"I'd call you a silly little girl, but you're my superior now." Snape had Hermione backed against the wall, and they were both breathing a little faster than they should have been. "It's been a very, very long night. I'll 'finish' what I started sometime, but not tonight."
"Tease," she spat, "Go back to your dungeons."
His eyes glittered with promise as he nodded once and left her room. She sighed, frustrated, angry, tired.
Perhaps it was time to simply be cold, professional, and detached with him. She couldn't play the game anymore, despite the nagging Spirit rattling her. She wouldn't come unhinged. There was too much at stake now.
*~*
Narcissa and James appeared in the office of the Headmistress the next morning. James bounded in, signing the entire story of his weekend animatedly to his mother while Narcissa sat idly in a chair, twirling her hair absently in her fingers and waiting for the silent exchange between mother and son to abate. At length, Hermione looked up at her older Sister and signed her thanks.
Narcissa handed her a letter. Hermione began reading, blanched, and reached over to hug Narcissa.
The Mother Superior was on her deathbed, and had asked for the two of them to journey to Ireland to see her before she passed. There was no time to waste; Hermione summoned Dobby and asked him to relay to the Associate Headmaster her regrets, but that she and James would be away for the next day or so, so he'd be in charge. She let Dobby know they could owl her at the convent, and he nodded and left; but not before he saw the exhaustion in her eyes. Dobby had a feeling it might be time to call in reinforcements.
*~*
"I have something for you, Hermione," the Mother Superior said. "Really, it's for Severus too, but you'll have to decide whether he should see it. It's yours now." The incredibly ancient woman pressed a small leather book into Hermione's hands. "Keeping James safe is of the primary importance, but do not underestimate your son's power. I don't have more information for you, I wish I did."
"Conserve your strength, Mother," Narcissa said worriedly. "You don't have to worry about us."
"Oh, child. I'll worry just as much in the afterlife, but I'll have more power to help. I know there is a reason God is calling me home now. You'll need help from unexpected sources." She held both their hands, and smiled. "My time is done. I only have one thing to say, and then I will leave with the angels who are here even now. Both of you need to follow your hearts rather than your minds, do you hear me? Your heart is the vessel of God's will; the devil can rest in your mind, make no mistake. You've both made a lifetime career out of listening to your head, mainly because you're both very intelligent; but it's time to listen to your heart. I'm not going to spout theology to you, but I'd ask you to go and review the books of Ruth and Esther and some of the more obscure non-canonical gospels, and think about the sacrifices these people made because they listened to the Holy Spirit of God rather than doing what was expected or what was comfortable." A single, sudden last breath, and she breathed no more.
At long last, Hermione and Narcissa collected James from the convent school and took the Portkey back to Hogwarts, troubled. Hermione immediately signaled that she would go to the library and check out a Bible and some of the more obscure religious texts that would contain some of the Dead Sea Scrolls; she'd owl Narcissa when she had completed some research. Neither of them had the foggiest idea what was in Ruth and Esther, Hermione having had an agnostic upbringing and Narcissa having been brought up in the wizarding world. Hermione sent Dobby again to let Severus know she was back. Warding the door to her office, she sank into a chair and cracked open the King James Bible from the 17th century that Hogwarts kept in the Restricted Section.
Before she had spent even ten minutes trying to decipher the archaic English, she had fallen deeply asleep in the chair, the small leather book in her pocket forgotten in her exhaustion. As she came to an hour later, her eyes widened as she recognized the presence in front of her. "Eleanor!" she shouted out, forgetting her self-imposed muteness for a moment in her surprise. She began signing. "How did you...?"
"Got special dispensation from the American authorities...can't stay forever of course, I have a school to haunt, but I've been allowed to jump across the pond to visit for a while." Normally, ghosts stayed in assigned areas and weren't allowed to travel freely, for fairly obvious reasons. Renegade ghosts that haunted people, rather than places, were rare; the ability of a person to get away from an unfriendly ghost by leaving its geographical location was the cornerstone tenet of relations between people and the spirit world.
