Hermione had eagerly gotten herself ready for her trip to Ireland, excited that she was getting a chance to leave the house for a change. Slipping into a pair of worn jeans, she selected a long sleeved, plaid flannel shirt which would help conceal her now slightly visible baby bump. Thor watched her progress with clear annoyance in his eyes, upset at being left behind. She'd explained to him the day before that because they were using muggle means to travel, she would have to leave a giant wolf behind.
When Hermione made her way down the stairs the morning she and Draco were meant to go to Ireland, she was annoyed to find that he was not waiting for her. She'd been meaning to review his outfit, knowing that wizards were generally terrible at blending in with muggles. When someone finally did show up in the entrance, Hermione was shocked to see a slightly older version of Tom Riddle.
Her mouth half-open, Hermione took in his appearance. He'd done an excellent job of dressing himself, wearing a nice pair of jeans and a soft looking green sweater. With his rich, dark hair parted as always, he looked ridiculously good and didn't even complain like she'd been sure Draco would.
"Vo-voldemort?" she asked, sounding astonished, but positive that there was no one else who would dare done this disguise.
Giving her a tight smile, the young man nodded at her. "Change of plans, I'm afraid," he said with a voice that didn't sound sorry at all. "Draco has found himself...unable to accompany you. We should get going."
Still so stunned by how good he looked, Hermione nodded dumbly, following him out the front door. She found it difficult to keep up with his long strides as he navigated them through the city with ease, leading him to Euston station, where they would catch a train to Liverpool.
Once Hermione and Voldemort had gotten settled into their private compartment, Hermione was no longer able to hold back any of the questions that had been bubbling up in her mind. Picking at her pain au chocolat, she drank in his features eagerly, seeing no hint of the Dark Lord in him. "How long have you been able to perform this glamour?" she asked, sounding breathless. "It's remarkable. You look just as I remember you."
Taking a sip of his coffee, Voldemort rolled his eyes at her. "I should hope that it looks like me. After all, I would know my own body better than anyone," he scoffed. "The glamour itself isn't difficult to perform."
"How long can you keep it up?" she asked, tilting her head to one side, feeling her heart hammer against her chest, all sorts of familiar feelings racing through her. She'd forgotten just how affected she was by Tom Riddle.
Voldemort shrugged. "I haven't ever tested it. Usually, I am far too busy with other sorts of magic to keep up something as simple as a glamour," he explained. "It's easy to let it slip when you are focused on other things. Now, I've taken time out of my busy schedule and I don't have time for chit-chat. Read your book," he instructed sternly, obviously not wanting to continue on with any conversation.
Hermione nodded, opening her book, but quickly finding herself unable to focus. Giving up, she let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep with the rocking of the train.
When they arrived in Liverpool, Voldemort woke her up so that they could transfer onto the ferry to Dublin. Hermione was feeling rather quesy by the time they reached Ireland, unused to sea travel, that she couldn't even stomach the idea of eating the light lunch Voldemort prodded her to. They had some time to kill before their next train, and they walked around the city center with one another. Hermione was uncomfortable with how so many people were staring at them. She wasn't sure if people were looking because Voldemort's disguise was so good looking or because they were wondering what she was doing with him. She hoped that it wasn't the latter, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
After they had their lunch, they caught the next train from Dublin to Sligo. Voldemort was cool as ever, completely comfortable with the muggle transportation, handing the conductor both of their tickets with a disarming smile. Hermione wanted to ask him more questions, wondering when he'd gotten quite so comfortable in the muggle world, but not wanting to irritate him more than he surely already was, so she kept her mouth shut.
After they arrived in Sligo, they rented a car and it was an additional two hours to get to Creeslough. Hermione argued with Voldemort about who should be allowed to drive, winning only when she explained that she'd actually completed the training to get a license, while he was only just guessing on how it actually worked. She'd even had to threaten him with a full body bind, a threat that he merely scoffed at, before conceding and getting into the passenger's seat. The drive was long, filled with uncomfortable silences, because Voldemort had refused to allow her to find a radio station.
It was sweet relief when Hermione finally caught sight of the small village coming into view. It was dark out, and the day had been so long and tiring that she couldn't wait to climb into a warm bed and go to sleep. Maybe have a little dinner before bed as well, seeing as she'd only just picked at the sandwich Voldemort had gotten her for lunch.
After finding a little inn that was situated above a pub, Hermione and Voldemort entered. It was clear that they were outsiders, but once they requested board, the older, busty barmaid didn't seem to mind anymore. Giving them the key to their room with a smile of rotten teeth, Voldemort and Hermione proceeded to head up the stairs to drop off their luggage before dinner.
They both just stared at each other when they entered the room and noticed that there was only one bed. It was a large bed, but neither one of the them wanted to acknowledge the fact that they were either going to be sharing, or one person would be sleeping on the floor. Voldemort gave her a significant look, one that made her heart beat a bit faster. "We will discuss this after dinner," he said, finally.
