Title: A Return to Normalcy
Author: Noiri
Rating: T
Genre: Action/Adventure/Humor
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Tom (AKA Voldemort)
Summary: Old age is accompanied by a slew of medical complications that even the Dark Lord is not immune to. In a fit of discomfort, Voldemort finds a brilliant solution with startling consequences.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Voldemort and Hermione in the same scene. Finally. It's moving slowly, I know.

Chapter 4: Godric's Hollow

After much debilitation, it was decided later in the day that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would travel to Godric's Hollow by Floo powder. McGonagall noted that the house was still connected to the Floo Network, although she really had no idea who lived there.

"So," Harry began tentatively, "there could be muggles there?"

"Yes, Potter, that may very well be," McGonagall replied impatiently. "I must also impress upon you the danger associated with your task. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have already sent Deatheaters to the house, though I find that very unlikely." Harry nodded. Just fantastic. He stepped into the fire in McGonagall's office, shouting "Godric's Hollow!" with marked apprehension. A moment later, he found himself in an empty living room. Upon surveying, the furniture, Harry concluded that Godric's Hollow was indeed inhabited by muggles, and rather messy ones at that.

"Wow," Ron breathed, as he too stumbled out of the fireplace, "what kind of neat blokes are these?"

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "We have the same couches at our house!"

"Well," Ron said in mock thought, "Couches. That'll help us, it will. Any special properties?"

"Don't be stupid, Ron," said Hermione briskly. "It's obviously a muggle home. You would know, you know, if you'd taken Muggle Studies." Ron grumbled something about being sarcastic, and then proceeded to follow Harry around the house.

"There," Harry said, stopping suddenly at the front door. "It happened here." Harry found himself resembling a muggle detective in the mystery movies, scaling the walls and floors for clues.

A familiar voice resounded behind him. "Well done, Potter, five points to Gryffindor."

Before Harry could catch a glimpse of the face (and he had quite a notion of who it was), Hermione had yelled "Stupefy!" causing the figure to crumple in a heap. Ron hurried over to the body, prodding at the hood with his wand.

"Well, that's the second time we've knocked Snape out," Ron said grimly.

"Snape?" Harry could feel the fury and confusion rise within him as he strode over, his wand pointed outward in a menacing fashion. He wanted to say "Let's kill him now!" but all he could manage was, "How?"

"I dunno," said Ron, appraising the heap with a thoughtful sort of look. "You reckon You-Know-Who sent him here?"

"But how could he know?" Hermione said, her eyes drawn back at the sight of their former Potions master and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"We'll figure that out later," Harry said savagely. "I expect he'll be sending more of the Deatheaters here in a moment, once he's figured out how badly old Snape has done."

"Fantastic," Ron said faintly. "Would this be a good time to think for help, then?"

"Ron, we've been here for five minutes," Harry said, a trace of irritation in his voice.

"Thirty-five minutes, Harry," Hermione added.

"Oh, all right, I suppose that we could - "

Ron and Hermione, however, did not find out what Harry was supposing. Before either of them could raise their wands, the front door had blown open. For one wild moment, Harry thought that the muggles had come home, but a second later he recognized the tall dark cloaks of the Deatheaters. The one at the front had a smooth, unwrinkled hand. In one flick of his wand, Ron and Hermione law sprawled on the floor, barely breathing, and Harry was hit against the wall. Help, Harry thought, concentrating all of his strength on the four-letter word. His legs felt broken beneath him. Help. Nothing happened.

"Do you really believe, Potter," said the man at the front, stepping gingerly over Snape's body, "that I could not predict your every move? The worthless charms that your professors lavished upon you, which I have already broken so easily? Really, Potter, your professors overestimate you." Harry gritted his teeth. Who was this new Deatheater? It couldn't be … "Oh, but it is, Potter," the figure said maliciously, lowering his hood.

Harry stared. If Ron and Hermione had been awake, Harry was sure that they would have been staring as well. It was Tom Riddle. No, Harry thought, Voldemort. Yet he looked exactly like Tom Riddle. Hadn't the horcrux been destroyed? Help, Harry thought again.

"ENNERVATE!" shouted a voice from the fireplace. Voldemort whirled around to see Remus Lupin, followed by a host of Order members, emerge from the hearth.

Voldemort stopped momentarily. "Don't move!" he snarled, holding out his wand threateningly. For a moment, the whole room was at a standstill.

"You're outnumbered!" Lupin said, not putting down his wand. Half a dozen more wizards appeared in the fireplace.

"Try," Voldemort countered, his voice seething. "Try and destroy me. You know you can't!"

"You're acting like a child!" shouted Kingsley, a member of the Order. He held his hand above the rest of the wizards, motioning them not to strike. Unfortunately, at that moment a whole lot of Ministry Aurors arrived, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour.

"You-Know-Who!" one of them shrieked. Before Kingsley could stop them, a dozen of the Aurors had shot a jumble of spells at Voldemort, who succeeded in blocking all of them.

