Notes: Tom comes into his own as a lying, scheming politician in this chapter. I don't know about you, but that makes me happy. (Well, I did say what one of the inspirations for this story was...) Thanks for all the support. I have to confess, I'm able to update so quickly because the entire story is written, but I'm glad to do it nonetheless. Those of you who are worried about the Elder Wand... well, you're right to worry. It has quite a bag of tricks, precious.

Chapter Nineteen: Silver-Tongued Parselmouth

Hermione had expected no less, but within a day of the duel with Grindelwald, she and Tom were celebrities.

No, she corrected herself mentally, we're the "young heroes." That was the designation given to them by Slughorn, who had arranged a pair of interviews with the Daily Prophet within an hour of their return to Britain. The news article about the duel had already been printed. The personal interview was today, three days after that. There would probably be another interview when they were officially awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class for the "feat."

They awaited the reporter's arrival in the Great Hall with Dippet, Dumbledore, and Slughorn. Slughorn preened like a peacock, inordinately proud of the "stunning heroics" of his favorite students. "I expect you've done what you were sent to do," he said knowingly to Hermione, his voice in an undertone that only she could hear.

Hermione could not respond except with a forced smile. Clearly Slughorn thought that in the timeline she had come from, Grindelwald had defeated Dumbledore. She could not bring herself to disabuse him of that idea, and if she had told him that Tom was actually the villain from her old time, Slughorn wouldn't believe it—especially now.

Tom sat across from her, holding the Elder Wand and running his fingers over its surface idly. There was almost a sinister aspect to his anticipation. He was smiling in a way that was just shy of being a leer. The tip of his yew wand and a corner of dark blue leather protruded from his school bag. Hermione shivered. Ever since winning it, Tom had hardly let the Elder Wand out of his sight. He was almost as attached to it as he was to the diary—which he had requested back from Hermione as soon as they were back at Hogwarts and had a private moment. Apparently, even her Secret-Kept room was not as secure in his mind as his own person. On one hand, she was relieved that her room no longer harbored the thing, but a small part of her was offended that he suddenly and inexplicably did not want her to keep his Horcrux anymore.

The Horcrux that he didn't even "have to" make, she thought. Though I suppose he always intended to create one, and the duel with Grindelwald was just his latest excuse for it.

"Oho!" Slughorn suddenly exclaimed, standing up by his seat. He craned his neck, burst into a smile, and strode forward with the other professors to greet the reporter, Barnabas Cuffe.

Cuffe was still fairly young, Hermione observed. She wondered when he would ascend to the post of editor-in-chief of the newspaper, which he held by her time. He sported a cocky grin that she found rather off-putting, and his overall air reminded her unpleasantly of a mix of Gilderoy Lockhart and Rita Skeeter. A photographer trailed behind him, snapping flash photographs of the small group.

"Horace!" Cuffe exclaimed loudly, greeting Slughorn with a heavy handshake. "Wonderful to see you!" He flashed a dazzling smile at Hermione and Tom. "And these are the heroes! Delightful. Barnabas Cuffe of the Daily Prophet," he said to them.

They introduced themselves in rather more measured tones. Dippet smiled proudly. "Well," he said, "since this is their valor and skill, their act of heroism, and they are of age, it would be best if we took ourselves away for the time being." He gestured to Dumbledore and Slughorn to move away. "We'll be just outside the doors."

Once the professors were gone, Cuffe turned to Tom and Hermione with that Lockhart-like grin again. "Well," he began, "my colleagues printed the account of the duel itself, of course."

"It was an excellent piece," Tom said immediately. Hermione wanted to sneer at the flattery but restrained herself.

Cuffe smiled again and took an Auto-Transcribing Quill and parchment out of a briefcase. "And may I offer my personal congratulations to you? I'm sure that both of you are tired of hearing it, but wizarding Europe is in your debt. We all expected Professor Dumbledore to do it, of course, but if I may say so, it makes a much better story this way. Everyone loves young heroes!"