They proceeded down the stairs where the barmaid, who looked quite a bit like Madame Rosemerta, had food sitting out for them at the bar. They were happily munching on chicken sandwiches and a bit of soup, when the two older gentlemen at the bar began asking questions. "I didn't know that this inn served young children wantin' to play house, sharing a room together," ehe older man gruffed to the barmaid.
"Actually, we are married," Voldemort said, with a half smile, half sneer, putting his hand over Hermione's. He seemed to enjoy the look of intense discomfort on the other man's face, being called out for speaking about them.
"I don't see a wedding band on either of your fingers," the other man blustered, his eyes glancing back and forth between Hermione and Voldemort. "If she was my wife, I'd make sure that everyone knew she was taken." He gave Hermione an appreciative glance.
Hermione tried not to scoff too hard, hating the way that his eyes lingered on her form, finding the whole thing rather detestable. "Not that it's any of your business," Hermione said with a frown, finally inserting herself into the conversation. "We are trying to save money to buy a house. I don't need a ring to know that I'm married to Tom," she explained simply. It was true - she could always feel his soul as it was bound to hers, a rather odd sensation, but one that she'd grown to take comfort in.
Voldemort gave her a hand a reflexive squeeze, and she wondered if she'd upset him using his actual name, but she couldn't very well go around telling the muggles that he was called Voldemort! Feeling his intense gaze on her had her pulse racing once again, and Hermione was almost upset with herself with how much he was able to affect her.
"What are you doing all the way up in Creeslough then?" the barmaid asked.
"Tom is a writer," Hermione replied, timidly, wishing that these muggles were not quite so nosy. "We are just going to do some exploring here, get the history of the area for his novel. I have always loved Ireland."
The two older gentlemen loved to hear that and started regaling Hermione with many stories of the area. It was certainly boring Voldemort to tears, judging by the absolutely murderous look on his face.
Voldemort wondered how it was that she was able to charm anyone. These men went from angry to putty in her hands. For Salazar's sake, she even got a lot of the most seasoned Death Eaters on her side, like Bellatrix, despite being a mudblood. When he could take it no more, he spoke up. "Well, sweetheart, I think we should probably get to bed. Big day tomorrow," he said, casually throwing his arm around her waist.
Hermione conceded, and wished the others a goodnight.
Once they'd made it up the stairs and safely into their room, Hermione looked at the single bed once again. "We both know that because of the baby, I will definitely be sleeping in that bed," she said with a frown, wondering if Voldemort was capable of the self-sacrifice if it was for his own child.
"We could split it with magic," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, raising one eyebrow.
She shook her head. "You know that the room isn't big enough to support that kind of transfiguration," she dismissed, quickly. Biting her lower lip, she offered to share with him, wondering if it was a terrible idea. "You could always share with me. We can stay on our own sides. It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before."
He looked positively shocked at the suggestion, and Hermione wondered if she'd broken him. How funny that would be, she thought, the Dark Lord, afraid of snuggling with his muggleborn wife! "Well, there's always the shower," she said, when he didn't answer her. "Your choice," she dared him to make the decision.
With that, Hermione proceeded to shut herself into the bathroom, performing her nightly rituals. When she came out wearing a cotton pajama set in pale blue, she was honestly surprised to see Voldemort already tucked in on his side of the bed, his face buried in a book. She didn't say anything to him, instead, choosing to slide into the open half, facing away from him.
Neither Hermione nor Voldemort had anything to say when they found themselves wrapped together when they woke up in the morning. Voldemort was rather enjoying the feeling of Hermione's body wrapped around his...until she smiled and whispered "Tom." It was downhill from there, filling with an unexplainable rage once again, unsure of why it bothered him so much when she called him Tom. It was only further compounded by the fact that he was still wearing the glamour from the day before, looking very much like the man he was before the first wizarding war.
For her part, Hermione did not seem too bothered to have been snuggled against him. She kept her thoughts to herself, instead opting to get up and get into the shower before the day.
All the awkwardness seemed to leave the pair, though, by breakfast. Voldemort had never seen Hermione eat with such a gusto. She had ordered an Ulster Fry, which he was clueless about, but when he saw it, he was sure that Hermione, who was so tiny, wouldn't be able to finish it.
He was proven wrong, as he watched Hermione eat both over-easy fried eggs, the rashers, bangers, hashbrown, and toast, drinking it all down with some tea. She happily slid the the fried tomatoes onto his plate. "It's alright, I remember how much you enjoyed those when we were at Hogwarts," she told him with a grin.
That statement took Voldemort completely by surprise. He was surprised to learn that Hermione would remember something quite so banal about him from when they were at school, especially considering that they hadn't even shared a table together. He was sure that no one else had ever bothered to figure out what his breakfast preferences were. "You remember that?" he questioned, his eyebrows narrowing while he tried to read her expression.