"I only want the boy!" Voldemort said in fury. Only the boy, Harry thought. Only me. Suddenly, Harry had an outlandish idea. Surely, Voldemort would be Disapparating soon, just as he had escaped from the Ministry of Magic in Harry's fifth year. Harry moved his body slightly and maintained a loose grip on Voldemort's robes. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.

"The Deatheaters!" Scrimgeour cried from behind, beckoning the Aurors forward with a sweep of his large arm. The whole band rushed ahead, leaving the Order members in their wake.

"Rufus!" Kingsley shouted, trying to rise above the din. For once, Kingsley's words went unheeded. The Deatheaters did not move, even with the Aurors rushing at them, their wands held above their heads like torches. Harry felt one of them trample over his leg. Spells were shot at all angles, and Harry found himself losing consciousness. He shook his leg involuntarily. Someone was holding on to his leg, and that someone refused to let go. Get off my leg, Harry thought lazily, as his mind turned black. Get off my leg.

When Harry woke, he half expected to find himself in the hospital wing. Instead, he lay sideways in a slightly uncomfortable bed. Harry rolled over and found a body next to him. "Hermione!" Harry whispered fiercely, prodding at his unconscious friend with his finger. Hermione did not need telling twice. She snapped up like a twig, with a disoriented look on her face.

"Harry, where are we?" she said, her voice trembling.

"Voldemort's headquarters, I expect. I think I Apparated along with him, I was holding on to his leg."

"Oh, Harry, I'm so stupid! I was holding on to your leg! I thought it was Ron's, I was trying to wake him up!"

"What I'm wondering right now, though," said Harry in a low whisper, "is why they haven't had us both killed off yet."

"Can we get out of here?"

"I doubt it," Harry said uncertainly. He rapped on the nearest window, only to find the surface protected by some sort of enchantment. His hand bounced off like a rubber ball. "Weird though, how Voldemort goes to such trouble to keep his dungeons all nice like this." Suddenly, Harry heard a rustle from behind the door. He pulled his wand out instinctively. "STUPEFY!" The door blasted open and someone on the other side crumpled.

"Harry!" Hermione said fretfully. "What are you doing?"

"I expect this is Pettigrew," Harry said, walking over and pushing away the door. Sure enough, a round man's crumpled frame lay on the ground in a fetal position. Harry kicked the body for good measure. "Let's get out of here," Harry said, motioning for Hermione to join him.

The next room seemed to be for storage purposes only. A number of books lay on the shelves, and several cupboards were placed awkwardly against the walls. Harry flung open one of the cupboards out of curiosity, only to find … "It's a pensieve," Harry said in wonder. "You don't suppose Voldemort could have any of his memories in here, could he?"

"Harry," Hermione said, "I really don't think we should be touching this." She poked the bowl's surface timidly with her wand.

"Hermione, don't - " Harry started. The next thing he knew, both of them were falling headfirst into a void. They landed feet first on a hard wooden floor. Harry looked around, finding the room's style and decorations familiar. It was Tom Riddle's orphanage.

A nice-looking, black-haired boy who looked to be three or four years old sat alone in a corner next to a bookshelf, reading a rather thick novel. The entire room was filled with playing children, most of who were running around or banging on the walls. "You're stupid!" a blonde haired boy said, as he ran past the boy in the corner. "You can't read! Stop pretending! Liar!" The black-haired boy didn't move.

"Where are we?" Hermione said, looking at the room in bewilderment. She tried to stop one of the children from running around, but with no success. Harry put a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. Here was a prime opportunity to learn more about Voldemort's past.

Another boy came over and yanked the book out of the young Voldemort's hands. Still, Voldemort did not move. He merely picked up another book from the bookshelf and continued reading, though one could see the unmistakable fury and anger etched into his toddler-like face. Out of nowhere, a third boy joined in, kicking at the bookshelf and spilling all of Voldemort's precious books over the floor. Suddenly, a tall, stern-looking woman walked in. "Tom!" she said, looking in horror at the books strewn over the floor. "Put those back right now!"

"Yes, ma'am," Tom Riddle replied obediently. He cleaned up the books and straightened them on their shelves. Some of the children snickered, while the others looked frightened. A moment later, Harry and Hermione found themselves standing in the storage room again. Someone's wand poked Harry painfully in the back.

"Interesting, aren't they?" a cold voice said from behind, paralyzing Harry and Hermione from the neck down. "I show my gracious hospitality by sparing your lives, and you repay me by going through my memories? I thought Gryffindors were brave and honorable."

"Wormtail," Voldemort said, muttering a spell at the unconscious man. "You failed miserably in your task of guarding Potter and his girlfriend."

"Sorry, my lord," squeaked Pettigrew, scrambling to his feet. "Sorry, sorry, my most kind lord."

"Get out," Voldemort said irritably. "Potter and Granger will follow me." He levitated Harry and Hermione into the air, taking them down a brightly lit corridor and into a large and spacious living room.

