Hours later, Hermione had set up a workspace in the middle of her living room. She had a very well-stocked potions supply, including nearly every ingredient used in Advanced Potion Making, and more. Unlike most wizards, she preferred home-brewed potions to store-bought, and would often brew a batch of burn healing paste or cough potion just to calm her mind.
Hermione and Tom had worked together to prepare the first phase of the potion. Fluxweed, knotgrass, and powdered asphodel root were simmering quietly in the brass cauldron, to be left for 80 minutes. Tom had done nothing to arouse her suspicions, which was very suspicious in itself. He was perfectly polite and well-behaved throughout the process. Hermione nearly forgot he was Lord Voldemort, especially since he was dressed in some of Ron's old clothes. She had blushingly insisted he give up the pants that he had transfigured from her black silk nightgown. Now, he was wearing a ratty Quidditch t-shirt and faded jeans. Hermione noticed the clothes fit Tom's body much better than they had Ron's, then suppressed that though to the deepest corners of her mind.
Despite Tom's benign facade, Hermione didn't let her guard down for an instant. Ignoring his respectful cajoling, she had refused to let him hold her wand, performing all necessary charms for the potion. Brewing quietly together, she had almost forgotten the absurd chain of events that had led them here.
As the potion bubbled, Tom scribbled out a list of ingredients he would need in the coming weeks. Hermione watched him, frowning.
"How can you be sure that's accurate?"
"I'm certain. I've got near-eidetic memory," Tom said, looking very pleased with himself.
"Well, I'm not going to have you blow up my flat because you added Bouncing Spider instead of Lacewing Spider. what's the name of the potion? I'll see if I have it in my library."
Tom chuckled.
"Ah, this isn't quite the kind of potion you'll find at Flourish & Blotts."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Just how dark is this?"
The corners of Tom's lips twitched as he surpassed his trademark smirk. That was all Hermione needed to know. She sighed and pondered for a few moments.
"I happen to have access to a very old library. I'm going to pop over and bring back some potions books. You're not to move an inch, do you understand?"
Tom's jaw twitched, but he nodded.
"Actually, you know what?," Hermione said, "Incarcerous."
Tom let out a sound of indignation as the magical ropes secured him to his chair.
"This is unnecessary," Tom said through gritted teeth. Please unbind me immediately."
Hermione gave him a withering look. His polite pretense was slipping.
"I told you, if we're going to do this, it's going to be by my rules. It'll be back within the hour."
Hermione stood on the pavement in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. A chill went up her spine as she observed the building's eerie facade. Hermione hadn't been here since the War, and just standing on the street brought painful waves of nostalgia crashing over her. She walked up the steps and magically unlocked the heavy, creaking door.
Now that the War was over, 12 Grimmauld Place belonged to Harry, but Hermione and Ron were still Secret Keepers. Clearly, none of them had visited since. The dark entryway smelled strongly of mildew, and every fixture or piece of furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust. Doxies could be heard scuttling in darkened corners, making Hermione's skin crawl.
The house, which had once been so warm and welcoming, only gave her a feeling of foreboding now. Walburga's incessant screaming didn't help, either.
Hermione took a shuddering breath. What was she was doing? Here she stood, back at Grimmauld Place, a refuge during the bitter and bloody war against Voldemort. But this time, Hermione was here to help him.
It made no sense. But nothing else made sense either. Ron, who was supposed to be the love of her life, had left her. Harry and Ginny were moving on without her. Hermione had once dreamed of an illustrious career in magical research, but at 25, she was relegated to menial office tasks and filing. Throughout her whole time in the magical world, Hermione had always had a mission to complete. Now, this was all she had.
For several minutes, the troubled witch stood in the foyer. She considered apparating back to her flat and telling Tom where he could shove it. But she didn't. She continued down the hall and crept upstairs.
Hermione pushed open the heavy, wooden door to the library and was hit by the comforting smell of old books. It overwhelmed her with a wistful nostalgia that brought tears to her eyes.
Hermione perused the shelves for any dark, ancient-looking potions books she could find. After a long search, she finally selected the notorious Most Potente Potions, Poculum Vetiti, and a Romanian book whose title she couldn't pronounce. Hermione had also found her old copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art. She had left it there shortly after the war, not wanting to carry the sinister book around with her, and now it would be useful once again.
After leaving the library, Hermione descended a floor into the drawing room. On either side of the fireplace, there were two ornate glass-fronted cabinets, which she remembered having cleaned out in the summer of 1995. Hermione opened up the doors and found it as grimy and doxy-infected as it was ten years ago. On the bottom shelf, she found dusty bottles of potions ingredients, some of which she had never heard of. She grabbed as many as she could and shoved them in her purse.
Before Hermione left, she gave a final look to the house. She would probably never visit again. Hermione thought of all her teenage hopes and dreams, the future that once had seemed so promising. Then, she apparated back home.
After Hermione apparated out, Tom waited a few moments to make sure she was really gone. With a self-satisfied grin, he waved his bound hands and the magical ropes dissolved. This witch had quite underestimated him, just as he expected.
Though Tom's body was incorporeal, he had found that his magical strength was still fairly strong. Back in his time, Tom had been incredibly skilled with wandless magic, and now it only took a little strength to undo the bindings.
When Hermione had left him in the cave, Tom wasn't completely sure what had happened. Behind the Veil, he had hovered sort of dreamlike half-consciousness for several years. Several weeks ago, Tom started to feel a magnetic presence. Hermione. The bond between their souls was so powerful, his being called out to hers with every ounce of energy he had. And somehow, Hermione had heard him and saved him.
