Notes: If anyone has suspected that the Subversion storyline was influenced by Marvel, you would be correct. I had X-Men: First Class foremost in mind, and, yes, my take on Cold War wizard/Muggle geopolitics is strongly in agreement with Erik's views in that film. I belatedly realized that Hermione's discussion with Andropova in the previous chapter about working under Muggles' regulation outed me as #TeamCap in the Avengers universe, as well. I wasn't thinking about that when I wrote it, but in retrospect it's quite evident. Finally, there are a few elements/themes in this chapter that were probably influenced by Doctor Strange. (I say "probably" because they're not here as deliberate references, but I suspect I had these ideas because of the movie.) I won't spoil, but if you've seen it, you'll recognize them.
Warnings: This chapter is pretty dark, and for several reasons. I should also warn that some readers really may not like one of the reasons, and may strongly disagree with my choice to write it (you'll know what I mean when you read it). I don't think this particular thing could have happened years earlier, but we're 14 years into the AU now.
Chapter Twenty: Subversion, Part IV: Mutually Assured Destruction
Tom was extremely displeased with Igor Karkaroff.
What kind of government head doesn't meet foreign dignitaries when they first arrive? he thought in fury. Especially dignitaries who are trying to help him! It was a grave insult.
He, Grindelwald, and their teams were striding through magical St. Petersburg—a street like Diagon Alley but shabbier, though there were signs it had not always been so—in the direction of Karkaroff's base. The man had not even sent an envoy to greet them. If Tom had not had cause to be suspicious of Karkaroff's motives, his immediate reaction would have been to want to take revenge for the offense. As it was, this seemingly gauche behavior merely served as another reason to suspect the Russian leader—of rank cowardice, at a bare minimum.
It's distinctly possible that Dolohov is effectively running the government here now and Karkaroff is hiding from him, Tom thought. He clutched his wand reflexively.
Nervous-looking magical residents of the city watched as the group of well-clad, official-looking people stalked down the street. Tom noted that there were a lot more fur-lined robes here than he had ever seen in London, and several of the witches and wizards held bottles not of firewhisky, but something Grindelwald told him was called "ice vodka." They drank from their bottles openly in the street, which was socially unacceptable in wizarding Britain outside of Hogsmeade. Some of them evidently could read English, because there were a few who gawked at the prominent logos of the British Ministry of Magic and MACUSA on the Aurors' robes. Tom noted that most of these people looked pleased and relieved, which heartened him.
They still have to keep order here themselves, he thought. My Aurors are returning home.
The first volunteer approached the group as they passed an apothecary and addressed himself to Grindelwald, who he of course called by his new name. A few more witches and wizards hovered behind the man, listening in.
Tom watched as the two wizards conversed in Russian—then surreptitiously flicked his wand to activate a translation charm for his own ears. It was generally considered impolite, a form of eavesdropping, and the charm usually produced imperfect translations for the ears of the listener—but Tom was the bloody Minister for Magic, he was here to solve these wizards' problems for them, and as far as he was concerned, he had the right to understand what they were saying.
"Yes, we knew of his plans," the Russian volunteer explained. Tom avoided looking at the wizard's mouth; it was very strange and distracting that the shape of his lips did not match the words that Tom was hearing now. "He said that he and Dolohov had a team of professionals and did not require our help."
Grindelwald caught Tom's eye out of the corner of his own. He noticed that Tom was listening intently and realized what the Minister must have done. He raised his eyebrow clandestinely at Tom. Tom then fixed the Russian wizard's gaze with his own and quickly invaded his thoughts.
There was not a hint of falsehood or treachery in the Russian's mind. The offer was sincere. Tom quickly did the same to the group of wizards behind the first volunteer. If they were harboring thoughts of betrayal, those intentions were buried deep in their minds. Tom nodded almost imperceptibly at Grindelwald.
"You are welcome to volunteer with us, then," Grindelwald said at once in the wizards' native language. "Unlike the British Minister, I did not bring Aurors from Poland, so you can be my combat team."
The Russians fell in with the British and American Aurors, and Grindelwald's small circle of aides. Grindelwald took his place at the head of the group, next to Tom, once again as they continued their trek to the headquarters of the Russian magical government.
Igor Karkaroff was, finally, waiting for them at the door. His face broke into a smile that neither Tom nor Grindelwald trusted in the least. The multinational group of Aurors behind them collectively clutched their wands.
"Welcome!" Karkaroff exclaimed, still beaming. "This is a much greater force than I expected."
"Yes," Tom said curtly. "Our plan is to go to the headquarters of the Muggle KGB in this city and start the investigation there. Wherever the Harrower himself is based, it's obvious that the Muggles in this city have taken direction from him, since the killings were all here. There will be a trail in their records and it is our best hope of finding this person."
