear.
Hermione felt like she was underwater. Her vision began to fade out, overtaken by an overpowering wave of magic. She fortified her mental walls, but it wasn't Legilimency… it was something else.
Slowly, Hermione realized the illusion that faded in was one of herself. It was like a mirror image, only slightly different. Her hair fell in luscious curls around her face, rather than a frizzy halo. Her eyes looked doe-like. She darted her tongue out to wet pink, pillowy lips.
Hermione felt a strange, alien urge to bite them.
The sound of the Floo broke Hermione out of the reverie. She gasped as the vision was violently ripped away.
"Hermione, are you there?"
"Harry!" She said. The witch launched out of her seat, almost knocking the work bench over as she scurried to the fireplace.
"Hermione. Ginny's gone into labor. Get to the maternity ward at St. Mungo's as soon as you can," said Harry.