After sneaking away from Hermione's building, Tom slipped into an alleyway. He had turned the corner into a Muggle neighborhood and didn't want to risk being seen.
Tom gripped the wand in his hand, heart pounding with pleasure as he examined the ornate wooden carvings. The dark-haired wizard took a deep, slow breath to steady his nerves.
Everything was going according to plan. Better, even. Tom certainly hadn't expected to find a wand. That made things considerably easier. He was also surprised how easily Hermione had trusted this made-up potion. Though Tom had pulled off riskier maneuvers, this had been a long shot, especially since the witch somehow knew who he was. Silly girl.
Tom apparated away, and landed back at the cave.
"Lumos."
Tom had slept in the cave on the first night after he materialized. Wandlessly, he had managed to transfigure some pieces of grass into a threadbare pillow.
Tom waved his wand and knit together a plush full size bed, with 600-thread count sheets, from the stony cave floor. He then conjured a fluffy pillow and thick down blanket before he laid down.
Tom noticed he was experiencing a vaguely empty feeling- perhaps hunger- but he wasn't sure that he'd be able to eat in this state. It was impossible to conjure food, anyway. So Tom pulled out the shrunken book from his pocket and enlarged it.
The wizard ran his fingertips across the gold-embossed cover. The Rise And Fall of The Dark Arts. It still made Tom's head spin to read his true name in the book's index. He flipped to page 87.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort, was a British wizard born in London on 31 December 1926. The final Gaunt heir, Lord Voldemort is considered to be one of the most powerful wizards of all time.
Tom couldn't help but grin as he read those words. Though he now had nothing, it delighted him immensely to know he had truly been successful in his previous life. If he could feel pure joy, Tom decided, this was it.
Tom skipped over the unsavory sections of his grim childhood and Hogwarts years, and flipped forward to what he last remembered: the mid-1950s.
After murdering that old bat Hepzibah Smith, it appeared that he had disappeared for an entire decade. When he emerged, Tom had begun using the name Lord Voldemort openly. Once again, he had gone to Dumbledore to appeal for the Defense Against The Dark Arts professorship. Tom snarled to find out that he had been rejected. It seemed fitting that Tom's other self had cursed the position, and he mentally patted himself on the back for thinking of something so ingenious.
Tom read ahead ravenously. He had gathered followers, which his other self had dubbed "Death Eaters", and increased his skill in Legilimency to a previously unheard-of level. Then, in 1970, it was none other than Lord Voldemort who started the First Wizarding War.
Tom felt slightly dismayed at readying this. A wizarding war didn't seem in line with his goals. Tom wanted to preserve the wizarding bloodline, not decimate it. Furthermore, he had recruited non-human trash to do his bidding. It was vulgar. He read with distaste as many of his followers were tossed in Azkaban or given the Kiss with no trial.
Naturally, Tom's other self had continued creating Horcruxes, as part of the plan. He knew that this manifestation of his soul had been encapsulated in Hufflepuff's cup. According to this book, the cup had been entrusted to a Lestrange girl, to be locked away in a family Gringott's account. That made it even more inscrutable how Hermione had gotten her hands on it.
Now, the question was, how did Lord Voldemort's empire collapse?
It was baffling. How was it that his past self was willing to risk death to kill an infant, over some silly prophecy by a third-rate Seer? It was absolutely unthinkable. Tom had the urge to throw the book against the cave wall.
What was interesting, though, was that Lord Voldemort's soul had implanted into the baby, much like his soul had Hermione's.
According to the book, Voldemort had lived for many years as incorporeal as he was now, until he had gathered his followers to brew a Rudimentary Body Potion. This was certainly interesting. Tom wondered if there was a record of this potion somewhere- the book only mentioned flesh of a servant, unicorn blood and venom from some snake called Nagini.
The most humiliating part, Tom thought, was how his old self had unfathomably lost to a schoolboy six times. Lord Voldemort must have been ridiculously overconfident to the point of blind negligence. Very embarrassing.
