SEVEN

Monday, 3 September 1945

Hermione stretched as her body began to wake. The heat of the covers draped over her kept the fog of sleep around far longer than it should have. The plush mattress at her back was a comfort she hadn't felt in quite some time. Not ready to let go of it just yet, she burrowed deeper beneath the covers, squeezing her eyelids to keep them shut. In doing so, she detected the crackling sound of fire in what she assumed was a nearby hearth. It only made her want to stay right where she was for as long as possible.

But she knew better than to think anything could last forever. Especially if it was something she wanted. So before she knew it, her curiosity got the best of her and she opened her eyes.

Her lips parted in awe; her eyes going wide as saucers as she looked up at the canopy attached to her bed. It was the same one she remembered from her dorm room inside of Gryffindor Tower. Thick crimson curtains made of velvet with threads of golden scroll work that lit up with the early morning sun. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared up at the panels; her fingers curling around the matching bedding she was buried in.

She wanted to stay there forever, wrapped up in the happy memories the sight gave her. Memories of a future that would never exist; a past she would never forget. But what they symbolized was far too painful to reflect on anymore. If this was a dream, she needed to wake up. To do so, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping that when she opened them again, she would be back in her flat in Godric's Hollow.

But instead, she found herself standing in a room with nothing but darkness for walls. The floor beneath her feet when she looked down was nothing but inky plumes of smoke. There was a dim source of light surrounding her, but no matter how hard she tried to locate it, she couldn't see anything beyond the smoke. But it was the eerie sense of not being alone that made her skin crawl more than anything. And when she turned around to see what was behind her, she saw why.

A mirror.

The chill that ran down her spine at the sight of it nearly made her lose her footing. She swallowed hard as she looked over every inch of it, realizing that it wasn't just any old mirror.

It was the Mirror of Erised.

She stared at the reflection of herself, wondering how long it would be before whatever she desired showed itself within. She bit at her lower lip to keep it from trembling as she recalled what it had shown her last time. Sure enough, it wasn't long before Riddle appeared behind her, his hand on her left shoulder. She met his gaze briefly in the reflection before it flickered to the right, waiting for Draco.

But he never showed.

"It appears you finally made a choice."

Hermione's gaze snapped up to Riddle's once more, a scowl on her face. "You think I chose you?"

The smallest of smirks appeared on his lips as his hand began to slide from her shoulder. She trembled at the feel of his fingers trailing down her spine. "This mirror shows you what you desire most," he said, moving closer so he was pressed up against her back; his hand curled around her hip. "If it were him, why would it show me?"

"Last time-"

"If I hadn't been there for you to fall in love with, would you struggle against your own feelings for him as much as you have been?"

Hermione went still at the sound of Draco's voice swirling around the void of the room. She shivered again at the sound of her own voice that followed, answering,

"No."

The silence that followed was deafening. With no noise whatsoever, there was nothing to shield the memory as it resurfaced. Hermione could recall that conversation with Draco. It was one they had after leaving Shell Cottage for Grimmauld. After he confronted her about what he'd seen right before she'd blown up the lab in Manchester.

"Did you ever consider the possibility that he was never what you truly desired?" Riddle asked, his breathing warming her ear as he spoke.

"Impossible," she whispered, her vision blurring from unshed tears.

"Is it?" he breathed, his arms snaking around her; one rising between her breasts to hold her chin as he buried his nose into the crook of her neck. "Because from the looks of it, Hermione, I see only us."

The longer she stayed in his embrace, the more his arms felt like a vice. As though he were squeezing the very breath from her lungs.

"You claim to desire him more than me, yet, it was always me you ran back to," he murmured against her skin. "Even when you had escaped me, you returned."

"I didn't do it for you," she whispered, her voice tight.

"Then for whom?"

Her lips parted to answer, but the sound of a baby's cry filled the room instead.

Riddle was speaking again as his arms continued to tighten around her. But the crying only got louder, drowning out everything he said. Hermione closed her eyes tight in the hopes of drowning everything out. She drew a deep breath and concentrated and by the time she let it out, everything had stopped.

She opened her eyes once more, gasping softly in surprise at the sight of her room in her flat at Godric's Hollow. She jumped up, running her hand over everything she could reach to make sure that this was real. She focused on getting her breathing under control, only marginally feeling better to know that that had only been a dream.

When she could, she hurried to the bathroom to splash cold water over her face. Some she even cupped and brought to her lips so she could drink. Slowly, she lifted her head up to see her reflection, bracing herself for any sign of Riddle. She let out a deep breath of relief when it was only her own looking back at her, but the fact remained. The harder she tried to keep her focus away from Riddle, the more he invaded her thoughts anyway.

It didn't matter how real this dream or any of the others had felt. She knew she would have to deal with him eventually; that he wasn't going to leave their paths uncrossed forever. But until then, she had other things to take care of.

Things like Grindelwald.

He'd already gotten farther along than Hermione had hoped and so far, even after months of searching for something, every lead had turned up empty. The only one that hadn't was the one she'd learned from August Pepperdine. She had yet to explore it, but after waking up the day before to the headline of the Daily Prophet being what it was, Hermione knew it wasn't long before she didn't have a choice.

Because to most, Grindelwald's pardon meant there was justice for Dumbledore. That his story was convincing enough for them to believe the sob story of old friends reigniting an old argument and getting carried away.

But to others, it was a message. One that said Grindelwald controlled the Ministry.