Tom smiled insincerely. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had other important things to do. He has been busy with the Minister, after all, what with the—question—about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Cuffe's quill scribbled away as Tom spoke.

Hermione's jaw almost dropped at this comment. What a backhanded remark, implying that Dumbledore thought promoting Septimus Weasley was more important than dueling Grindelwald. She supposed she ought not to be surprised at it, but she was.

Cuffe did not pick up on the double-edged meaning. "Well, not to speak ill of any of my colleagues or their reporting, but I think that what the wizarding public really wants to know is the human interest angle," he said. "You're going to be the youngest recipients of the Order of Merlin, First Class, in years! It's amazing, and people want to know about such exceptional young people. That's what I am here for. We're going to talk today about you two: who you are, what your aspirations are—and what, dare I say, you think of the current situation, now that the war is over."

Tom smirked. "We would be delighted to talk with you about all of those subjects."

Cuffe flashed that smile. "Well, ladies first. Miss Green," he said, turning to Hermione, "you are the first cousin once removed of Professor Dumbledore, and he kept you out of school until this year because of concerns of favoritism. What do you think of that decision? Do you feel that you have adapted to life at Hogwarts well enough?"

Hermione nodded. "I understand why it was done," she lied glibly. "Fortunately, I have always been studious, so I was not behind in classes when I came."

"I am sure not!" Cuffe exclaimed. "I understand that the two of you are the top students in your class!" He gazed knowingly at Tom. "Am I correct to guess that Mr. Riddle has been an excellent friend to you this school year, since you fought together?"

Hermione could not look at Tom. "We got off to a rough start—we are very competitive—but yes. He has been." It wasn't even a lie, she thought.

Cuffe glanced again at Tom and winked. "I understand perfectly," he said.

Hermione tried to force the scowl off her features while Cuffe's attention was on Tom. She needn't have worried, because the man was clearly more interested in interviewing Tom than Hermione, now that he had concluded that they were a couple.

"And Mr. Riddle," he said, "quite a cipher, your background. I've done a bit of investigation on that topic, and I have a surprise for you today."

Tom suddenly looked very nervous.

"You were left in the Muggle world, were you not?" Cuffe asked. "The professors told me so."

Tom nodded curtly, his face expressionless.

"Such a pity," Cuffe said with a shake of his head. "Not at all where you belonged, no sir. You see, your background was a mystery, and I was determined to crack it. Fortuitously for us, I was able to unearth records of your parents yesterday!"

Hermione realized that this was actually why Cuffe was more interested in Tom. It lifted the surge of annoyance that she had felt at the idea that he spoke for them both if they were together.

"It's a shame, and I hate to have to break it to you, but… you were named for your father, I was told, and the only other person by that name was a Muggle who unfortunately died the summer before last." His tone did not match his words. It was eager and excited.

Hermione watched Tom's face carefully. To her astonishment, disgust, and—loath as she was to admit it—cold-blooded admiration, his features fell naturally into an expression of sorrow and regret.

"That is a shame," Tom said in a low voice. "If I had known he was alive, I would have wanted to meet him."

The quill took this down furiously. Hermione wanted to slap him.

"Your mother, as you know, died in childbirth, but I was able to obtain her name as well from the Muggle marriage certificate. She was Merope Gaunt, from an old wizarding family that unfortunately fell on very hard times in recent decades."

Tom twisted the ring on his finger. "She actually left me my ring," he lied. "I couldn't wear it for the longest time. My hands weren't large enough," he said with a good-natured laugh. "I'm glad to know who she was at last. It means a lot to me to know who they were—where I came from. Thank you for doing the research."

Hermione wanted to curse him. The smooth-talking, silver-tongued, lying—

Cuffe shook his head in a play of sympathy, though really relishing it. "I also must tell you, Mr. Riddle, that you actually have a wizarding relation—though you might not want to claim him, I'm sorry to say."

"Whom do you mean?" Tom asked carefully.