In the Second Wizarding War, though, he'd clearly had the upper hand. His other self had been able to take over the Ministry, and even secure the Elder Wand. Certainly, Harry Potter would have been killed, Tom thought.
But of course, he realized: in joining souls, Lord Voldemort had created a Horcrux within the boy. Thus, there was no way to kill him without also killing himself. The blood bond Voldemort created with the restorative potion meant that Potter was anchored to the living realm. This time, he would have to use the blood of someone he wanted alive, Tom surmised.
But, to Tom's dismay, Harry Potter had emerged victorious. The boy had goaded his other self in the final battle, and his pride had caused him to falter. Lord Voldemort's overconfidence had thwarted him again. It was certainly humbling to read. This man wasn't sharp like him- he was drunk with power, and probably dementia.
At the end, there was a magical picture of his other self. Tom shivered, from the chill or from disgust. Could that have been him? This pale, deathly serpent man?
More than anything, Tom was dismayed at the thought of all the magical blood spilled. This time, he would do things very differently.
The morning after she was sent home from work, Hermione was dreading her return to the office. Thankfully, Firestone was busy with meetings all day and barely seemed to notice her presence. Hermione ignored the awkwardness around her coworkers and kept her head down.
All ay, Hermione ignored the tugging sensation in the pit of her stomach, the alien magic roiling inside her.
She stayed an extra hour, long after everyone had left, just to make sure her paperwork was flawless.
Just as Hermione was about to leave, she heard a knock on the door of her cubicle. She looked up. It was Harry, sharply dressed in his Auror uniform, with a grim expression on his face.
"Oh, hello Harry. Is everything okay?"
"No, it's not. I came to speak to you about yesterday."
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Right. I'm really sorry about just Disapparating like that yesterday. I- I wasn't feeling well."
"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry demanded. "You come to my house and tell me that Voldemort's back, then you just disappear. Do you realize how mental that is?
"I know, I'm sorry. But I swear to you, it's true," Hermione said in hushed tones, scanning the room to see if anyone was listening. "Tom Riddle is back."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Hermione… you know we're all worried about you. Firestone told me what happened the other day. She says you spend hours down in the Death Chamber, that you seem out of it all the time…"
Hermione scoffed.
"What, is she reporting to you now? What else does she say about me?"
"Never mind that. The point is, you've got to get some help."
"I'm trying to!" Hermione said, louder than she intended, "If you could just let me explain-"
"Look, I don't mean to be harsh," Harry cut her off, "But I can't play this game anymore. Ginny was so upset after what happened, she started bleeding. I had to rush her to St. Mungo's."
"Oh, gods, is she ok?" Hermione asked, feeling the panic rise in her chest.
"She's fine. The Healers said it was just stress, and put her on bed rest."
"Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Can I visit her?"
Harry gave a tight smile.
"Maybe tomorrow. She needs peace and quiet."
"Harry, again, I'm so sorry."
"You know I'm always there for you Hermione, but right now, my family comes first."
Before Hermione had a chance to respond, Harry was already out the door.
As a ministry worker, being seen in Knockturn Alley was just not done. Hermione could lose her job for this. She clutched the hood of her black cloak protectively before turning the corner from Diagon Alley.
Though the sun had barely set, shadows loomed over the narrow street. Hermione shuffled along the uneven cobblestone, doing her best to blend into the crowd.
More than ever, she was determined to destroy Voldemort's second coming. Hermione had to do this, for Harry and his family, and she had to do it alone. Perhaps there was some ingredient she could add to the potion that would simply dissolve him…
Hermione stopped in her tracks as she saw a familiar bush of red hair.
Ron was walking out of a shop, next to a a tall, thin witch with striking white-blonde hair. Hermione recognized her as Celine Greenwood, a Half-blood socialite who regularly made the Prophet's gossip pages for her wild partying. With a pang, Hermione realized the two were leaving Evelina's Enchanted Erotica, Wizarding Britain's most notorious sex shop.