Eleanor had become as adept at sign language as the rest of Hermione's American contingent, which was fortunate considering that reading ghostly lips could be nearly impossible. "I'm very glad to see you," Hermione said, "but why did you come? I'm very surprised."
"Dobby," Eleanor said, "he's worried about you. So I came to check things out for myself. Ah, you know, I just missed you. Do I need a reason?"
Hermione broke down and began crying. "I wish I'd never left. Things are so bloody complicated."
"You didn't have a choice, girlie. Now let's sit down and tell Auntie Eleanor all about it. Where is James?" Hermione indicated the couch, where James had settled into sleep just before Hermione had. "Good. How's the man situation?"
"Worse. I am thinking of giving them up. Too much trouble."
"Men are fine in small doses, darling...perhaps you've had too much at once. You've been damn near cloistered the past seven years."
"Well, I am a nun."
"Touché." Eleanor's eyes sparkled as Nearly Headless Nick floated into the room.
"Headmistress...you have a visitor outside who can't get past the wards. Hello?" He was regarding Eleanor with much surprise.
"I'm Eleanor Roosevelt; and you are...?" Hermione hid a smile as she watched Nick's mouth gape open.
"Sir Nicholas, at your service, my lady. American? How in the world are you here?"
"Oh, my dear Sir Nicholas, I have some connections Stateside. A few. I'm here for a visit. Show Hermione's guest in, perhaps?"
Intrigued but polite, Nick retreated and Hermione released the door to allow her guest inside. In a swish of darkness, the Associate Headmaster stalked inside and froze at the sight of the imposing ghost glaring at him.
"You must be James' father. I can see the resemblance." At Snape's curious glance, Hermione said out loud for Severus' benefit, "Severus, meet Eleanor Roosevelt. El, this is Professor Severus Snape, James's father."
"Charmed," the ghost said in a tone that belied the fact that she wasn't. She continued to size him up as he shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and then remembered his Slytherin-ness and turned on the Silken-Voiced Guile version of himself.
"Headmistress, I have a few matters to discuss. I'll be back when the time is more convenient." His gaze fell upon the sleeping form of his son on the couch, and he muttered, "Just send Dobby down to fetch me if you like."
"Don't bother," Eleanor said, "I'm going to go and talk with Sir Nicholas a bit...seemed like an interesting fellow. Enjoy your...work...Hermione. Snape," she nodded as she left.
"How the hell did she get here?" Snape said to Hermione.
"That's not important. What do you want?" The Ice Princess Headmistress was out in full force.
"I want to invite you and our son to dinner this evening. If it's quite convenient." Severus noted the overnight change from the needy, overwrought woman to the cold, unfeeling one. He didn't like the change at all but had to admit that he probably caused it.
She nodded. "All right, for James' sake. The Mother Superior passed on today. I'm not up to talking about it," she said as she waved her hand, "but I may need your help with some things." All business.
"I am, of course, at your command. Seven o'clock, then?" At her nod, he turned and swept out of the rooms.
"Mum?" James piped up, waving his hands to get his mother's attention.
She smiled lovingly.
"Why aren't you and Daddy happy to see each other?"
"Oh, honey, we are. We just have a funny way of showing it." She walked over to the couch to hug her little boy, gathering strength from his goodness. "But I promise we are happy to see each other again, and he's happy to meet you. Once you two get to know each other, you'll be great friends."
James considered this, then said, "Can we all be friends together? What about Uncle Remus, and Uncle Harry and Uncle Sirius? Are they all friends too?"
Like a knife to the bowel, nerves flared at the mention of Sirius. "Sure, sweetpea, for you...we'll all get along fine. You're the most important thing in the world to all of us, James." Of all the things she could say, this was about all she could hang onto for certain.
~*~
Dinner went quite well, and she felt a surge of maternal pleasure when she saw how well James and Severus were interacting. It helped that James was quite bright for his age, and his utter lack of guile in the discussion prompted several muttered "Gryffindor" epithets over the evening to her great amusement. "We'll have to make a proper Slytherin out of this boy," Severus said with a smirk, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him in her entire life.