"Your uncle," Cuffe said. "He… I'm very sorry, I shouldn't say it—"

But you can't help yourself, Hermione thought with disdain. This entire performance was disgustingly dishonest on both sides. It was really no surprise, she thought, that Barnabas Cuffe would go on to print blatant falsehoods for sensationalist purposes—or to try to catch the prevailing political winds—in her original timeline.

"—but you have the right to know. He is in Azkaban for the murder of your father and Muggle grandparents." He shook his head yet again.

Tom considered how to respond to that. Finally he said, "I suppose it was probably an act of revenge for my mother marrying a Muggle. I would still like to meet him at some point—just to show him that I am alive, and that there is nothing he can do about it."

"I'm sure that can be arranged with the Minister," Cuffe said at once. "Or the new Head of Law Enforcement, whoever it ends up being."

Hermione suddenly knew with utter certainty that Morfin Gaunt was going to die in prison after that visit took place. She wasn't sure how Tom would manage it—possibly a slow-acting curse or poison—but she had no doubt in her mind that it would happen.

"And on that subject," Cuffe said, "this question is for both of you. What are your ambitions? I'm advised by Horace that you are interested in Ministry careers."

They both nodded. "I actually would like to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Hermione said before Tom could speak.

"So would I," he put in.

"Indeed, your professor advised me that the two of you have policy opinions already! An excellent thing. He said that at a small dinner, you both spoke against the proposals of Mr. Septimus Weasley. Mr. Weasley, of course, is now a contender for DMLE Head."

"I'm sure Mr. Weasley is a competent wizard," Tom said smoothly before Hermione could speak, "but now that the war is over, I think it is more important than ever to focus on peacetime. The Propaganda Restriction Act in particular is—problematic in a peacetime environment."

Cuffe's eyes glittered with glee as his quill took down Tom's words. "Mr. Weasley says that the bill is necessary to prevent the future spread of propaganda like Grindelwald used," he said. "Your opposition—and Miss Green's—is based on principle, then?"

Hermione spoke first. "In part, but it is also based on the view that Grindelwald's message appealed to so many people because of their own experiences. Rather than banning the speech itself, we believe that the Ministry, and Ministries everywhere, should consider why the European constituency found that message so compelling and address their concerns in policy where appropriate."

"I agree with Hermione," Tom said. "Banning the message itself will only make people more likely to turn to figures like Grindelwald. They would fear their own government."

You wouldn't mind that if you were running it, Hermione thought cynically. Then she realized that this Tom would not want to rule by terror. He would want to be popular—albeit on his own terms, always his own terms. It would give him more power.

Cuffe was enjoying this. He smiled that brilliant smile again. "'The young heroes who defeated Grindelwald agree that the Propaganda Restriction Act would be counterproductive'! Marvelous line." He looked up, smiling with his lips closed this time. "And what of the Seizure of Dark or Dangerous Artifacts? That one's rather topical lately, wouldn't you agree? At least, it was until the pair of you removed Grindelwald."

Tom smiled predatorily, not even attempting to hide it this time. Hermione felt a shiver of foreboding—or anticipation, she was not sure which.

"I don't agree at all with Mr. Weasley's views on that, especially relating to the recent tragedy," he said bluntly.

Hermione tried to avoid glancing at the exposed dark blue book corner sticking out of his school bag. She wished she could Disapparate, because she did not want to hear this. It was one thing to hear him lie about the duel with Grindelwald. At least Grindelwald himself had been fully complicit—and was alive. It was worse to hear him spew honeyed lies about his family. This, though… this was the worst of all.

"I rather suspect that the problem was not that 'even the DMLE Head is at risk from Dark artifacts,' as Mr. Weasley has said," Tom continued, looking Cuffe in the eye and smirking crookedly as the quill scratched on the parchment. "At least, not the DMLE Head in general. You know, Mr. Cuffe, that Arcturus Black was awarded the Order of Merlin for unspecified 'services to the Ministry' shortly before his cousin got the appointment."