Karkaroff was taken aback at the lack of pleasantries on Tom's side. He turned quickly to Grindelwald but saw the same icy derision and offense in his face.
"Well," he said in reply, "that is logical, but there is something else to be done first." He grinned, showing bad teeth. "I will lead the way." He strode through the door, closing it magically behind him. No one followed behind.
"What 'something else'? Where is your team?" Tom asked as Karkaroff took his place at the head of the group. "And your new lieutenant? I would like to meet him."
"Your questions are related," Karkaroff replied. "Dolohov is in charge of my team right now, and as it happens, he arrived at the same conclusion that you did—that the investigation should begin at the headquarters of the Muggle KGB in this city." The man paused for a moment, hesitating a bit too long in Tom's opinion. "He has discovered their next target and is on the way to the family's home, with my team. We can reinforce him and then hear what he learned at KGB headquarters." He threw a dismissive glance at the Russians who had assimilated themselves into the group of Western Aurors. "I have no objection to those people tagging along with us, but I should warn both of you that they are not the best of my people."
Grindelwald smiled tightly, not impressed in the least that Karkaroff was insulting his people to their faces. "If we are going to take on a team of heavily armed Muggle KGB, we need all the wands we can have," he said in harsh tones. When Karkaroff was not looking, he exchanged another pointed look with Tom, sending a mental message through his sharp eyes: Don't trust the official team. They are Dolohov's. This is a trap and Karkaroff is likely in on it.
Tom did not need to be reminded.
Hermione stared at the Ukrainian woman before her. All my Aurors are behind that door, she told herself. She faced the witch with what she hoped was a conciliatory look on her face.
"We don't have to have a 'problem' if you come peacefully," she said.
Verochka Andropova glared back at Hermione, silent fury in every flicker of her eyes.
"I understand why you have done this," Hermione tried again. "The Harrower has threatened magical people for his twisted purposes, and you've been living in fear. Allowances can be made in the law for people who were acting under extreme conditions—"
Andropova snapped. "Keep your sanctimonious, condescending words to yourself!" She brandished her wand and hurled a nonverbal hex at Hermione.
Hermione had already brought her own wand out, and she was able to deflect the curse with a Shield Charm. It ricocheted back, striking the warded wall and dissipating silently.
"Put your wand up," Hermione warned, pointing her own directly at Andropova's head.
"Get out of my country!" the woman raged. "See to your own children before you worry about ours!"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione snarled, gripping her wand tighter.
"It means just what you think it does," Andropova sneered. "You left them, did you not? While you came here to meddle in our affairs and seek personal glory?"
Hot anger filled Hermione's head. "My children are not your concern!"
"Ha!" Andropova snapped triumphantly. "Then no more are ours your concern!"
"They're not your children, and Wizarding Secrecy is my concern."
With a sneer of contempt, Andropova sent another hex at Hermione. The duel was on.
Karkaroff had led them to what had clearly once been a grand aristocratic residence on the outskirts of the city, but no one lived in it now—officially, at least. It did not appear as though anyone lived in it in truth either. A thin layer of dust covered every surface, a moldy scent filled the air, and the little furniture that remained seemed in even worse condition than the table and chairs at the House of Gaunt. It was all natural decay, too; Tom could not detect a trace of magic in his surroundings, which he surely would have if this decrepit scene had been a wizard's ruse. If anyone lived here, they were hiding somewhere else in the house and had not bothered to clean up any area of the mansion other than the part they resided in. The Soviet government had not repurposed this estate either, which struck Tom as very odd indeed.
Tom quickly and glanced furtively around the atrium, looking for flickering shadows, minuscule movements, the gleam of a Disillusionment Charm, anything to betray the location of Karkaroff and Dolohov's team. For a place that supposedly housed a wizarding family, this building was far too musty and unclean.
A click suddenly broke the silence. Tom and Gellert exchanged shocked looks. They both knew what that sound was.
Into the room marched a sneering man dressed in Muggle civilian clothes who Tom realized must be Antonin Dolohov. Next to him were several dozen Muggles, all carrying heavy military rifles and dressed in Soviet-style uniform. There were easily three times as many of them as there were allied wizards.
Igor Karkaroff strode to Dolohov, but instead of drawing his wand, he shook his hand.
A betrayed, furious Russian cursed in his own language and pointed his wand at Karkaroff's back. A red spell shot from the tip of his wand. Dolohov saw it coming and, with a look of dismay on his face, quickly threw up a Shield Charm. The spell dissipated harmlessly and the shield faded.