Hermione was unbothered by the scrutiny, and shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, I mean, you were kind of distracting," she answered with a shy smile, tucking her hair behind one ear. "You always were more pleasant if they'd served fried tomatoes. Bangers, too," she added, looking almost wistful at the memory. He wondered if she wanted to get back to that.
"We better get going soon. We should pack a lunch, it's going to be a long trek out to the stone," Hermione said with a huge smile on her face.
Voldemort allowed his gaze to follow towards the window. It was rainy and cold outside and he really didn't want to go tromping around, but he knew that he couldn't leave her unattended either. He should have just let Hermione go with Dolohov. He was used to the cold.
Voldemort was annoyed.
This was the fourth day that he and Hermione were out, braving the elements. The first two days, they had been unable to find the stone, with the girl refusing to listen to his navigational suggestions. The locals were unsure of what it was, because apparently muggles had never discovered it. When they finally found the damn thing, they had stumbled on it rather by accident. The third day, Hermione had spent most of the day performing complex spells on the stone to see if it was hiding anything, which it was not. He could have told her that.
That night, his companion spent most of the night, reading through a huge ancient runes tome that looked like it was about to disintegrate. The next morning, on their walk over, Hermione kept telling him stories of the Viking warriors that had left the stone in Creeslough, after pillaging the countryside. Voldemort wanted to tell her that he knew far more than she did about the history of the area, but she looked so happy to explain it that he'd just let her do it.
Now he was just watching Hermione. She was standing in front of the incredibly large stone, staring at it, just as she had been for the last four hours, stopping only for a bite of her sandwich every now and again. He contemplated performing legilimency on the girl, just to see how her brain worked. On second thought, he didn't want to chance seeing her any of her intimate thoughts again, remembering just how affected he'd been the last time that had happened.
"Ah ha!" Hermione shouted, startling Voldemort from his daydreaming, not that he'd ever admit it. "I've figured out the last rune!"
"Good, we've lingered here for far too long," he said firmly, annoyed that it had taken her so long in the first place. The only reason he'd allowed in in the first place was because of how valuable it was to creating his potion.
Hermione nodded her head. "I just need to copy all of this down and then get started on the syntax. Tom, do you think you can drive back to Sligo?" Hermione asked, clearly distracted and not catching his wince at her using his name once again. Hermione was beyond curious to find out what this mysterious potion was that she was translating for the Dark Lord. She knew it had something to do with her baby, and she would be damned if she didn't figure out what it was. "I won't be able to focus until I finish this translation," she added, nibbling her lower lip.
"We could just leave the car here," he said with a frown, not wanting to waste any more time than was necessary.
"Voldemort! I am not just going to leave the car here!" she said, frustrated by how little he cared about the muggle world. "We promised that we'd bring it back."
"Fine," he finally agreed with a roll of his eyes, wondering when he'd begun to allow her to boss him around like that.
They quickly walked back to the inn, Hermione practically running. They gathered their belongs and packed it into the car, making sure to pay the barmaid, and saying goodbye to the regulars that were just shuffling into the pub. The old men wished the young couple many blessings, and hoped that they would be able to find a good area to settle down in soon.
Hermione was feverishly writing, sometimes murmuring to herself, and didn't even look up once the whole drive back to Sligo. She didn't even look up when he tried playing one of the most annoying radio stations. Luckily for Voldemort, it was a pretty straight drive back to the city, and it wasn't a very long drive.
When they returned to the city, Hermione had figured out the syntax and she knew that it would only take about an hour for her to finish the potion. She was eager to get home to talk over her methods with Ted.
Seamus Finnegan was visiting his Gran in Sligo, when he saw Hermione Granger's bushy brown hair. Concerned, knowing that she had not returned to Hogwarts for reasons unknown, he decided to follow her. Seamus wanted to do a little investigating of his own. What was Hermione doing at a car rental in Sligo anyway?
No one had seen Hermione since last term and everyone had mostly given up on asking where she was. Ron always went into a huge rage whenever he talked about Hermione, and all of the stories he'd told sounded dubious and outlandish at best. Harry always seemed withdrawn whenever the girl was brought up.
Seamus followed them a discreet distance, following her to an unused alleyway. Walking around the corner, Seamus was surprised to see her with a good looking young man, who seemed to be about their age, but someone he definitely didn't recognize. Had Hermione decided to run away with a muggle, he wondered? After all, she was a muggleborn, and he wasn't sure he'd want to stick around in the war if he was a muggleborn either.
He watched as Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic hair brush, which Seamus quickly recognized as a portkey. The man she was with seemed to understand what it was, grabbing onto it without hesitation. So was he a wizard then?
One thing stuck in his mind though, when Hermione and the man disappeared. Hermione Granger was definitely pregnant.