Cuffe gasped. "Mr. Riddle, are you implying—"

"The wizarding world runs on patronage," Tom said dismissively. "There's nothing wrong with that. But I think it's important that those who benefit from patronage are qualified in their own right. You know Professor Slughorn, Mr. Cuffe. I am proud to consider him a mentor, and he makes sure that his protégés are well-suited for the positions he recommends us for. I understand that he recommended you for the Prophet. That is how patronage should work."

Hermione was in awe. Tom was simultaneously condemning Arcturus Black, speaking against Weasley's bill, casting doubt on the Minister's integrity, and flattering Cuffe himself—as well as Slughorn, for good measure, presumably to ensure that he himself appeared every bit the grateful young protégé rather than a malcontent. It was wrong, very wrong, but it… impressed her. She found her thoughts straying from the interview questions as she regarded Tom in his well-kept robes and neat suit underneath.

"I am not speaking against Mr. Black, or the late Mr. Pollux Black, but one does have to wonder how someone who couldn't handle Dark artifacts became Head of Magical Law Enforcement. There are plenty of people who know exactly how to handle them," Tom continued. Cuffe's quill was scratching furiously. "Though not enough," he concluded. "Again, I don't want to speak against my professor—she has given us fine grounding in dueling, obviously, and how to deal with Dark creatures—but there probably should be more instruction in how to neutralize and safely store Dark artifacts. Many of them are of historical or intrinsic value and shouldn't just be destroyed… and what I read indicated that the Black artifacts were not secured."

Cuffe's eyes were wide with surprise and delight as his quill finished transcribing what Tom said. Hermione was silent, still taking it all in—and trying unsuccessfully to quell her resurgent thoughts of attraction to him. She suddenly realized why this bothered her so much. It was not because he was lying about a murder. It was not even because he was lying about a Horcrux victim, much as she might have wanted it to be that. It was because she agreed with most of what he was saying. Some things did need to change. The official story was false, but there were grains of truth. Pollux Black had been unfit for his position. Arcturus Black did have undue influence. Weasley was excessive in his determination to destroy anything "dangerous," even historic or valuable items. And the school Defense curriculum was very flawed. Even if the catalyst was a lie, making necessary changes was better than not making them… wasn't it?

"And you agree with what Mr. Riddle has said, Miss Green?" Cuffe asked her.

She nodded, though it felt somewhat involuntary. "Tom and I have discussed these bills at length before, and we are in agreement on the essentials."

"Should I indicate that the two of you are endorsing… Mr. Ogden?" Cuffe asked. "Or Mr. Yaxley?"

"We're not endorsing anyone," Tom said smoothly. "We just hope that the Minister makes this decision based on qualifications. It's a very important one." He smiled.

Cuffe was on the edge of his seat. "I'm afraid I must draw the interview to a close with this, but before I do, have you any more policy opinions—either of you—that you would like to share?"

Tom considered for a moment before smiling again. "I think I do. This one is especially pertinent to the information that you gave me about my family background. I don't know how common it is for wizarding children to be left among unrelated Muggles when their parents die, but it should never happen. This school can track who Muggle-born children are. It should know where any magical child is living. No young witch or wizard should ever have to grow up in a Muggle orphanage—or worse."

Hermione had the flash of insight that this statement was entirely sincere, in contrast to a great deal of what Tom had said in this interview. It surprised—and warmed—her to hear him speak up to prevent other children from experiencing what he had, since he himself could not benefit now from a change in policy. Except by gaining credit for suggesting it, she thought, but that did not bother her.

"And you, Miss Green?" Cuffe asked her.

Hermione took a deep breath. This was a commitment to something for which, several years ago, she would have been fully on Dumbledore's side in the belief that no one should care about ancestry. But the war year had changed her perspective. "I do have a suggestion, on a related note to what Tom said," she began. "Grindelwald's researchers were able to show that Muggle-borns all have wizard ancestors. It makes sense. That means their immediate families—some family members, at least—are Squibs. They should be protected under wizarding law like first-generation Squibs."