The first thing Tom had needed to know was the current year. The last thing he remembered was murdering that old bat, Hepzibah Smith, in 1955. Tom assumed the true version of himself was dead, and shuddered at the uncanniness of it all.
Tom had been surprised Hermione was so skeptical of him. She had known his true name- Voldemort- so he must have held some degree of power in her era. Yet somehow, he had failed.
He had walked several miles into a Muggle town, and dug through a trash bin until he found a newspaper. What he saw made his head swim. The year was 2005. It didn't sound real.
Tom didn't have anywhere to go, so he went where was familiar. It took nearly all his strength, but he managed to Apparate into the old graveyard where his father was buried. He rested there in a strange half-sleep, until he awoke in torment. It was an indescribable pain, like every cell in his body was imploding on itself.
Tom had lain against an old statue for hours, delirious with fever, until he heard the crack of Apparition. His symptoms abated immediately. She was here.
Before he left, he had made sure to grab a handful of earth from his father's grave.
Upon entering Hermione's flat, Tom's first mission was to find more information on this era. So when he freed himself from the bounds, he made a beeline towards the tall, mahogany bookshelf in the corner of her sitting room.
Though his heart wasn't quite beating, he still felt a throb in his chest as he perused the bookcase. One title in particular caught his eye- a book entitled The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. He pulled it out of the bookshelf, and skimmed the table of contents.
There. Voldemort's Rise. So he had been powerful!
His vaporous blood pounded as he processed the implications. But he had no time to think. Tom didn't want to waste precious magical energy, so he manually rearranged the bookshelf to hide the empty space. He shoved the book under the threadbare rug by his chair, where he could more easily reach it.
Tom took a deep breath to steady his nerves and peeked into Hermione's bedroom.
The room was much unlike typical girls' rooms from his time. The room was barren, save a queen size bed with a simple grey comforter, and a modern-looking bedside table. He stepped into the room and went through the bedside table. Earplugs, a bottle of what he assumed was Dreamless Sleep, and a muggle book.
He opened the closet door and, rather than an array of frilly dresses, found a sea of plain-colored pantsuits, cardigans, and trousers. He raised his eyebrows. This Hermione was a bit of a dullard.
Something caught Tom's eye on the top shelf. He felt around for a minute, until he grasped something long and solid. Tom pulled his hand out to reveal a long, slightly bent wand with sinister-looking etchings carved into the wood.
"Lumos," Tom cast.
A blinding white light surged from the tip of the wand. Tom extinguished it immediately with satisfaction. It worked beautifully.
Hermione was a very strange witch indeed. Why did she have a spare wand lying around? In his time, at least, having another wizard's wand meant only one thing.
Moving quickly, Tom left Hermione's bedroom and shut the door quietly. He retrieved The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts from under the rug, magically shrunk it, and hid it in the pocket of the jeans Hermione had given him. Then, with the Sticking Charm, Tom attached the wand to his side. He hoped to the gods she wouldn't notice the outline underneath the baggy t-shirt. Finally, Tom sat back into the chair, and waved a hand over his body. The magical bindings coiled around his limbs. Then, he waited.
Hermione apparated into her living room and dropped the old books onto her coffee table.
"You said within the hour," Tom said, with a slight edge of irritation. His grey eyes pierced her through an errant wave that had fallen into his face.
Hermione swallowed. She still wasn't used to how attractive he was. The bashful witch waved her wand, and Tom's bindings were released.
"Well, I'm back now. I found some questionable potions books and a few ingredients too. You're welcome."
"You nearly ruined the potion. The next stirring sequence is in fourteen minutes."
Hermione rolled her eyes threw Poculum Vetiti at him. Tom caught it deftly.
"Here, I assume you can read Latin," Hermione said. "Find the potion you're making or I'm throwing this swamp muck out."
Tom sighed dramatically and began leafing through the worn volume.
"This is an incredibly ancient potion. You can't assume it's going to be recorded in whatever raggedy book you find from the discount bookstore."
Hermione glared.
"For your information, these books come from the library of a respected Pureblood family. not that it even matters."
Tom raised his eyebrows skeptically. Did that mean she was a Mudblood? He said nothing and turned his eyes back to the page. Hermione picked up Most Potente Potions and idly flipped through.
After a few silent minutes, Tom spoke up,
"I've found the potion."
Hermione looked less than convinced.
"Translate it."
"Essentially, it's a potion that restores the corporeal form. It does necessitate a few unsavory ingredients, but otherwise requires no dark magic."
"What about blood magic?"
"No human blood," Tom said.
"I see," Hermione said, grabbing a sheet of parchment. "Tell me the ingredients."
Tom listed off each one while Hermione took notes.
"Okay, most of these I've got," Hermione said, mostly to herself. "I found the crocodile heart and Horn of Bicorn at Grimmauld Place. I suppose I'll be stopping by Knockturn Alley after work tomorrow to pick the rest up."
The magical stopwatch rang. Tom visibly shifted into urgency and reached for a small vial on the worktable.
" I need you to stir as I add the hemlock essence. Now."
Hermione held out her wand and mixed the brew, as Tom poured in the whiteish liquid gingerly. The potion let out a cloud of foul-smelling gas. Hermione gagged.
"Gods, this smells awful. What did you do?"
Tom ignored her, focused on monitoring the potion's change in thickness.
"That's all for now, Hermione. Now the brew needs to simmer for two hours to remove the toxins."
Hermione magically flung open her front door.
"Go."
Tom didn't need to be told twice. He hurried out the door and into the street. When he was out of view of Hermione's flat, Tom pulled out his new wand.