Grindelwald kept his wand concealed in his sleeve, waiting to see what the Muggles said before acting. Tom cast the translation charm again, keeping his wand under his flowing robes. He alone in this room could not actually die, but this was about to explode and he wanted to be ready for the moment that it did.
The KGB leader stared at the team of wand-bearing, grim-faced wizards, looking from Dolohov and Karkaroff to the group in horror and betrayal. "What are you?" he shouted at Dolohov. Not waiting for an answer, he turned to his fellows.
"Has NATO created superhumans?" the second-in-command asked.
"I think they must have lived among us for some time, for there are also Russians with these dangerous abilities"—he glared at Karkaroff, Dolohov, and the Russian volunteers—"and those two have played us for their own ends!" The officer's voice rose in a crescendo. "They are threats to the security of the world, and we will expose this to the Kremlin!"
Grindelwald drew his wand, throwing his robes aside. "That's enough! Stand down now!" he shouted in Russian, but the translation charm enabled Tom to understand him. Tom gripped his wand tightly. He heard murmurs behind him, and he realized that the Russian volunteers who spoke English must be telling the Aurors what the Muggles were saying.
Dolohov and Karkaroff darted away, their faces breaking into evil smiles. The Russian contingent looked furious. They surreptitiously brought their wands out, aware of what was likely to happen in a few seconds. The Aurors followed suit.
"Their powers might be useful," objected the Muggle lieutenant, gazing upon the wizards with fear but also hunger.
"These are not. They are enemies—Westerners and traitors. They are too dangerous to keep alive. We will find the rest of them and do as command wishes, but these—kill them all!"
Tom was ready. So was Grindelwald.
They slashed their wands through the air, throwing up a powerful shield between the Muggles and the wizards as the KGB began to fire. Their bullets hit the shield, exploding on contact and dropping uselessly to the ground.
Dolohov and Karkaroff dashed away down the hallway of the mansion, darting through a door. Tom and Grindelwald glanced at each other, sharing the same thought.
The Aurors have this. They're outnumbered, but these are only Muggles, and their bullets won't be getting through magical shields. We have to stop those two. They blasted curses through the magic shield, sending several of the KGB tumbling to the ground but not compromising the magic wall protecting the Aurors. They cast personal shields to protect themselves from the gunfire as they dashed past the Muggles, hugging the wall to their right. Finally they reached the room that Dolohov and Karkaroff had entered. Keeping their wands in hand and Dark curses on their lips, they darted into the room and sealed the door behind them.
Hermione was very angry now. "I really was going to offer you leniency, but you've ruined that chance with this violence!" she snapped, sending a mild curse at the other witch.
Andropova sneered at Hermione. "You have no right to condemn me!"
Hermione dodged Andropova's hex. "Don't I?" She sent a return curse. "You're a kidnapper, a murderer, and a bl—a traitor to wizards!" She had stopped herself from saying it, but it angered her further that she had been goaded into saying even that much.
Andropova smirked. "A blood-traitor? That's what you call people who don't think like you, is it not?"
"You know nothing about me!"
Andropova continued to taunt her. "But I do. Your husband is a fool to involve himself in a foreign duel that could easily claim his life—"
"He won't die!" she snarled recklessly.
Andropova laughed. "Arrogant but typical of your side. You think you just cannot lose. I do not intend to kill you—"
Hermione dodged a curse. "Is that so? You're dueling me!"
"I'm going to defeat you and let your 'Aurors' take you home crying, entitled aristocrat!"
"I'm entitled?" Hermione snarled, nonverbally firing a curse at her adversary. "I didn't steal other people's children!"
"Of course you didn't! You don't even care about your own children." More return fire. "I don't intend to kill you, but you didn't know that when you came here. What would become of your children if both of you died?"
Hermione's brain began to go foggy with rage. A vision of this hateful, petty, brainwashed witch lying prone on the floor flashed before her mind's eye.
"You abandoned them. An inconvenience to you, are they?"
Hermione fired a curse at Andropova, which barely missed her. She could hardly even speak at the moment. How dare she attack me as a mother—a kidnapper, a child abductor, attacking me?
"You're only concerned with selfish quests for personal glory, both of you."
Heated, reckless rage filled Hermione's body and clouded her mind. It was right on the tip of her tongue to cast a Dark curse—
Andropova smirked, aware that she had hit target. "Since they are such a burden to you, I could lift it. I would put them to good use. I could send an agent to Britain—"
That did it. The remaining thread of restraint in Hermione snapped. The wave of choking anger crested and crashed, inundating her mind. If anyone threatened her children—
"Avada Kedavra!" she roared.
For half a second, Andropova's face bore a look of shock and dismay. Then the toxic green curse struck her body, and she collapsed to the ground.