"That's very interesting, Miss Green."

"Yes," she said forcefully. "And—more importantly, I think these families should be introduced to magic before the child turns eleven. Years before. Possibly in infancy, so they will know what to expect from their child and can get accustomed to the idea. They should be offered wizarding support too, if they need it."

"An excellent proposal!" Cuffe exclaimed. "There will be loads of support for that from Muggle-borns in this country, I dare say!" He flicked his wand at the quill, and it finished writing with a flourish. The parchments dried instantly and rolled up, and all of the materials sailed into Cuffe's briefcase.

Tom went to the doors of the Great Hall to let the professors back in. They saw off Cuffe in a flurry of excited handshakes while Tom and Hermione stood aside, smiling and replying politely when addressed.

At last the bustle was over, and the reporter was out the door. The professors left too, Slughorn giving them meaningful and entirely unsubtle looks as he lumbered through the heavy doors. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and sank down on a bench. Tom hesitated for a moment before joining her.

They sat in silence for a little while, alone in the vast Great Hall, until he spoke. "I hope you understand why I had to do that," he said quietly.

She could not meet his eyes, but she could nod, and she did. "I wish it hadn't been necessary at all, but… it was over a year and a half ago." She paused. "You know what name you went by in my timeline. I appreciate that you have never had anyone use it in my presence. It would bother me to hear it addressed to you. But you, the other you, did it because y—he hated his birth name and… half-blood heritage," she said quickly. "Now the entire wizarding world will know about it."

"Yes, they will."

"Doesn't that bother you? And what about the Slytherin connection and the Chamber of Secrets? That could be dangerous."

He quirked a brow and smiled crookedly. "In the first place, it took me five years to trace the bloodline when I was looking for connections to Parselmouths. The genealogy books are only well-documented for the post-Seclusion period, and people have scores of ancestors a thousand years back. Also, it was only ever gossip that the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and people stopped crediting that rumor after… well, you know," he said smugly as Hermione's face grew pinched. "As for my—parents—I knew it would eventually come out. People would want to know who the Minister—who a Department Head, for that matter—was. It was inevitable. And my name is not that despicable deadbeat Muggle's name anymore. He's dead. Corpses aren't people. It's my name."

Hermione sighed. Of course he would come up with a rationalization like that. But there was something else. "Department Head? You can't mean to put yourself forward."

"Not now, but I'll hold it eventually," he said confidently. His fingers involuntarily reached for the Elder Wand. "I hope this Ogden fellow does get the job. He's the most senior person by far, and his 'candidacy' to the Minister is based on that. He's his own man. I wouldn't want to work for someone who was owned by Black or Dumbledore."

Hermione could not particularly blame him. She really hoped that Yaxley was not chosen, considering what a relative of his would do to the DMLE in the alternate future. Tom had taken care of that as well as he could, making insinuations about the influence of Arcturus Black on the Minister and endorsing "qualifications."

"I should go," he said abruptly, standing up. "We'll talk later."

London.

Abraxas Malfoy and Crawford Rosier passed down the street, expressions of disdain on their aristocratic faces as they approached Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Filthy Muggle rubbish," Rosier spat, kicking at an overturned bin. "How can they stand to live like this?"

Malfoy walked carefully around the puddle of half-decomposed food scraps with a sneer. They approached the townhouse, which appeared magically, pushing Eleven and Thirteen aside as it did.

One of Arcturus Black's house-elves greeted the wizards and showed them in. "Master will be here very soon," the elf squeaked as they sat down in the parlor.

Sure enough, the intimidating figure of Arcturus Black appeared in the doorway shortly. He looked frustrated and unhappy as he sat down.

"Well," he said, "I think I know why you are here, but nonetheless…."