The guilt grew larger every day, but if there was one thing being in Riddle's presence had taught her, no matter what decade, was patience. She was determined to correct her mistake.

No matter what.

Friday, 28 September 1945

The first attack came exactly one week after Grindelwald was pardoned by the Ministry.

Hermione had been prepared for one, but she hadn't expected it so soon. It had been a small one, but as the Muggle world was only just beginning to heal from the end of war itself, it weakened them. Especially since the attack had been geared towards them, just as Hermione expected it would be.

The Muggles had labeled it a domestic terror attack. Their newspapers declared that it was those that had evaded capture when the Third Reich fell. That this was just their way of exacting revenge; to revive the war they were so desperate to win.

It was one smaller city outside of London that had been decimated. The bomb, as the Muggles were calling it, had gone off in the dead of night. It had flattened every building, burnt every plant, and killed everyone within the blast zone. To the Muggles, it did indeed point to bomb-like behavior, but Hermione knew better.

Having gone there shortly after she'd heard about the incident, she had barely stepped foot into the area before she determined it wasn't Muggle technology that did it. It was magic. The entire city stank of it. She had been around enough spells, caused enough destruction with her own magic to know the signs. But yet, when she returned to Godric's Hollow, it appeared that no one in the wizarding community seemed to know of it.

There wasn't a single mention of the attack in the Daily Prophet. It was exactly the kind of thing Grindelwald wanted; to let Muggles know that they were inferior. That it was the magical folk who should be out in the open instead of living in the shadows out of fear. Hermione knew it was too much of a coincidence for it to not be his doing.

Especially when another attack, exactly like the first, happened in the North two weeks later.

If this was a pattern of his, attacking every two weeks until he got whatever it was he was truly after, Hermione had about a week left before he struck again.

Going to the Ministry before would have been too risky, but now that Grindelwald was running the show, Hermione knew she could never step foot in there again. She doubled her efforts to find clues as to where he might go next so that she could try and warn the people that lived there. If she couldn't stop him from attacking, she would try to save as many people as possible in return. But every path she went down in the hopes of learning any clues left her empty handed.

She refused to succumb to the defeat that wanted to wear her down, but even she had to admit her patience was running thin. The game of politics had never been her strong suit. She was too ill-tempered to try and schmooze her way through a crowd. That had always been Riddle's forte. Even when she had been ruling by his side, she could count the amount of meetings and deals she had attended on one hand.

And one of those was the Summit.

Knowing there was one place she had yet to try, Hermione Apparated back to Oaken's Barrow. She landed across the way from Himeros' Haunt. She stared at the building she'd been avoiding and weighed her options. There were two ways that she could go about getting information from that place. She could alter her appearance into someone of the opposite gender and go as a client or she could go as she was and work as a call girl.

The former was the most appealing, but she had already found it was far less taxing on her magic if the guise she went out in was one of her own gender. It was good for a quick stint, but if she intended to use this place as a steady source of information, she needed to be able to keep up a constant appearance. And given her disdain to play the political game she figured it was time for a new approach.

Having made up her mind, Hermione crossed the street, shifting her appearance as she went. By the time she pushed the door open to gain entry, she had long auburn hair that fell to the small of her back in waves, pale green eyes, and pale flesh dotted with freckles.

The woman at the front greeted her with a kind smile, but Hermione saw the way her eyes flickered up and down, scoping Hermione from head to toe. "Welcome to Himeros' Haunt," she said, her voice soft. "How may we serve you?"

"I'm here to talk to whoever's hiring."

The woman pressed her dark lips together and gave a half nod. She then turned and gestured for Hermione to follow, leading her down a series of dimly lit corridors until stopping at a grand double door. The woman went inside alone, indicating that Hermione should wait a moment. When she returned, she beckoned Hermione in and then left, shutting the doors behind her.

The man sitting behind the desk surveyed Hermione with a quirked brow as he looked her up and down. "You seem a little young."

Hermione said nothing as she pushed with her magic, making herself seem a tad bit older. "Is this better?" she asked.

He was silent a moment before he began to smirk and settled back in his chair, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat across from him. "Been awhile since I've come across a Metamorphmagus." He said, watching her every move as she lowered herself into the chair. "Sapphire tells me you're interested in work. Do you have prior experiences?"

At that, Hermione dropped the act. Instead of continuing on with this game, she simply reached out with her mind until she infiltrated his. His lips parted, forming his mouth into a silent scream as she dug around for any information he might have had one either of the men hell bent on domination. When she obtained all that there was within him, she withdrew, watching as he slumped in his chair. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath and when his gaze settled on her, it was full of fear.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice rasp.

"Someone you don't want to cross," she said, folding her arms over her chest to keep him from seeing the slight shake to her own limbs. "No information passes in or out of this building without your knowledge, correct?"

"Y-yes."

She gave a sharp nod and slowly lowered her arms to her side. "Whenever the names the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle, or Grindelwald reach your ears, you'll summon me," she demanded, holding one palm up and conjuring a coin like the one she had made years ago in the DA. It then floated from her hand to land upon his desk. "And if you don't, I'll take more than just your memories."

"Who are you?" he asked again, his voice beginning to quiver like the rest of him.

"An ally," she answered. "Assuming you don't cross me."

And with that, she used her magic and disapparated.

A/N: Yesterday I finished up my 4th manuscript after 2.5 months of writing! It's got a ways to go with rest, editing, and revisions, but at least it's drafted! To celebrate...here's another chapter!

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