Silence fell over the room. Hermione stood over her defeated foe, her heart pounding. An inexplicable chill prickled over her body, despite the hot anger at the woman's comments and the fact that she had been moving around during the duel. She also felt a sense of disconnection and unreality, as if someone else had just done that, someone occupying her body but not her. For a brief moment she felt no emotions at all, and even the sense of coldness subsided a bit.
And then it hit her.
That was murder.
The chills redoubled. Pain and regret filled her where there had just been a void of emotions. The sense of detachment and impersonal feeling in her immediate memories started to fade as the reality of it slammed her. Her breathing increased, and a lump formed in her throat.
I can't think of it. I can't and I won't. I won't be able to function if I do.
The pain lessened, and some of the detachment in her memories of the killing returned. A swooping feeling came over Hermione as she realized, with horror, what it signified. Hermione had killed by accident and in self-defense before. That had felt similar, but not nearly as intense as this.
So this is what it feels like.
And this is how painful remorse is.
The horror of that idea threatened to choke her right then and there, to make her sit on the floor, curl into a ball, and simply not move.
I can't let this cripple me. I can't withdraw into myself. People need me. Being selfish is the very thing she accused me of. I have to keep going, even if it means this doesn't heal properly.
She rubbed her eyes with her hands, took a deep breath, and walked to the door.
Adrenaline coursed through Tom's veins as he dueled Igor Karkaroff in what had once been a grand dining hall. He felt profoundly alive. It was almost as if this was closer to the life he was meant to live, if Hermione had not come.
Years ago, Hermione had shown him in horrifying detail why it was better for him to satisfy his power-lust through political machinations, rather than displays of raw violent power… and he knew that as Minister, he could not personally duel every enemy he faced. But in this moment, dueling these foul traitors to magic with another great Dark wizard beside him… well, Tom could understand how he could have been seduced by the lure of violent, zero-sum answers. There was a thrill in having no rules to bind him.
Grindelwald was fighting Dolohov, and he was holding his own—but Tom could not help but observe the fact that Dolohov was quicker. Well, he was much younger. Grindelwald had much more knowledge of the Dark Arts and experience with a wand, so it was still equal.
Tom threw a particularly nasty curse at Karkaroff, which, to his dismay, the man barely dodged. Had it hit, it would have torn apart his arm muscles. Tom had to use other Dark curses in the duel; even he could not sustain the magical energy necessary to use the Killing Curse over and over, and these wizards were fast.
A sharp cry pierced the room, echoing off the tall ceiling. Tom whipped his head around. Grindelwald was collapsing to the floor, clutching his right arm—
—Which was missing past the elbow. A heavy wet spray of red, bright pink, and beige lumps settled on the floor, mixed with occasional splinters of wood.
"No!" Tom shouted.
Dolohov laughed uproariously as Grindelwald tumbled fully to the ground on his side. Karkaroff momentarily stopped dueling Tom and gaped at the fallen wizard, appalled at the curse.
In that moment, frozen in time, Tom stared at Grindelwald's fallen form for a moment too long.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He whipped around, but Dolohov's curse struck him directly in the chest.
His body froze up. He was suddenly unable to breathe—and then he didn't need to.
For the second time in his life, Tom found himself outside his physical body, gazing upon the scene from a separate vantage point. His body lay crumpled on the floor, lying face-down. His long, flowing dark green robes covered most of his body, making it look curiously fragile and small.
Grindelwald is still alive, he realized as he shifted his gaze. He is not dead… he is not even bleeding… it must have cauterized… but no, that curse will spread throughout his body if I don't—
"You fool!" Karkaroff roared at his lieutenant. He was truly outraged—and frightened. Tom noted that he was shouting in Russian, but curiously, in this state, he understood it without a translation charm.
"What was I to do?" Dolohov snapped back.
"We should have negotiated with them! I had no idea they would bring that many Aurors!"
"I will not negotiate with dirty-blooded—"
"He was a foreign Minister for Magic!" Karkaroff shouted in fury. "You idiot! Their Aurors will escape the Muggles, and they will declare war on us for this!"
"He came here to attack us, and he was a filthy half-blood to boot!"
"You ideological fool!"
Karkaroff hurled a hex at Dolohov and made a mad dash toward the door, but Dolohov was angry now. He sent a curse at his superior officer in return—and at that point, Tom decided it was time for him to reanimate himself. He focused his thoughts on the prone body lying on the ground, and with a rush, conveyed himself toward it. He connected with his brain, still in perfect condition, since it had been less than a minute of oxygen deprivation.
Heat. That was the first thing he felt again. Heat, then weight, and then pain in his chest from where the curse had struck him.