They exchanged glances, nonverbally deciding who should speak first. It was Malfoy. He took a deep breath. "Arcturus, we want you to know that we continue to support the cause of blood purity, of course, but at the moment, we have… well, Crawford and I have come to an agreement about these young people."

"Have you." It was not a question, and it was spoken with resignation.

"Yes," Malfoy continued. "We do not think they were being used by Dumbledore, given their clear opposition to Weasley in that interview. And that comment made by the young man about Dumbledore's priorities—no, Crawford and I believe that they are just young people. Misguided—I also saw the Riddle boy's comments about you—but that is, perhaps, to be expected at that age. They are, at the moment, considered heroes, and all sorts of people will want to influence them. As for the leak, we are quite sure that it was Dumbledore himself."

Black sighed. "That may be. I understand why you and Crawford want to… retire from our little conspiracy."

"I have no family," Malfoy said bluntly. "It is up to me to continue the Malfoy name. It is important that none of the pureblood families die out, and I have decided to make this my priority."

"I agree entirely on that," Black said.

Rosier spoke up. "I don't wish to break our agreement, of course," he said. "With my daughter and your late cousin's son. Abraxas and I just want out of the political part of this for now."

Black nodded unhappily. "I am not entirely surprised, and I hold no ill will toward either of you for it. The death of my cousin was a shock to us all."

Rosier and Malfoy exchanged quick glances. "You still think—"

"Yes," Black said sharply. "I do."

They exchanged another glance. "Very well," Rosier said reluctantly. "I have to advise you, though, to pursue the idea quietly."

"I know. It was a mistake to say that to the newspaper. It is best to keep a low profile now anyway. You shall do it in your way, and I in mine."

Malfoy and Rosier took that as a dismissal. They made their farewells to Black and politely left the house. Black retreated to his study and began composing a parchment to send to Pierre Lestrange.

"As we predicted, Malfoy and Rosier have left. It profits us nothing to make enemies of them, but for numbers, we do need another ally now."

A few days after the in-depth personal interview was printed, the Prophet carried another highly important piece of news. Tom pulled Hermione into an empty room after breakfast with a smug look on his face.

"I saw it," she said. She opened the paper, which reported Bob Ogden's promotion.

"Did you see what else was in it?"

"'In a surprising twist, it was discovered that nineteen years ago, Ogden was the Law Enforcement Patrol employee who arrested the uncle and grandfather of one of the young people who recently defeated Grindelwald. When asked by owl post for comment, young hero Tom Riddle stated that it appears that Ogden's enforcement of justice brought his parents together, as Ogden recalled that Riddle's witch mother was abused and neglected by her family.'" Hermione glared at him. "You are unbelievably shameless."

Tom preened. "I'll take that as a supreme compliment, darling."

"Don't call me that," she said, but there was no spirit in it.

He did not deign to respond to that. "Why shouldn't I use this to my advantage?"

"Hmm, let me think," Hermione muttered cynically under her breath.

He shrugged, still smirking. "This is wonderful. He has lingering sympathy for her from that, which will translate to liking me. I think we're set, wouldn't you agree?"

She scowled. "I don't see where I fit in this."

He lowered his voice. "Yes, you do," he said, almost growling. He glanced at the wall behind her and stepped forward. She involuntarily backed up a little.

"I saw you during our interview," he said. "You couldn't keep your eyes off me. Remembering things we did, weren't you? I bet you were."

"I'm not answering that," she mumbled.

He moved closer. "You don't need to."

"You're not a good person," she said.

He put on a deliberately fake hurt face. "Oh, I'm not that bad."

"You've done things—I mean, I don't even care so much about the lies, and I can't change what happened before I arrived, but you know what I'm referring to—"

He placed his hands on either side of her face. "And you don't care anymore."

"I do care," she protested.

A finger found its way behind her ear. "Not enough to stay away from me."

She shivered at his touch. "It's just a physical reaction. It doesn't mean anything."

"Liar," he hissed, closing the gap between them.