Before Hermione could duck into an alley, Ron met her eyes. Her chest tightened as old memories, and old feelings, resurfaced.
Hermione waved, then hurried over to the couple.
"Hi, Ron," Hermione said.
"Er, Hermione! Fancy seeing you here. This is my, er, friend Celine,"
Celine shook Hermione's hand, with look on her face like she had smelled something unpleasant.
"Good to meet you," Celine said insincerely. "I've heard so much about you,"
Celine's white-blond hair was razor straight and cut into a flattering bob. She wore precariously high stilettos, and a grey silk dress that skimmed over her tiny waistline. Hermione was suddenly conscious of her ill-fitting work clothes and disheveled curls.
"Ron, would you mind if we could have a word privately?" Hermione said.
Ron smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.
"Sorry, Hermione, but this isn't really a great time."
"Please," Hermione said with pleading eyes. "It's important."
"Alright, I s'pose we can talk for a bit," Ron said reluctantly.
Celine raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows.
"Well, I'll just pop back in the shop and get a little something extra," She said with a sly smile, and tottered back into Evelina's.
Predictable as ever, Ron couldn't resist sneaking a look at Celine's backside as she walked away. Hermione pulled him into an alleyway away from prying eyes.
"Okay, so what's going on?" He said.
"You might think I'm mad for saying this, but please just listen."
"Go on, then."
Hermione took a breath.
"Voldemort is back. I've been studying the Veil, and he was somehow able to contact me and pass through. He isn't in his complete corporeal form, so I'm not in danger, but we need to find a way to completely destroy his soul."
Ron laughed nervously.
"Is this a joke or something?"
"No, Ron, it's not a joke. You can come back to the flat and see for yourself."
The redheaded wizard shook his head in disbelief.
"We broke up three months ago, Hermione. I'm not going home with you."
"Oh, shut up, will you? This is serious," Hermione snapped.
"Look, I talked to Harry," Ron said. "He said you seemed a bit off. They're both really worried about you."
Hermione wanted to throw her hands up in exasperation.
"If I seem "off" it's because I'm scared! He's back and both of you are in denial. It's like our fifth year all over again."
"I understand, you know," Ron said gently, "Harry and Ginny have started their own life. I've moved on. It makes sense that you'd miss the old times when we were all together."
"What?" Hermione spluttered. "That is not what this is, Ron."
"Isn't it? Hermione, this isn't ok. Ginny's pregnant and you've scared her half to death. Harry probably told you what happened. For everyone's sake, stop this now."
Hermione wanted to scream. But instead, she plastered a polite smile on her face.
"Have a nice day, Ronald," Hermione said.
Pulling her hood back up over her head, Hermione turned out of the alleyway, and hurried into the potions shop.
Hermione took a deep breath. Calm washed over her as she savored the slightly stale, musky scent of the apothecary. The faint sound of bubbling brews in the back room filled her with comfort. Hermione had never been inside a potions shop in this side of the tracks, and marveled at the hundreds of tiny, slightly suspicious-looking jars that lined the shelves.
"Hello there, Miss Granger," said the old crone behind the counter. "Welcome to Madame Mulpepper's Apothecary."
"Hello," Hermione said, voice thick with suppressed tears. "Er, have we met?"
"Everyone knows who you are, even with that dark cloak, little witch."
Hermione smiled sheepishly.
"Yes, I suppose so."
Clutching the ingredients list, Hermione filled several phials with exotic substances, some of which she had only read about. The witch gently placed the phials out on the scratched wooden counter. With the wave of Madame Mulpepper's wand, they floated over to enormous magical scale. Hermione noticed the old witch had one milky, blind eye; while the other was an impossibly vibrant blue.
"Seventy three galleons," croaked the old witch.
"Merlin", Hermione choked, "these aren't cheap".