Tom Riddle heaved his breath, rose from the ground, and drew his wand as his robes fell in elegant lines down his form. Dolohov and Karkaroff stared at him, their own duel momentarily halted in their shock at his survival.
"Avada Kedavra," he said coldly, his words full of disdain.
Dolohov tried to run, but he was not in time. The lethal green jet struck him, and he fell to the ground.
Karkaroff's eyes were wide as saucers as he ran for the door. Tom sneered in derision at the man's cowardice. Without even lifting a foot, he sent a Stupefy at Karkaroff. Karkaroff crashed to the floor face-down. Tom stalked over, his footsteps echoing in the dining hall. He nudged Karkaroff onto his back and glared at him.
"Don't kill me!" Karkaroff pleaded. "I didn't want him to cast that at you—I'm so glad it didn't take—I didn't mean—"
"You lie," Tom said in icy tones. "You led me and my team into a trap, intending us to be slaughtered by armed Muggles. You only had second thoughts about it once you saw how many of us there were, but you were already committed and you went ahead with the plan. I know exactly what you meant."
"I—I knew that your Aurors would take care of the KGB!" he whimpered. "I brought them here so that it would all be stopped!"
"Liar. You lied about having a team of volunteers for me." He slashed his wand violently through the air, nonverbally casting a Dark curse. Karkaroff screamed as the flesh on one of his cheeks melted away as if burned, leaving exposed deep tissue.
"I—didn't—Dolohov was mad, utterly mad—tried to stop—got out of hand—I never meant…." It was obvious that Karkaroff was having difficulty speaking around the pain.
"You brought blood purity into the Russian Resistance!" Tom snarled. "You think the same things he did, just a bit milder! You fought beside him in the duel!" He turned around to cast a glance at Grindelwald, who was stirring. This had to be wrapped up quickly, then. He faced Karkaroff again. "What did you think would happen when you cultivated the same beliefs yourself in the ranks and then promoted a true believing violent hothead to be your officer? Did you really think you could control him? Fool!"
Karkaroff winced. "I didn't mean—it got out of control—please don't, I beg you—"
Tom scowled in disgust. "You sicken me, coward. Crucio!"
Karkaroff writhed on the floor as Tom sustained the curse. Despite himself, a faint smile came to his face. It had been so long since he had had the freedom to do this….
"Riddle."
Grindelwald's voice distracted Tom. He ended the curse and glanced at the German wizard once again. He was seated upright on the floor, clutching his maimed arm. The blood vessels in the upper arm were slowly turning black.
Tom gave Karkaroff one last disgusted glance. "I should kill you too, but I won't. I'll leave you to your own people outside that door. They're the ones you betrayed first, after all." He summoned Karkaroff's fallen wand, pocketed it, and directed his own at the man's head. He focused his thoughts on the Killing Curse that Dolohov had cast. "Obliviate."
Karkaroff's face softened. Tom slashed his wand through the air one last time, sending the Russian unconscious. He turned and walked over to Grindelwald, who was staring at him with wariness in his intelligent eyes—and fear.
Tom crouched next to Grindelwald as he held out his ruined right arm. Tom winced at the sight of it; the curse was already starting to kill the tissue in the remaining part of the limb.
"There is something I can do," he said hesitantly, pointing his wand at the stump. "It's… a Dark healing spell… and it'll hurt… but if you welcome the pain it causes, you won't lose any more of your arm." He hesitated again. "If you don't think you can do that, tell me now, because the spell is extremely dangerous otherwise."
"I… can do it," Grindelwald got out. "Cast it."
Tom's pocket watch, the one that Hermione had given him when he turned eighteen, slipped out of his robes. Suddenly it was a very unwelcome sight, especially in conjunction with Grindelwald's grey hair and wrinkled face. This was his wand arm, Tom thought. One of the greatest duelists of all time, and now—
He pushed the grim thoughts out of his mind and cast the spell. Grindelwald gritted his teeth as the Dark healing rushed over his arm. The toxic blackness in his veins faded away as Dolohov's curse was destroyed, but the arm remained maimed—as it always would, since it was a Dark curse that had struck him. The two wizards stood up.
Grindelwald heaved a breath. "Well," he said, pushing his robe sleeve down. "I suppose I should see Gregorovitch soon for a new wand. No, don't give me that one," he added when Tom made to hand over Karkaroff's. "I did not take it myself, so it won't like me. I must have a new one. It is a good thing that nobody recognizes me." He held out his left arm, the only hand he had now, and flexed his fingers. "I've heard of wizards who learned to use their other hand to cast."