"Over my dead body, Severus Snape."
"What's a Slytherin, Mum?"
"Conniving brats of the world," she said playfully.
"Well, James my boy, Gryffindors are the foolhardy. We all have our weaknesses." Was Snape actually smiling?
"Everyone I know is a Gryffindor 'cept you, Father."
"Yes, revolting, isn't it?"
"Will I be a Gryffindor, mum?"
"If the Spirit shines kindly, son." This elicited a snort from the Associate Headmaster.
The evening was over too fast. Severus felt himself wishing for more time; he had never expected it could be like this. He asked Hermione for another evening that week with just the three of them, and was pleased when she affirmed that perhaps since they had many plans to make that week before the arrival of Tom Riddle the Younger and the rest of the students, perhaps they could meet for dinner and "family time" and then send James to bed with Dobby so they could work. Everything seemed so very right, which unnerved her and made it hard to keep up the detached, cool persona she wished to affect. No matter. She felt as though she was following the right path, because the Spirit had been extremely quiet.
As she tucked James into bed, she suddenly remembered the leather book that the Mother Superior had given her. Sitting across from Eleanor in her parlour, she opened the book.
"The Diary of Sarah Riddle", the title page read, and a bookmark fell out of the handrwritten diary. Hermione pulled out her wand and mumbled, "Priori Bookmark", and the mark flew back into the book at the right page. Apprehensively, she opened to the mark, and found an entry dated January 10, 1923. This must be Tom Riddle's Muggle grandmother's diary. Why did the Mother Superior pass it to her?
Dear Diary,
The headaches continue. Now that my hearing has completely disappeared, I sometimes feel I have nothing left to live for.
All that keeps me going is my unborn son. A fortuneteller tells me that the son of my son will do great things, and will be able to cure deafness. I would dismiss it, but a second Seer claimed to me that my grandson will be the bearer of medical miracles.
If this is true, I will not do the world a service by dying just yet.
That night Hermione read through the life of Sarah Riddle, with Eleanor reading over her shoulder. Tom Riddle's father was a terror, but the most interesting entries came at the end. Dear old Dad had impregnated a witch. Scandalized, Sarah Riddle had packed the woman off to a convent and stolen the boy. After the entire Riddle family ended up deceased, of course, the boy had grown up to become Lord Voldemort. As far as Hermione could see, the only medical miracle he had come up with was not dying when his curse rebounded upon him.
Sarah fascinated her. It wasn't so much that she was a Riddle, but that she was also deaf and had dealt with her deafness by becoming a bitter, calculating, conniving woman. With a family like that, it was almost no wonder that Voldemort had turned out so evil.
Why had the Mother Superior given her this? There did not seem to be any really useful information, other than a good read. She wasn't certain what part of it could possibly be of interest to Severus.
The next morning at breakfast, Sirius plopped down next to Hermione and cheerfully waved to Eleanor. "How the hell did you get here?"
"Connections. So, how's the limp?" Sirius had been hurt in a flying motorcycle accident the year before.
"Gone, gone. It's good to see you, El."
"Humph. That remains to be seen." Eleanor saw Sir Nicholas across the room, and waved to the assembled as she left to join him at the Gryffindor table.
"What was that all about?" Sirius asked Hermione.
Her only response was a shrug. She was sure that Eleanor was treating both of the men in Hermione's life coldly because of the craziness of the weekend's activities, which Hermione had related to her before.
"What are you doing for dinner?" Sirius was trying, she had to give him credit. She reached for her notebook, and wrote: "James/Severus bonding time."
Sirius shook his head and patted her hand, and said nothing more. At that moment, an owl flew overhead, dropping a large letter with the seal of Azkaban in Hermione's lap. She tore it open apprehensively. She blanched, looking over at Severus who was sitting on her right side and back at Sirius on the left.
She motioned them both over, and stilled them from their comments to one another as she wrote two words on her pad:
"Voldemort escaped."
~*~
"Father," Thomas said.