Hermione gave in, leaning into his hands as they moved to cup her face. He parted her lips and began to kiss her greedily, the way he had always done, his tongue plundering her and dueling with hers, his teeth nipping lightly at her lips, all to leave his mark on her. She pressed herself against him down to their hips, grinding against his crotch. He groaned and nipped hard at her lower lip.

"You're going to get it in a bit," he murmured, breaking away. He gazed down at her face, a hungry look in his eyes. "And you deserve it." He involuntarily reached into his robe pocket, where he kept the Elder Wand. A dark smile formed on his face as he touched it.

Her eyes widened, and she tried to ignore the thrill that traveled down her body at the words. She edged away from him, and as she did, her gaze dropped to his school bag.

"Why did you want that back?" she asked, knowing she did not have to clarify.

He was startled for a moment, but he quickly realized what she meant. He smirked. "You want it after all?"

She ignored that. "I want to know why you think it is safer for you to carry it on your person all the time than to store it… there."

He took the knobby wand out of his pocket and ran his fingers lightly over it. His features turned in confusion. "I know exactly where it is," he said, as if it should be obvious. "It's always with me, so I know. It makes sense."

"No, Tom, it doesn't," she said. "You would know where it was there too, and it would be under all sorts of strong enchantments." Her gaze traveled to the wand in his hand, and she suddenly gasped with a realization.

"What's the matter?"

"The wand," she breathed. "'Easier prey for Death,' Grindelwald said. Tom, it's influencing you."

He was shocked, and for a moment he only clutched the Elder Wand tighter, but as her words sank in, his face changed. He blinked.

"You're right," he said abruptly. He held the wand out, staring warily at it. Then he slipped it back into his pocket. "Well. I'm glad you noticed that. I'm onto its little trick now." He took her arm with his. "That's yet another reason to go there. The diary should be put back where it was, and I have things to do. In fact… yes. You did ask for it. Let's go."

End Notes: Everyone: I'm pre-warning for some of the content of chapter 20. I will also warn when I put it up, but it will involve moderate Dom/sub and a non-sexual scene that many might consider a bit creepy. Not in an abusive way, but creepy nonetheless.

To the people who don't like that Hermione is siding with Tom over Dumbledore: I am one of those fans who hold that canon Hermione is, in fact, a hypocrite. She makes exceptions for herself and people on her side, and like anyone else, she judges people more favorably if they like her. She does plenty of very dubious things in the books, many of which she thinks about in this story. ("Dark magic" is a completely arbitrary designation in the Potterverse, so I don't think it matters if what she does in canon doesn't get that label.) This story also has an AU Battle of Hogwarts in which she had to use lethal force. In this fic, she is fully aware of her own greyness. But... I don't think being a moral hypocrite is that bad. In fact, one of the themes of this story is that sometimes you have to be. She does those dubious things (in canon and in the fic) because she believes the final outcomes justify them. As I said in another chapter's notes, the story is in part about pragmatism. The world she left behind was a mess, and she has concluded that simply eliminating Riddle will not fix any of the underlying problems, but that he might have the charisma to change some of them if his power-lust is properly directed. It's not about whether he or Dumbledore is a better person. It's about the Greater Good, and in her old world, Dumbledore failed. He had all that influence, and he failed to reform the wizarding world in the way it needed, because he was scared of power. I am far too old and experienced in politics to believe that moral purism works in that arena. (And for the record, we don't apply moral purism to personal relationships either, unless it's a matter for which we have a personal interest, such as infidelity or - sometimes - harm/threats to our other loved ones. Most of us are loyal to them whatever they do, otherwise. We may not approve of all that they do, but we stick by them if they stick by us. It's human nature.) So this is the vision of the story. I welcome constructive criticism of my writing technique and storytelling, but bitching because you disagree with the themes is not constructive criticism. No one has to agree with these themes, and it is often possible to enjoy a story with themes you disagree with. But when it isn't possible, I really don't see the point of hate-reading and complaining.