How can you make light of it? Tom's thoughts screamed. Even if you can cast spells with that hand, you'll never be fast enough to duel again in your life!
That pocket watch still dangled out of his robes. Irritated, he shoved it back inside, perhaps a little too hard. Grindelwald noticed the movement and gazed pointedly and knowingly at Tom.
"So, are you intending to claim that you found the Cloak of Invisibility?"
Tom started. His eyes widened as he got a good look at the other man. Grindelwald was not asking the question sincerely. Deep, knowing cynicism was etched in every line of his face—and sad disappointment in his former star protégé.
"No," Tom said, though he was not sure why he said it. Perhaps it was that Grindelwald obviously knew now that possessing all three Deathly Hallows would not actually grant someone immortality, so why attempt that charade at all? "I don't think I'm going to claim any such thing. We both know the Dark Arts too well for that lie, don't we?"
The two Dark wizards regarded each other warily.
"When did you create it?"
"Before that duel in 1945."
Grindelwald's eyes flew wide open. "Mein Gott… and I let you take the Elder Wand."
Tom gripped his yew wand. "Would it have changed your plans to know?"
Grindelwald did not answer. "You don't use it now, I see."
"Hermione took it from me." That was all he cared to say. Grindelwald did not need to know that the Elder Wand now lay in state in the display cabinet in his office, superficially mended for appearance's sake but unusable now.
"Good. Yes—of course she must have. It would have destroyed you long ago otherwise. I had no idea…."
They stared at each other for a few more moments before Grindelwald spoke again. "When I was a young man, I had goals much like yours… though I sought to achieve them by different means." He shot Tom a wry glance. "I hope someday you will see what I saw."
"What do you want?" Tom asked flatly. His wand twitched in his hand.
"Are you planning to kill me, Minister?" His tone was sardonic.
Startled, Tom gazed at the Dark wizard, one of his mentors. "I… really don't want to," he admitted. "But… you have dangerous information…." He thought for a moment. "But not if you keep it to yourself. The Unbreakable Vow?"
Grindelwald stared at Tom for a moment before nodding.
The rest of the wizards in Andropova's installation had surrendered quickly, collapsing like rotten fruit after her death, and the Aurors had accepted Hermione's explanation that the witch had threatened the life of an ambassador, a violation of international law even among wizards. Hermione felt sick at the lie, but what purpose would it serve to tell the truth? She sighed to herself as she left the Aurors to take care of the situation.
"Madam Riddle?"
Hermione still felt hollow and broken. I didn't have to kill her. That was not self-defense and it was not justice. I was simply angry with her. I am a murderer now and for the rest of my life. She did not even hear the Auror's words.
"Madam Riddle," Auror Abbott said again.
Hermione looked up wearily.
"The Minister has sent a notification to us. He has defeated the Harrower and his… 'comrade'… and is going to Apparate to Koroleva's compound momentarily."
Hermione chuckled weakly at Abbott's choice of words, but her laughter quickly vanished. "Very well. I will see him and discuss the situation. You are in charge of the operation here." She tried to control her shaking. "The children are your priority. Take them to the compound. We should be there."
"What of the adults?"
Hermione swallowed, trying not to look at the wrapped body of Verochka Andropova. "If you find any more wizards and witches, take them alive if possible. We may have to use Memory Charms, but try to just detain them for now." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Obliviate the Muggles who knew of the project, and seize their paperwork. We'll have to examine it to determine how high in the Soviet bureaucracy the knowledge went. Any Muggles who knew of us must be made to forget."
Auror Abbott seemed to understand that Hermione was deeply upset. She nodded quickly and directed her battalion to move on the Soviet building.
Hermione heaved another breath. She had to get control of herself before attempting to Disapparate. At last, she turned in the air, felt the familiar squeezing, and vanished.
Tom was waiting in a private, warded room in the hideout. He looked disturbed himself, his brow furrowed. He managed a smile as she appeared.
Hermione only vaguely remembered rushing him, but somehow they found themselves in a tight embrace. Tom was relieved that she was alive and well, even though she was not supposed to have been walking into a life-threatening situation. Hermione had been more concerned about him—not because she feared he would truly die, but because a violent duel with ruthless Dark wizards could do a lot of damage. He looked tired and upset, but nothing worse than that. She closed her eyes, hugging him closely.
"Karkaroff was a traitor just as you thought," he said, breaking the silence.
Hermione opened her eyes and slackened her grip on him, though they remained in a loose embrace.
"His treachery ran even deeper than we guessed. His 'volunteers' were a squad of KGB ready to slaughter my Aurors—and the honest Russian volunteers Gellert picked up."
Hermione gasped.