Hermione dug for her Muggle wallet, somewhere in the bottom of her magically extended leather satchel. She reluctantly handed over the exact change.
"You're more powerful thank they know."
Hermione froze. Madame Mulpepper was staring at something behind her. Hermione glanced around the room, but there was no one else in the shop.
"Sorry? More powerful than who knows?"
"They'll realize it soon," Madame Mulpepper said.
The crone smiled enigmatically and handed Hermione a velvet satchel filled with the ingredients she had purchased.
"Thank you, dear. Have a lovely day," said the old witch, as though nothing had just happened.
—
Hermione apparated home around quarter past six. She set down her bags, put a pot of hot water on the stove.
As she waited for her tea to boil, Hermione considered the day's events with a surprising detachment. If the roles had been reversed, Hermione supposed, she wouldn't have believed it either. But neither Harry or Ron had even given her the benefit of the doubt. Weren't they supposed to be her best friends?
Treacherous tears began to run down Hermione's cheeks. It was pathetic, but relieving it somehow hurt even more. In that moment Hermione ached for Ron's touch. She missed having someone there for her, even if just to chat idly with while they watched reruns on the beat-up Muggle TV set. How did things get so fucked up? What if she was really going mad, like everyone thought?
"Tempus," Hermione cast, her voice scratchy and raw.
It was nearly seven. From her kitchen window, Hermione could see Tom standing outside, leaning against a lamp post. Stony-faced, she raised her hand in a nonchalant wave. The dark-haired wizard gave her a nod, then entered the building. She flicked her wand at the doorknob, shooting a glance at the potion timer in the other room. Twenty minutes.
"You're a bit early, Hermione said brusquely, as Tom walked in. "I haven't had time to eat yet."
The closer Tom got, Hermione noticed the strange tugging sensation in her stomach again. This time, it was almost pleasurable. She could feel Tom's magic crackle against hers, like static electricity.
"Well, eat now. I'll be needing your help in a few minutes." He said, equally deadpan.
"The ingredients are in the velvet bag," Hermione said.
Hermione grabbed some five-day-old leftovers from a Muggle Chinese restaurant and tossed them in the microwave. While Tom set up the work table, Hermione sat on the couch and watched him prepare ingredients.
"What's wrong?"
"Excuse me?"
"You look upset." Tom said neutrally.
"That's none of your business," Hermione choked, mouth full of lo mein.
Tom smiled politely.
"That's not very attractive, you know."
Hermione was about to formulate a scathing retort, until she noticed Tom mixing the Re'em blood with the powdered hemlock.
"What in Godric's name are you doing?" Hermione shrieked, spilling the rest of her noodles on the sofa.
"I'm mixing the Re'em blood with powdered hemlock," Tom said politely.
"I can see what you're doing, you idiot! You're ruining the ingredients I just spent nearly one hundred galleons on. If you had half a brain, you'd know that you never, ever mix Re'em blood with a dry ingredient."
Tom gazed at Hermione impassively as she berated him.
"Actually, I've infused the blood with a little wasp venom. The venom's alkaline properties neutralize the acidity of Re'em blood."
She was about to protest, until she observed the chemical reaction occurring on the oak table. Instead of oxidising, the Re'em blood preserved its deep crimson color.
Hermione's mind raced.
"So since the blood stays chemically stable, it can be mixed with other unstable components" she said breathlessly.
Tom flashed her a winning smile.
"Smart girl."
"Well, this has incredible implications for strengthening potions. It would mean Briffault's Theory of Balances is faulty."
Tom was impressed.
"That's exactly right. And that means that theoretically, this blood can create a more potent strengthening potion than ever achieved."
Hermione's mind raced with the possibilities.
"Let me get my notebook out. I need to write this down".
As he watched the impassioned, frizzy witch fly across the room, Tom felt the corners of his lips treacherously give way into something that was very nearly a genuine smile.
This chapter is a bit slow. I have the next couple scenes nearly finished so bear with me :)