"Well, aren't you two feeling clever," Voldemort spat, plopping Harry and Hermione on a pair of couches. "Tell me, Potter, whatever gave you the abysmally stupid idea of following me back?"

Harry stared at Voldemort wordlessly, the image of the young Tom Riddle still in his mind. Trying to ignore the pangs of sympathy, he shot back, "I didn't know you would be so cowardly to retreat."

"Retreat?" Voldemort laughed, though it sounded more like a snort. "You were both knocked out at the time. Don't try to assume anything you don't know, Potter." Harry stood his ground, still baffled by the oddity of the situation. Here he was, having an almost normal conversation with Voldemort, with Hermione standing right next to him- and in Voldemort's home, no less. Furthermore, Voldemort looked nothing like the serpentine skeleton he had been the previous year. (Hermione attested to this observation by reddening slightly every time Voldemort spoke.) Something was horribly wrong. "Yes, Potter," Voldemort said coldly, not noticing that Hermione existed at all, "something is wrong. You might be wondering, for example, why I haven't killed both of you off yet. Let me assure you, I have no qualms of doing so. But I daresay that your … caretakers … have put quite a number of enchantments on you."

Harry was baffled. Enchantments other than Imernia Imotasia? Enchantments that kept Voldemort from killing him? Why hadn't they done it years ago? He threw a sideways glance at Hermione, who seemed to be piecing the information together with a look of sheer concentration on her face. "Oh, of course!" she said, raising her hand. Voldemort stared at her. "They've made it so that if either of us dies, they can find our location immediately!" She looked expectantly back at Voldemort, as though expecting him to award Gryffindor some house points.

Voldemort looked mildly impressed. "Most astute of your … little girlfriend, Potter," he said, smiling slightly.

"She's not my girlfriend," Harry said irritably. "Why can no one ever get that straight?"

Voldemort laughed his brief, cold laugh again. "I don't particularly like to hear the social problems of whining teenagers, Potter."

"Shut up," Harry said irritably. "You look and sound like a teenager yourself."

"You are beautiful, master!" Pettigrew squealed from the doorway. Voldemort batted his hand at Pettigrew, causing the round man to hit the wall and roll down the hallway. Harry, however, had clearly hit a nerve. There was a minimal amount of color rising in Voldemort's pale face.

"Wormtail," Voldemort called coldly, "kindly put Potter and his girlfriend in separate rooms." Peter Pettigrew scrambled up and grabbed both Harry and Hermione with his grimy arms, leading them up the stairs. As soon as they reached the top floor, however, Harry shook Pettigrew away and locked him in a closet.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, pulling him aside. "What's going on?"

"Listen," Harry said, trying to catch his breath. "Voldemort can't - "

"That was Voldemort?"

"Yes, it was. Now, he can't kill us, because it would reveal the location of his house, right? But we can still kill him!"

"Wait, Harry, that's rubbish. Why does Voldemort care if the Ministry finds out where his house is? He can just move, can't he?"

Harry paused. Come to think of it, was it that big of a deal if McGonagall and the others discovered Voldemort's house? "I suppose that's probably not the reason, then," Harry said, feeling slightly less spirited.

"And Harry," Hermione whispered, pulling Harry towards the ground, "what's happened to him? I mean he's nearly sixty years old, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said, scanning the ground floor and wishing that he had a pair of Extendable Ears, "that bit's fishy too."

"He must have made his own potion," Hermione said thoughtfully, "because reverse-aging potions are highly expensive on the market, and I don't suppose he could just walk into a store and buy one."

"Yeah," Harry said again, motioning for Hermione to be quiet. Honestly, there were more important things to be dealt with than contemplating Voldemort's latest cosmetic breakthroughs. After checking the closet to make sure that Wormtail had not escaped, Harry pressed his ear to the hard stone floor. Voldemort's voice resonated faintly from a room far away, sounding distinctly angry, to Harry's satisfaction. Harry could barely make out what Voldemort was saying, but he seemed to be scolding Snape and cursing some sort of enchantment that he had previously set on the house. Serves Snape right, Harry thought, thinking fondly back to the scene in Godric's Hollow. Snape was evidently in the fireplace, because Harry could only hear one pair of footsteps, and he was pretty sure they belonged to Voldemort, who seemed to be pacing the floor. Everything pointed towards the idea that Voldemort was keeping them hostage so as not to disclose the location of his house … yet something didn't quite fit in Harry's mind.

"Of course," Hermione said, rising from the stone floor. "Voldemort must be keeping something valuable here, that's why he doesn't want anyone else to figure out where his house his. I bet he's made it unplottable, and put all sorts of enchantments on it, just like Hogwarts. And only he can Apparate in here, unless he gives permission to others. I bet he never thought of side-along Apparition."

"Something valuable?" Harry said skeptically. Something valuable. "A horcrux."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, though she was quickly shushed by Harry. "I can't believe I didn't see that! It fits, too!"

"Yeah," Harry said, quite amazed that they had been able to figure out anything at all. "Well, I suppose we'd better start searching, then."