"Dolohov is dead, and Karkaroff has been left to the Russian rebels' justice." He stopped talking abruptly, his face closing up before Hermione's eyes and a pained expression coming over it.
Hermione felt a swooping feeling in her gut. "And… Gellert?" She dreaded the answer.
Tom sighed. "He survived… but Dolohov destroyed his wand arm. Forearm. Vaporized it. It was a Dark curse, of course, so it can't be restored. He'll still be able to do magic with his left hand, and they might be able to attach an artificial hand, but he will probably never be fast enough to duel again." He rubbed the top of his head.
It was evident to Hermione that this bothered him deeply. Watching a great Dark wizard be permanently crippled, unable to defend himself effectively for the rest of his life, must be personally unsettling to Tom in a way that she could not comprehend to the same degree. She was not entirely surprised by that fact, but still… there was surely more….
"Tom, what else happened?"
He did not want to answer.
"Tom?"
He sighed again. "When Dolohov got his arm, it distracted me, and he… hit me with the Killing Curse." He seemed ashamed of the admission.
She gazed at him in horror. "Oh, Tom—"
"I'm fine."
She squeezed him tightly again, burying her head on his shoulder. Her feelings were so conflicted right now…. This was the second time that the diary had saved his life, saved their future together… the children existed because of it, and now they still had their father because of it…. It was still sad and wrong, and yet—
She didn't want to think about it right now. Instead she focused on what had caused all of this to happen in the first place: the rank cowardice and weakness of Igor Karkaroff.
"You know, Karkaroff would have been head of Durmstrang—"
"No, he wouldn't have."
She closed her eyes and squeezed Tom's sides, just to feel him. "I suppose… not. Not this time. Too much was different about what he did with his life." It was so odd now to think of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, she reflected. She had known of Voldemort for seven years, but she had personally known Tom for twice that many.
"He was a traitor to his people. They both were. Anyone who would direct Muggles to kill fellow wizards, playing a game that would result in the forced servitude or annihilation of all of us, is the very definition of a blood-traitor, just as I said. They deserved death, and I gave it to Dolohov, at least."
His voice was harsh, and the reminder of death—not that she really needed it—made Hermione shake again.
"Hermione?" he asked in a gentler tone.
She took a deep breath. "The Ukrainian children were being kidnapped by an agent of the Soviet state—a witch who went over to that side. I met her… and I killed her."
Tom seemed to understand that Hermione was not pleased about this, so he did not offer congratulations or attempt to convince her it was justified. She was immensely grateful for it.
"I didn't have to," she continued. "She didn't even cast a lethal curse at me. She just made me angry, talking about how she had been stealing children to be trained as Soviet spies, and how we in the West were no different by taking orphans out of here."
"That's absolute rubbish," Tom declared. "They can at least choose what they want to do."
"I told her that, but she was completely converted to that ideology. And then," Hermione continued, sighing. Thinking about what came next riled her again, making her forget her remorse. "Then she accused us—you and me—of not caring about our own children, and said she might take them herself."
Tom's face grew white with rage. "If you hadn't killed her, I would have done it myself. I'd do it to anyone who threatens our children."
"But she said it to goad me, to make me careless. It was just a stupid taunt, and I…." She cast her gaze down. "I could have just disabled her—and then the Healers at home—or memory magic…." She broke off. "Tom, I'm a murderer now. I know that's how it read. I felt it." She closed her eyes.
His heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Use it. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that to her right now. The watch that she had given him floated back into his memories. Tick-tock, tick-tock…. Grindelwald's arm, blown to bits. The great man collapsing to the ground. Tick-tock.
Use it. Do it. He wanted so, so much to tell her that.
Hermione's face was still crumpled in anguish at her confession of murder. It wouldn't bother me, but it bothers her, he thought. She wouldn't want me to say that to her at this time. This upsets her, so she will be angry and deeply hurt if I respond that way. It was irrational to him, but he knew it to be true nonetheless.
He did not say the words that played back in his mind repeatedly. He stayed silent, embracing her tightly. She was warm and soft and his and this was what she needed. As he hugged her, the ticking of his watch in his imagination and the image of Grindelwald's final duel faded away.
"Volodymira Koroleva told me she used to be in the Magical Resistance. She might not have switched sides if Dolohov hadn't targeted Muggle-borns. She thought she was helping vulnerable people. She believed she was doing the right thing… and I murdered her because she taunted me." She drew close to him again and rested her head on his shoulder once more.
He hesitated for a bit before finally commenting. "She had no right to do what she did, and she was also a coward and a traitor. Others in the Resistance stood firm."
