Hermione Granger and The End Of The World

by miss Minnehaha

This fanfic is either a sequel or an epilogue to the story "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality" by Eliezer Yudkowsky. The setting is the night of June 15, 1992. Hermione Granger, quarantined in the isolation ward of St. Mungo's, is visited by a mysterious guest and has a rather personal conversation concerning the strange and mysterious events of recent times.

Notes: The translation was made from Russian with the help of online translator. I will be glad of any help in editing the text.

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I know that queer things happen in this world.
Its one of the few things I've really learned in my life.

Ludwig Wittgenstein (but it's not certain)

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Once upon a time in one of the alternate universes...

Hermione was sleeping in the isolation ward of St. Mungo's.

This morning she should be discharged from the hospital and transported through the fireplace network to Hogwarts, where she would finally meet Harry Potter.

Rats were rummaging in a cage. Flies were sleeping in a box.

Hermione had a very strange dream. She dreamed that she woke up. A voice whispered to her "Wake up, Hermione," and she opened her eyes.

Professor Quirrell was standing next to the bed. He looked much better than his corpse in the graveyard and even seemed more awake and fresh than at the beginning of the school year.

"Hello, Ms. Granger."

For the first second Hermione was panicked: she was facing a dead man who had come back to life. But then the girl remembered that she herself was a reanimated dead person. Panic was replaced by an almost joyful surprise, as if she had met a kindred spirit.

"Professor Quirrell! You're alive? Have you come back to life too? I... This isn't a dream?"

"Who in a dream would say it's a dream? Very few people are capable of that," the night visitor said with a slight irony. "Anyway, I strongly dislike the idea that I am a phantom of someone's mind... But I digress. Your perceptions of me are somewhat mistaken. I'm not Quirrell."

The girl nodded. She had already been told that David Monroe, Voldemort's longtime enemy, was hiding under the name of Quirinus Quirrell.

"Ms. Granger, we have a lot to talk about. The place and time may surprise you, but I am forced to maintain a certain amount of secrecy... in Harry Potter's best interests. I know you had no sympathy for the Defense Professor. And I admit you had every reason to think him evil. However..."

Hermione felt very uncomfortable. She had judged the teacher without having the slightest idea of his motives and goals and what was going on around him. And he had helped Harry defeat the Dark Lord... They had found the professor's body in the graveyard, she had seen the dead man with her own eyes. But it must be some sort of another grand Harry's adventure.

The man walked to the middle of the room, where a small low table stood, with two armchairs on opposite sides of it. Naturally, these pieces of furniture had not been in the room before.

"Your last conversation with the Defense Professor was not a pleasant one. I sincerely wish not to repeat it."

Hermione jumped up and hurriedly pulled her hospital gown over her pajamas. Then glanced at the table. There was a large bottle of something there and two glasses. She opened her mouth in amazement:

"What is this?"

"Oh! It's a gorgeous Muggle scotch. Limited edition. Fifty years old. A gift from Professor McGonagall to Professor Quirrell... for saving one Ravenclaw when he nearly crashed falling off a roof. I wouldn't risk offering anything stronger than tea to Mr. Potter, but for you this wonderful liquid is completely safe and, I daresay, it will be very much to your taste. Especially as there will hardly ever be such a unique occasion."

The girl froze in indecision. The professor's proposal was, to put it mildly, obscene and suspicious. Even considering the suspiciousness of the whole situation in general. However, Hermione didn't feel embarrassed or shocked. If alcohol was indeed safe for her (and Hermione herself had already noticed some unnatural properties of her restored body), then there was hardly any need to worry about how the teacher's behavior related to social norms. Whoever the Defense teacher was, he certainly couldn't be called a conformist. Rather, she should be concerned about whether the unexpected visitor could be trusted at all. And that was a very tricky question...

The professor grinned:

"I could offer you some pumpkin juice or tea. But would that make the situation you find yourself in any less strange...? Whatever it was before, now I am no longer a teacher and you are no longer my student. And in this case, differences in age and life experience are irrelevant. I realize that expecting a friendly conversation from both of us would be overly... optimistic. And yet, unless you can find a modicum of trust, perhaps undeserved, and keep me company, the conversation will very soon become pointless.

Hermione looked at the bottle with the mysterious contents. Perhaps if the guest had offered her tea and cookies, under the circumstances it would have caused her more concern than such blatant insolence and... provocation. The professor is clearly implying that he expects a conversation between two adults and equals. Of course, it's a convention. They are not equal in any conceivable way. But if this is a trap, what is it? If a wizard as powerful as the Defense teacher wanted to influence her will and mind in any way, he would surely find more reliable and direct ways to achieve his goal. Especially since they're not at Hogwarts, and the professor is presumed dead by everyone... Hmm. And what would happen if she refused to drink or discuss anything at all? After all, she's already decided not to talk to anyone until she meets Harry.

"Furthermore, I must confess that I need your help. Although Voldemort has been destroyed, Harry Potter is still in grave danger. And, for certain reasons, I suppose you are the only... person I can turn to for assistance."

Hermione's thoughts trailed off, and she stared at the professor worriedly:

"Is Harry in danger? Did he ask you to come to me?"

"No, Ms. Granger, I am here without his knowledge. I don't think your friend would approve of what I'm doing. You see, the kind of danger in question is the kind that heroes create for themselves by their actions and decisions. But you'll be able to judge for yourself whether your involvement is necessary once you know the nature of the problem. But if you think we need Mr. Potter's blessing to help him, I'm not going to impose. I'll leave you to it, and you will continue to sleep, forgetting about this episode."

Hermione had to admit that knowing about manipulative techniques didn't mean knowing how to effectively resist them. Not believing herself, she took a few steps and sank into the nearest chair. Professor Quirrell-Monroe sat down across from her almost simultaneously, stretching out relaxedly.

The leather stopper, decorated in Scottish silver, uncorked itself with a spectacular clang. The bottle rose smoothly into the air and gently filled the glasses.

"Here's to you and Harry," the professor proclaimed in an exaggeratedly solemn tone. "To your victory!"

Raising his glass, he ostentatiously admired the play of light for a long time, inhaled the flavor, then leisurely took a sip.

The girl looked at the teacher with all her eyes. The change in him was striking. Had his gloom, rigidity and cynicism been due to the expectation of Voldemort's return? And now, after defeating the Dark Lord, could he finally allow himself to become more... alive, or something?

Hermione took the glass gingerly. The scent of tobacco leaves, wood, peat smoke, and meadow flowers wafted into her nose, evoking almost forgotten impressions of a very early childhood. Her throat burned slightly, and she could taste dried fruit and vanilla muffins. Surprisingly pleasant. She had nothing to compare it with, but that's probably how a rare Scotch whiskey should be.

"You must be intrigued and curious," the professor said. "But before I explain the purpose of my visit, I need to familiarize you with the circumstances that caused me to come here. I will try to be brief, but it will take some time." The man was silent for a couple of seconds, as if gathering his thoughts. "As you already know, during your... enforced absence... many amazing things have happened at Hogwarts. Voldemort, his real name was Tom Riddle, had returned, one might say, from the other side of the world and was planning a blitzkrieg to seize power in Magical Britain... The official version says that the Dark Lord died more than ten years ago, trying to kill one little boy. However, this bears no relation to the truth. Voldemort did not intend to take the life of the son of Lily and James Potter. He had intended to create a mental copy of himself out of the infant."

Hermione choked up, remembering Harry's dark side and her speculation on the matter. The Defense Professor made a slight gesture with his hand and the coughing fit that had begun subsided.

"Ms. Granger, I've only just begun, and you've already almost dropped your glass. Believe me, it's too soon to lose your temper. So, many years before his supposed death, Tom Riddle created one of the greatest dark rituals that makes a person immortal..."

Hermione listened passionately, oblivious to the strange circumstances she was in. Her glass was slowly but surely emptying. When the long story about Horcruxes, the prophecy about two different spirits, and the events at Godric's Hollow was finally finished, Hermione seemed to realize why Professor... er... Monroe had decided that here not to do without whisky. The alcohol didn't make her dizzy, didn't affect her mood. There was no confusion. Just a fragrant burning drink, which with each sip revealed new halftones of flavors, just warmth and lightness in the body, a strange clarity and detachment of perception.

"How do you know so much about Voldemort?"

"I got most of it from the Horcruxes. If you have a little patience, you'll learn more about it. But it seems to me," the professor looked at Hermione, "you still have questions about the material covered, don't you?"

The girl smiled: a good barb. She couldn't bring herself not to see this man as a teacher right away. And he understood that, of course. Although Hermione interrupted the story several times, asking clarifying questions, some details were still not settled in her head. Perhaps she was being overly meticulous, but...

"You said that the Dark Lord's own body had been destroyed because of the resonance of magic that had occurred when Voldemort had made the child's spirit like his own. So the resonance is between two similar personalities? But what about the Weasley twins? They're like two copies of the same person."

"You're very observant, Ms. Granger. An obvious question, but even I didn't think of it right away."

Hermione found the praise, in passing, as surprising to her as the rest of the story. No, this was clearly not the style of the great and terrible Defense Professor.

"By the way, in ancient times it was customary to kill one of the magical identical twins immediately after birth. (1) The assumption was that it had something to do with individual cases of magical incompatibility... Hmm, let's say the Weasley twins weren't that similar to each other. But then how do you explain the complete absence of any evidence of magical resonance between temporal copies of the same person?"

Hermione looked at her guest in bewilderment.

"Surely you don't know what a Time-Turner is?" The question was obviously rhetorical. "Then you'll have to quickly accept that in the world there is such a thing as a magical time machine. A Time-Turner can send a person back in time, though not for more than six hours a day. At Hogwarts, this device is given to the most promising and responsible students to help them in their studies. You would probably have been given it in your third or even second year. But given recent events, I think it will be even sooner. So, Time-Turner owners are not recommended to meet and communicate with their doppelgangers from the past, but as far as I know, it has nothing to do with the effect of magical resonance."

Well, compared to what she had learned in the past half hour, this news was nothing out of the ordinary. But...

Hermione squinted her eyes unkindly:

"And Harry, of course, has already been given that very Time-Turner?"

The professor only shrugged his shoulders:

"Have you ever wondered what the ailment of Spontaneous Dublication is, for the treatment of which Spimster wickets are worn?"

"Okay," Hermione stretched out in a somewhat sarcastic tone a little while later.

"Is that how it is, Mr. Potter?"

"Maybe," the interlocutor squinted slyly, "you will find the answer to your previous question on your own? What is the difference between a pair of Harry Potter and Voldemort and a pair of twins or temporary copies? Any thoughts?"

Hermione was silent for about a minute or so, and then hesitantly said:

"The prophecy said that the Dark Lord and the one he marks as his equal should destroy each other, leaving only a remnant of each one. Perhaps 'a remnant' is the key word here. There is something left in Harry that keeps him from becoming like Voldemort. And it makes their spirits so difficult that they cannot exist in the same world. Maybe that's what caused the two similar magics to resonate."

"There's something to that," the professor nodded approvingly. "We can assume that the nascent mind instinctively resisted its own destruction, using spontaneous magic to repel hostile charms. Naturally, to no avail. But at some point, when the child's spirit and magic were almost completely transformed under the influence of the spell, the resistance suddenly became effective, the effect of the spell was interrupted and a tiny part of the mind remained unchanged..."

The events of the last year were forming a new coherence in Hermione's mind. David Monroe knew much about Voldemort and foresaw his impending return. He had become a Defense teacher to prepare the Boy-Who-Lived to fight their common enemy, knowing that Harry had special dark wizard "gifts" that could be turned against Voldemort himself...

"...For over nine years, the Dark Lord spent more than nine years inside the Horcruxes, unable to break free. But he was fabulously lucky. About a year ago, Voldemort captured the body of a hapless seeker of magical secrets. Now free, the wizard began to make grandiose plans for the future. The first thing he was going to do was get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone."

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Hermione exclaimed involuntarily, remembering her conversation with Harry in the library, a few hours before...

"Yes, Ms. Granger, the Stone does exist. It was hidden at Hogwarts under the protection of ancient magic. The secret of the Stone is that it makes transfiguration permanent. Temporary changes becomes the essence of a thing. Therefore, using the Philosopher's Stone, one can obtain both eternal youth and an infinite amount of gold."

The narrator paused for a moment and took a small sip.

"Voldemort tricked his way into Hogwarts, took Harry Potter hostage, outsmarted Dumbledore and took possession of the coveted stone, with the help of which he created a new body for himself. But this is a long story, the details of which I will omit for now. I'll move on to the finale. As a result of all these events, one extremely unlikely thing happened: Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. He ripped off his arms, stunned him, then cast Obliviation spell and transfigured his unconscious body into a small emerald."

Hermione shook her head, trying to push away the gruesome image she had seen in the graveyard after waking up. An inexplicable uneasiness was brewing inside.

"And what about the resonance of magic?" she whispered doubtfully.

"Unfortunately or fortunately, reality is often more complicated and strange than we realize," the professor said thoughtfully, taking another sip of his drink. Hermione followed suit. The whiskey spilled over her body in a hot wave. The feeling of uneasiness faded into a haze.

"On the one hand, what had happened could be explained by some fairly obvious deductions to the thinking observer: more powerful spells caused more resonance, and at the same time the recoil of magic hit the stronger wizard harder. The spells available to a freshman are only capable of causing noticeable physical discomfort to both parties, nothing more. And yet I have a sneaking suspicion that there is another variable. That the strength of resonance also depends on the wizard's intentions and will. And if this is so, then Harry could have caused a fatally dangerous resonance with a mere Somnium as well, if it was a matter of saving or protecting someone's life... Maybe it was the infant's desperate resistance that caused the resonance level to spike and the fatal explosion. And only a firm desire to do no harm had allowed Harry to defeat Voldemort again while keeping the magical energy under control."

An almost palpable tension thickened in the air.

"Anyway, the story of Voldemort's return did not end with a battle in a graveyard," a quiet voice concluded. "Tom Riddle was no idiot. Thanks to the one ancient relic that Voldemort had made his Horcrux, the great creation guarded his mind from almost any exposure to foreign magic. Only he himself could cast a spirit-affecting spell on himself." The professor sighed faintly. "But since there Harry Potter was involved, Horcruxes' magic had perceived the Obliviation spell as being cast by Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord's memory had been wiped almost completely..."

Hermione froze warily, waiting for the denouement. The guest leisurely continued the story, smiling slightly noticeably:

"At this point, however, Mr. Potter's luck ended. He didn't know how Horcruxes worked, or he wouldn't have tried to imprison Voldemort's mind in a transfigured body... I won't burden you with abstract theory, young lady. Simply put, if a biological body does not meet certain criteria necessary for the mind to function properly, the spirit imprisoned in the Horcruxes cannot take possession of it. Horcruxes simply do not notice this object. And, accordingly, if the already used body for some reason becomes unsuitable for intelligent existence, the connection between the spirit and the body is immediately severed. Horcruxes do not wait for the body to die. Therefore, Ms. Granger, within a few moments after the transfiguration affected Voldemort's brain, I came to my senses among the Horcruxes."

A long, dramatic pause followed those words. Hermione remembered her conversation with the Defense teacher on the balcony of Hogwarts. She had thought of the professor as her enemy, and he was only trying to keep her out of danger. But the professor is dead, really dead, and his murderer is now sitting across from her in the form of the dead teacher... Well, humor is surely in the Dark Lord's vein. And she doesn't even have a wand... She probably should have died of terror by now. But she felt almost no fear, even though it was quite illogical. Apparently, death changes things about people. However, it is possible that rare Scotch whisky is not such a whisky...

When Hermione spoke, her voice sounded as calm and steady as the stranger's one:

"For someone who's had almost all of his memory wiped, you're surprisingly good at situational awareness."

The non-professor grinned almost good-naturedly:

"I did get the information about Tom Riddle from the Horcruxes. When each Horcrux is created, an imprint of its owner's personality is created at the same time. The imprint is forever preserved in the Horcrux, but it is not truly a living entity. It was not ideal, but it was a safety net in case of a violent alteration of consciousness, though Tom had no idea how a potential adversary, even Merlin himself, could pull such a thing off. More likely, Voldemort considered the imprints a kind of homage (2) to the ancient spell that had inspired him to create the spell of true immortality. Besides, Tom assumed that in the distant future it would be useful for him to remember what he was like centuries or millennia ago... Anyway, Tom regularly added the latest copies of his personality to the collection. Shortly before the final operation, Voldemort created another Horcrux and handed it to Bellatrix Black to be able to immediately incarnate in case something went wrong... Ms. Granger, did you not like McGonagall's gift?"

She's drinking scotch and making small talk with a gallantly polite maniac and murderer. The mind flatly refused to reflect on the matter. Unless it noticed that for some reason the dark wizard was still talking about Tom Riddle in the third person. Hermione obediently sipped from her glass, noticing that the moderate nervous tension had sharpened all her senses. The smell and taste had become more complex and intense, and part of her brain seemed unwilling to miss out on the pleasure even in such a difficult situation.

The mysterious guest, meanwhile, continued his story in a detached and thoughtful, almost indifferent tone:

"Yesterday I woke up in a complete void. For a while I was completely disoriented, for I remembered nothing but one very vivid and perplexing memory. I did not realize who I was or where I was. The mind could only discern the specific magical structures that were replacing my physical body. It was the only clue, but it was enough. Eventually I realized that I was among the Horcruxes and what that meant. Of course, the first thing I did was transfer the memory of the last saved copy of my personality into my mind. I can't say that I completely made sense of that... creature. But I realized that my predecessor's plans had failed at some point, and that I shouldn't delay if I wanted to find out what had happened to him... I flew out of the Horcruxes and headed for the graveyard that Tom had intended to be the site of the final drama... Oh yes, I haven't mentioned it yet... A few months ago, Tom had incorporated the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows, into the Horcrux system. It gave the Dark Lord's spirit the ability to leave the Horcruxes and fly around like a ghost wherever it wanted... I did find several dozen corpses in the graveyard, and a group of Aurors investigating a very strange occurrence... Yeah, it seems I was mistaken for the ghost of one of the Death Eaters, so I had to make a hasty retreat. After making some preliminary conclusions, I visited Bellatrix, who had graciously placed her body at my complete disposal."

Hermione blinked.

"I then made my way into Hogwarts, where I found Harry Potter. He was sleeping in the infirmary like an innocent baby," the narrator pursed his lips mockingly. "The old headmaster was no longer in our reality, and the new one hadn't been appointed yet. The castle's defenses were largely useless. There were only two aurors guarding the infirmary from the outside. No idea of safety, which was to be expected."

"What have you done to Harry?" Hermione didn't recognize her own suddenly hoarse voice. Her heart was pounding frantically. The mention of her friend seemed to have snapped her out of her mental stupor.

"Calm down, Ms. Granger. Your friend is perfectly fine. Which is more than can be said for me, by the way," the guest smirked darkly. "You can't imagine my surprise when I found no trace of resonance between me and Harry Potter... Actually, Obliviation are traditionally used only to erase the memory of events that need to be concealed. As a rule, no one is interested in the identity of the victim, so the consequences and effects of the forgotten events are preserved in the psyche. But Harry Potter wished to change Voldemort's spirit, erasing the negative life experience and without damaging his intelligence and professional knowledge." The stranger wrinkled his nose as if from a bout of toothache. "The boy never realized how great was the risk of turning a defeated opponent into a hopeless idiot, capable only of mooing and drooling. To forget oneself is to forget everything. Especially if one identifies oneself with one's abilities, intelligence, goals and achievements. I suppose, ironically, it was the resonance of magic that saved Tom's mind from total destruction. The mental structures most susceptible to resonance, the core of Voldemort's personality, took the brunt of Obliviation charms. So, Miss Granger," the narrator grinned crookedly, "you have the honor of talking to the trash that remains of the greatest Dark Lord on earth."

Hermione tried to comprehend the information she was receiving as quickly as possible without wasting time wondering. Alas, she had no way to verify what was true and what was false in the stranger's words... Whiskey definitely dulled the feeling of fear, though it couldn't block the anxiety completely. And Hermione wasn't yet ready to think about what her 'caring' interlocutor needed it for.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes. What did I do to Harry Potter? I cast a sleep spell on him, which was obviously unnecessary, searched him and found the Philosopher's Stone. It was not difficult to organize an hour of quiet work. During that time, I created a new body for myself, healed Bellatrix, and worked on her new image. And, as I had suspected, the castle's protective charms considered the human body created within the confines of the school to be part of Hogwarts itself." Not-Quirrell leaned faintly toward Hermione, smiling smugly. "By the way, I looked into one ancient magical artifact. It's a map of Hogwarts, part of its defense system. It shows the names of all living sentient beings currently on the school grounds. But I saw nothing on the map at the place where I was. NOTHING."

Hermione's brain seemed to have adapted quickly to the upheaval, because numerous, though not very optimistic thoughts began to arise in her head. The fact that Voldemort had had the most valuable part of his personality destroyed hardly made him more benevolent or less dangerous. The wizard could bend her to his will and she wouldn't even realize it. Perhaps it had already happened... Or, even more creepily, he would take over her body, steal her memory, borrow her thought patterns, and... And if the resonance of magic really is gone, Harry probably won't be able to detect the substitution. At least not right away... Hermione's imagination was already painting frightening pictures of the future, though her mind was catching every word of the narrator. She avoided looking him in the eye, even though she realized it was probably an empty precaution. She did not know if the wizard was watching what was going on in her mind - his voice did not give it away.

"I ordered Bella to leave Hogwarts and spent the rest of the night pulling information out of the boy's mind that I could use... All the events of the previous evening and, of course, all his secrets, inventions, new spells that were inaccessible to the Defense professor because of the notorious resonance."

And then realization dawned on Hermione. Scenes involving the Defense Professor flashed through her mind, one after another - lessons, meetings, conversations. And in the background loomed the corpse of Quirinus Quirrell, the unfortunate victim whose body and name Voldemort had taken possession of. Of course, she should have known this much earlier, but her mind seemed to find it utterly unbelievable that the Dark Lord had been leading Dumbledore and Harry around by the nose for the entire school year, and so her brain was in no hurry to bring the hypothesis to consciousness... Hermione wished she could faint, but her new body didn't give her that opportunity. (Somewhere on the edge of consciousness flashed the thought that she was now an almost perfect victim for torture.) A glass with a new batch of "magical liquid" obligingly flew toward her, and she took a few deep sips, imagining it was Madame Pomfrey's medicine.

The man with no name watched the girl nonchalantly.

"What is this ridiculous boast, Mr. Nothing? If you gutted Harry's consciousness so easily and unceremoniously, why the hell did you turn up at the hospital and put on this show? What do you want from us?"

She couldn't believe she'd said it out loud. Is there a little veritaserum mixed in the whiskey, among other things?

"I don't think you'll be convinced, but again, I'm here in the interests of Harry Potter. You'll know the details when you've calmed down and are ready for a constructive dialog, so to speak. I do not wish the death of you or your friend, and I have no intention of taking revenge on Voldemort's enemies. However, Tom has some unfinished business that I feel is also important... I believe that talking to you will be useful to me in one way or another. But whatever the outcome, your life and health are in no danger. I'll leave you in a few hours."

Hermione raised her head, looked at the "resurrected" Quirinus Quirrell, and again felt a growing uneasiness. There was something catastrophically wrong about that appearance. And while that wasn't what she should be worried about right now, she couldn't shake the nauseating feeling that she was talking to a reanimated corpse. Pulling herself together, Hermione asked:

"Can you assume your true form?"

The stranger shook his head:

"I don't have one. But I can take the form of any human or animal I want."

"You created a transformable body with the Stone of Constancy ?" The girl couldn't help the slight irony in her trembling voice.

"Well, it's no more paradoxical than partial transfiguration," Not-Quirrell smiled modestly. "But don't get the idea that I'm smarter than Tom. That body that Voldemort created in the graveyard was also metamorphic. Naturally, Tom wasn't going to look like a snake-like freak all the time. And using the Stone every time he needed to change his appearance was obviously not the most practical solution."

In another situation, the idea of a transformable body would have seemed very curious. But right now, Hermione was clearly not interested in it.

"Can you... take on the appearance of Tom Riddle? To become the same he was before his native body was destroyed?"

The wizard rubbed his cheek thoughtfully:

"At the time of the death of his native body, the question of his present appearance made no sense to Tom. But if we were talking about the days of his distant youth..."

In a few seconds a very handsome young man with short, slightly curly hair and fine aristocratic features was sitting in front of Hermione. The type didn't conjure up any particular associations with dark lords. Except for that hypnotic gaze...

"Typical gigolo," Hermione gave her verdict.

Not that she was an expert in such matters, but she had learned something about this "profession" from one detective novel.

What was it called, by the way..?

"Have His Carcase," exactly!

The girl sighed noisily: That doesn't make it any better.

"I assure you, Tom Riddle wasn't thrilled with his inherited looks either," the handsome man grinned.

Hermione finished the rest of the alcohol in her glass. "And you're getting into it," she said grimly to herself.

"So what brings you here, Mr. Nothing?"

The guest gave the girl an appraising glance:

"Something tells me that you are extremely skeptical of me and what you hear from me. Is there anything I can do that will at least lessen the extent of your distrust?"

"Something tells me," Hermione retorted, amazed at her insolence, "that Tom Riddle is the last person in the world you can trust. How do I know you've really changed? That you're not the same Voldemort?"

There was a long pause.

"Well, if it helps in any way... I can create a Patronus."

The girl's eyes widened. A Patronus from Voldemort, even an "ex" Voldemort? What kind of nonsense is that? How is that even possible?

"Expecto Patronum!"

It was the first time Hermione had ever seen a Patronus summoned without a wand. A silvery light shimmered in the semi-darkness of the room, smoothly condensing into the figure of a peregrine falcon. (After her memorable conversation with Harry, of course, she had figured out what this mysterious bird looked like.) The peregrine falcon flapped its wings and landed on the arm of her chair. Her mind refused to believe what was happening, though her hand was already gliding over the silky silver plumage.

"Your friend chose not to erase the Dark Lord's happy memories. And that was enough for me to create a Patronus." (3)

"It's Harry's Patronus, isn't it?" Hermione whispered excitedly.

The man looked at her questioningly. The girl looked embarrassed:

"That's not what I meant to say. I don't know... Harry just said once that his Patronus would be a peregrine falcon."

Her mind was in a state of confusion. It was one thing to realize that Harry was in some way Voldemort's creation, but it was another to see actual proof of a 'kinship' connection. And... it seemed odd that Tom Riddle's Patronus, who was arguably a greater Slytherin than Salazar himself, turned out not to be a snake.

As if in response to her thoughts, the Patronus shimmered, its outline blurring... and there on Hermione's chair and lap was a long viper with little horns on its head, with a spider clinging to the tip of its tail. (4) The spider was twitching and thrashing from side to side, but it didn't seem to have any intention of letting go of its tail. It took a few seconds for the girl to realize that it wasn't a spider, but a peculiar device for catching small insect-eating predators, and a few seconds more to be frightened and squeal. And Hermione could hardly answer the question of what frightened her more - the snake itself or the unexpected change in the shape of the Patronus.

The snake turned into a skunk almost instantly. The skunk swiftly flew to the floor, tailed up, arched its back, released a silver fountain in Hermione's direction, and disappeared behind its master's chair.

"I hope you can now appreciate the depth of Voldemort's personal crisis to some degree," the guest complained with annoyance. "Every time the Patronus first takes the form of a peregrine falcon, but then this kind of stuff starts."

While Hermione was once again regaining consciousness, something remotely resembling a reanimated wiener crawled out from under the former dark lord's chair: a naked body with wrinkled skin, a long tail, short legs, tiny blind eyes, a pig's snout, and two pairs of long, sharp teeth. (5) The unknown animal paid no attention to people, absorbed in the search for its little personal happiness, which in this particular case must have had the appearance of a secluded silver burrow or a handful of sparkling peanuts.

I wish I could see those happy memories of Tom Riddle.

The man grinned, as if reading her thoughts.

(Hermione had already realized, though, that he was actually reading her thoughts - even when their gazes didn't meet - and wasn't embarrassed about it, and knew that she already knew it. In principle, she might not have opened her mouth at all. But that would be too unaccustomed. If you imagine such a conversation from the outside...)

"It's pretty intimate thing, but why not?"

And Hermione felt a wave of delight somewhere in the far distance: the disembodied mind, like a bird, flew through the vast universe - an infinite void filled with fascinating scatterings of starlight, unknown, secret, opening its arms. The whole being was seized with a fragile bliss, a sense of immortality and omnipotence, and at the same time realized that it was given to perceive only a shadow of the real power, otherwise it would burst out and burn in euphoria.

And after a few endless seconds, Hermione realized that it wasn't really a memory: more like a play of imagination, a fantasy of a future that would never come to pass. Between this vision and reality lay an abyss without time or boundaries: no light, no darkness, no sounds, no silence.

When Hermione came round, the Patronus was already gone.

"What was it?"

"Just mescaline, Ms. Granger. