Draco Malfoy's girlfriend was a dark haired woman whose high, sculpted cheekbones signaled centuries of good Pureblood breeding.
As Tom watched Astoria attempt a complex bit of culinary magic in Malfoy's kitchen, he thought he detected some resemblance to an old classmate, though he wasn't quite sure whom.
Malfoy entered the room, a floating box of parchments in tow behind him, which landed on the dining table with a thud.
"Here are all the documents our barrister- former barrister- was able to gather," he said. "The bastard was kind enough to dump them on our doorstep before he dropped our case."
Tom waved his wand and the files laid themselves out on the table alphabetically.
"I see the Imperius defense was not deemed permissible in this case," Tom said after skimming one piece of parchment for several minutes.
"That's right. Hawthorne tried to prove that my mother was under the influence of the Imperius Curse throughout the War. But so many Death Eaters tried to use that defense in the First and Second Wars. It just can't be proven."
Tom contemplated for a moment.
"What if it could be?"
"What do you mean?" Draco asked. He glanced Astoria out of the corner of his eye as she tinkered around in the kitchen, pretending not to listen.
"The Ministry performed the Reversal Spell on your father's wand to demonstrate that he cast the Imperius Curse, among other Unforgiveables. Correct?"
"They did."
"But, of course, there was no evidence that it was ever used on your mother."
"Yes."
"Do you know how that spell works?" Tom asked.
"I think so," Draco said, furrowing his brow. "Well, vaguely."
"When one casts a spell, particularly an Unforgivable, it leaves a magical echo. The Reversal Spell was designed to produce a manifestation of this echo," said Tom. "We know that magic also impacts us on a cellular level. So, theoretically, there should be a way to likewise manifest a spell's traces on the human body."
"But surely there's no spell like that."
"Of course there isn't," Tom said. "We shall create one."
"Create one?" Draco said, furrowing his brow. "I thought spell development was far too complex and difficult for the average wizard to even attempt."
"I'm no average Wizard, Mr. Malfoy," Tom said cheekily. "But you are correct. The process could take months, and by then, it may be too late to save your mother. Regardless, it seems as if all other courses of action have been exhausted."
Draco swallowed thickly and nodded.
"Well, how would we go about this?"
"In theory, the process of spell development is simple. It requires just four stages: intention, incantation, wandwork, and execution. The difficulty is that each stage can only be completed through rigorous trial and error."
Malfoy listened intently.
"The process-" Tom coughed. "I'm sorry, the process-"
Tom's temperature began to rise. He felt a sudden tightness in his throat, as if there were something blocking his airway.
"Can I get you some water?" Astoria asked.
"Please," Tom hacked, clutching his neck.
Tom recognized the first signs of soul sickness. As his soul became more tethered to the physical plane, he would experience adverse symptoms that only worsened the longer he was separated from the person he was bonded to- Hermione.
His female counterpart, who had likely experienced these symptoms for longer, would not experience any changes. Tom, on the other hand, was at risk of losing his corporeal body again if he were unable to remain in physical proximity to her.
Luckily, Tom had recently discovered that the blond wizard in front of him was an acquaintance of Hermione's.
"Sorry," Tom said after he had regained his bearings. "What was I saying?"
"Something about the process of spell development?"
"Yes, that's right. I was saying that the process might be aided if we were to consult someone with experience in magical research. Perhaps you may have a contact in the Department of Mysteries?" Tom suggested.
"Actually, I do," said Malfoy, looking as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Her name is Hermione Granger. She's just been promoted to Junior Unspeakable."
"Can't say the same rings a bell," said Tom. "Well, I recommend that you get hold her and request assistance. Of course, I am fully capable of developing this spell on my own, but having an Unspeakable to oversee certainly can't hurt."
"Yes, I'll do that," said Malfoy. "Thank you, Tom. I can't express how truly grateful I am for your help."
"Let me be clear, I cannot promise you the court will consider any new information. All I can do attempt to devise this spell, and use it to formulate a legal strategy that may or may not be sufficient to exonerate your mother."
"I understand," said Malfoy, rising to see Tom out.
Tom had to take several deep breaths to avoid collapsing as he left the building. The symptoms were progressing more quickly than he thought. There was only one way for both he and Hermione to heal this sickness so he could remain forever corporeal.
Tom wondered how strait-laced Hermione would react when she realized she needed to have sex with him.
Hermione stood at the entrance of the Unspeakable's Library, struck by a fierce wave of awe that nearly brought her to tears.
The Unspeakable's Library in the British Ministry of Magic was home to some of the most advanced magical research on the planet. These times contained magical discoveries deemed too sensitive for the general public's knowledge, accessible only to those with a top security clearance.
And now, after years of imagining this very moment, Hermione was one of them.
As a new Unspeakable, Hermione had been granted an impressive amount of freedom and leeway in her research. Provided she submitted complete records of projects she pursued, Hermione was free to explore any subject she liked.
So today, while her official purpose was to continue her work on runic translations, Hermione felt it far more urgent to comb through the Unspeakable's volumes on soul magic.
Within this library, Hermione hoped, was a way to permanently destroy Voldemort's soul. It was not sufficient to merely return him to the Other Side- he had already managed to find his way back twice. No, she needed to obliterate his very soul from existence.
The problem was that according to the laws of nature, this total obliteration would create an untenable imbalance in the equilibrium. Hermione needed to find a way to destroy Voldemort without creating a Void.
After perusing the soul magic section, Hermione chose a file from the archives of a classified Unspeakable project from the early 19th century.
Cassandra Farley was a witch who had, due to her husband's botched Horcrux attempt, become bonded with the wife of a neighbour due to a botched Horcrux in 1821. She and the other witch, Anne Godfrey, had reported symptoms of violent sickness, fever, and psychological distress.
The report detailed ways in which the Unspeakable had tried to heal the witches, through every attempt was unsuccessful. Ultimately, Cassandra's husband was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss and the witch was taken in by the Godfreys.
After Cassandra moved into the Godfrey residence, the Unspeakable determined that the bond was completed and their soul stabilized. However, there was no mention of the eventual solution other than a brief footnote on the bottom of the page.
Hermione's blood ran cold as she digested the words.
The soul bond between Subject CF and AG became solidified, and therefore all symptoms abated, after the subjects engaged in coital intercourse.
When Hermione returned to her new office, the chime of a magical alarm notified her that she had eight missed calls from Harry. She dropped her pile of books and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. Harry answered immediately.
"Harry, what's going on? Is everything okay?" Hermione said.
"I need to speak to you about something important. Can I come to your office now?"
"Yes, of course."
Moments later, a red-faced Harry stepped out of the fireplace brandishing a copy of the day's Quibbler.
"Fuck, Hermione, I can't believe it. You were right." Harry said, shoving the tabloid in her face.
The headline read: DISGRACED MALFOY HEIR RETREATS TO LUXURY RESIDENCE AFTER MADAME SENTENCED TO DEMENTOR'S KISS
The cover of the magazine was graced by magical image of Draco Malfoy ducking into the entrance of the Echelon, accompanied by none other than Tom Riddle.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she quickly schooled her features so as not to betray her inner panic.
"What's this?" said Hermione in measured tones.
"Read the caption! Draco Malfoy enters his residence at Echelon accompanied by Tom Volos, Wizengamot aide.
"Okay, what about it?"
"Hermione, look at the photo. That's Voldemort!" Harry shouted, slamming the magazine onto Hermione's desk.
"Can you lower your voice, please, Harry?" she said. "Why do you think that's him?"
Hermione couldn't bear to say his name.
"I could recognize Tom Riddle anywhere. He looks exactly like the memory that came out of the diary in our second year, just a little older."
"It's quite blurry," Hermione said, pretending to scrutinize the photo. "You know how the tabloids are, they put all kinds of glamours on the pictures. It's probably just a coincidence that this Volos guy looks like him."
Harry looked at her as if he wanted to tear his hair out.
"Hermione, you came to the house just weeks ago saying Voldemort was back," he exclaimed. "What did you know?"
Hermione cast a Muffliato, conscious of her neighbouring colleagues.
"I can explain-" she began, but Harry cut her off.
"It's Voldemort," Harry said. "I'm sure of it. I'm so sorry I didn't believe you before."
Hermione's heart broke at the earnestly regretful expression on her old friend's face. She truly hated lying to him, but it was far too late now.
"That day I came to you, I wasn't in my right mind," she sighed. "I wasn't sleeping, I'd been I was under a lot of stress. And to be honest, I'd started drinking a bit more than I should have."
At least that part was true.
"Hermione, please, just listen." Harry insisted. "Malfoy's got something to do with this."
The wizard pulled a copy of the Prophet out of his pocket and spread it out on her desk.
"As soon as I saw Riddle in the Quibbler, I started digging through the Prophet archives looking for anything related to Malfoy," he said. "This a picture of the audience from Narcissa's trial. Look, he's sitting there in the back."
Hermione scrutinized the photo.
"For fuck's sake," she thought, "how could I not have seen him?"
The only explanation Hermione could think of was that Voldemort has used some sort of glamour that was impervious to the courtroom's anti-charm filter. This was a problem.
"I know you see a resemblance, Harry, but it can't be true," Hermione said after a moment of speechlessness. "We destroyed the Horcruxes and we saw him die. There just isn't any form of magic that could restore his body after that."
Knowing she had been part of that very restoration, Hermione felt a strange urge to laugh. She swallowed it with disgust at such an inappropriate reaction.
"This is Voldemort," Harry said. "Malfoy must have found some way to bring him back. Wormtail did it once, it could have been done again."
Hermione bit her lip. She knew Harry. When he was convinced of something, it was impossible to deter him. Protesting against his instinct would only drive Harry into doing something rash.
"Maybe it is," Hermione said, "but still, we can't be sure Malfoy is involved. Remember Snape, Harry. We've got have all the facts before we act."
Harry considered Hermione's words and seemed to calm down.
"Well, I'm going to do my research on this fellow," he said. "But from now on, I don't want you anywhere near the Wizengamot offices, okay?
Hermione forced a smile as Harry enveloped her in a warm hug.
"Yes, I promise."
After Harry disappeared into the Floo, Hermione was left with the sickening feeling that the situation has spiraled far out of her control.