"I just don't know what to do anymore," she said, feeling her eyes grow hot and damp with unshed tears. "I wanted to make a better world. I wanted to use my knowledge of what would've happened to make things better this time, but it's so different now that I know nothing more than anyone else about what to do next. You're Minister, Grindelwald is free and is essentially the shadow Minister in Poland… but does it matter? Even with everyone in the East under threat, there are still wizards who hate other wizards so much that they'll use Muggles to do their killing—and not just any Muggles, but Muggles who would kill or enslave every last one of them if they could! And I'm no better! I'll kill someone because she makes me angry, even when she might have been able to be saved and turned into a strong ally. She was a better leader than Koroleva. God, Tom, what is wrong with us? What is wrong with the human race? Is there even any point in trying?"
Tom growled. "You are nothing like Dolohov or Karkaroff, and I don't want you to compare yourself to them ever again. Karkaroff betrayed people who trusted him, and Dolohov sent squads of Muggles to shoot witches and wizards in their sleep. He risked Wizarding Secrecy for his stupid blood-purity beliefs. You didn't do anything like that. And that woman handed wizarding children to a bunch of Muggles who think they're superior to us—who believe that they are entitled to use us for their 'glorious revolution.'" His face was twisted in contempt and anger.
Hermione drew away a little, though they still held each other. They gazed at each other's faces. Tom's expression calmed a bit at that.
"And do you really think this world is no better than the arsehole of a timeline that you left? I know you don't agree with everything I've done, but Britain's wizarding world is stable and prosperous. We can help these refugees and rebels instead of fighting pointless civil wars. Apparently, as hard as it is for me to believe, I would be inciting one right now otherwise. Don't tell me that 'doesn't matter.'"
"Tom, of course I'm happy that you aren't doing that!" Hermione exclaimed. "I love you, so of course I'm glad you aren't… what you would have been… and I'm glad things are good at home. But things still went badly, just in a different way, and this wouldn't have happened—these people wouldn't have been killed—if I hadn't meddled with time."
He gripped Hermione tightly and looked her in the eye. "Listen to me carefully, Hermione. None of what happened today is your fault."
"Andropova's death was."
"Even that wouldn't have happened if she hadn't done what she did… but if you want to blame someone other than her, blame Dolohov and Karkaroff, not yourself. You didn't make any of these people do what they did." He breathed deeply. "What happened here is not of your making. You are not responsible for everything that goes wrong in the world, Hermione."
The tears finally flowed. Hermione leaned in again, holding him tighter still. Her head lay on his shoulder, and her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders as if her life depended on it. He enclosed her in a firm, powerful grip once more.
He was right about his main point, of course, and she wasn't really blaming herself for the actions of Dolohov and Karkaroff—or Andropova. Her meddling might have made the choices possible for them, but they had still made the decisions themselves. But Tom's attempt to absolve her of the responsibility for Andropova's death did not persuade her. If they had made their own decisions, so had she.
There was something else too, something she hadn't wanted to face.
I understand now. I understand the murderous rage he felt when he confronted his Muggle relatives… and Pollux Black. I hate it, but I get it now. We're both dark, broken people, corrupted by a sick world, she thought. Oddly, it gave her a small amount of comfort to think of that. It was a difficult thing to face—to have to accept the fact that she could commit murder—but at least she wasn't alone in having to face that dark and corrupted part of herself. There was some twisted comfort in knowing that he knew this darkness too.
She tried to focus only on the tactile sensations of her arms around him and his around her in that possessive grip she knew so well. She ran her hands over his silken robes, feeling the firm muscles of his shoulders underneath, and planted a light kiss on the side of his face.
"Minister!"
They broke apart at the sound of the Auror's voice. "Come in," he said.
Abbott opened the door hesitantly. She was flanked by Koroleva and the chief Auror who had gone with Tom.
"Everything is under control," she reported. "We've Obliviated the Muggles that we found in that facility, and the Ukrainians are going to determine who else among the Muggles knew of it. The children are safely in this building, and I'm told that Baginski has been returned to Poland with his aides and the Russians who volunteered to assist your operation are going to choose a new leader amongst themselves. Fortunately, we are not needed here any longer."
Koroleva managed a weak smile. "And I thank you—very, very much."
"You're welcome," Tom replied in clipped tones. He managed a weak, sardonic smile that Hermione knew was actually rather full of malice, but Koroleva would not know that. "Do see to it that we don't have to do this again."
To her credit, she looked embarrassed.
Tom turned to Hermione. "Let's go home."
End Notes: That concludes "Subversion." I have more story arcs coming, and you will probably be glad to know that—although some of them involve drama—it'll be back to the domestic front of politics, and their family will be present much more. I have really kicked the crap out of both Tom and Hermione with this arc (especially this chapter) and the poor things need something a little nicer.