In the few days that Voldemort and the younger version of Tom Riddle had spent together, they'd agreed on the convention of "Father" and "Thomas" for names. While the former wasn't technically true, and the younger version had never been called any variation of Tom, they figured it for the least confusing method of address.
Voldemort was utterly amazed at the ferocious adolescent insolence inherent in his younger self. The adoptive parents had been deliciously horrid to the child, probably worse than his grandmother had ever been. It would be all too easy to bring down those who had imprisoned Voldemort, seek revenge on a few choice individuals, and take over the world for keeps this time. He wasn't foolish enough to think that bitch Granger wasn't aware of his son's presence; while he was utterly amazed that the old fool Dumbledore had chosen the woman to succeed him, he practically retched at the thought of that traitor Snape assisting her. And a son? Disgusting, but the fact was, the child would be a perfect way to fell the parents both in one stroke, and his power could surely be perverted to Dark ends with ease considering the boy's tender age.
It was all too exciting, just like the early days of his first rise to power. But first, there were a few people who needed to pay and pay dearly, and the dementors that had remained loyal would get their rewards. Granger. Snape. Potter. Narcissa Malfoy. And that utter bastard, Draco Malfoy.
The dementors were salivating, if such a thing were possible. There was no soul more tender and delicious to Kiss than one who was merged with the Holy Spirit. If one was a Dementor and tasted such a marvelous wonder, they would achieve a state where they did not hunger again and had free will to roam and do as they pleased without finding humans to feed upon. When evil conquers good, the consequences can be unpredictable; Dementors had died attempting raids on the Order's members when they were unprotected within the convent's walls. Within their coven they likened it to Muggle heroin; the most glorious high, but potential disaster. The five Dementors that had remained loyal to Voldemort were in search of this experience, and were remarkably patient. The hour was near, and they would be rewarded.
Over the last days, Voldemort had filled Thomas in on his part in the plan. The youth remained sullen, but nodded at the appropriate times, and fire burned in his eyes. Voldemort couldn't be certain of the compliance of the boy yet, but he would have ways to test and compel his loyalty before he let him get on the Hogwarts Express in a few days.
"We have to make you a pitiful soul in need of saving, Thomas. Make Granger and all her cohorts go Gryffindor on you. Let you get close to the boy. Really, how that old idiot Albus let all those Gryffindors get on the staff is a mystery to me, but it makes the school weak. There's only one bloody Slytherin left on staff. Foolish man. He had to put a Gryffindor in charge of Hufflepuff House, he's so biased…"
"This concerns me how?" Thomas said.
"Weakness! You need to know it and exploit it!" Voldemort said angrily.
"Remind me why the Slytherin isn't on our side again?"
"Because he is a fool, and he will be killed for it. He could have had it all, Thomas, and he turned traitor."
"There is nothing worse on this earth than someone who stabs you in the back. Right, Father?"
"Loyalty must be unquestioned, son. Is yours?"
"What do I get out of this?"
Voldemort had waited for this moment, when the boy stopped smoldering and asked the pertinent question.
"Thomas, you get to rule the world. Isn't that enough?"
"Not really."
"Girls, fame, glory, killing those who oppose you? No?"
"Let me think on it. No."
"No? Sometimes I wonder if you and I are really cut from the same genetic cloth. What are you passionate about, boy?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I feel nothing but hate." Voldemort started. At least the boy was honest, but it was difficult to motivate someone who had unfocused anger and no wish for pleasure as reward.
"What do you hate?"
"My former parents, but they're dead. You. Hogwarts and the Gryffindors. The traitor. I wish you all death and destruction." Thomas pulled on a lock of hair nonchalantly, watching for the older man's reaction.
Voldemort smiled a thin, evil smile, and clapped Thomas on the back. "That can all be arranged, boy. Even me." He held out Thomas' new wand, purchased through backchannels rather than Ollivander's to keep Voldemort's identity secret. "Kill me."
Without hesitation, Thomas Riddle pointed his wand at Voldemort, and said, "Avada Kedavra".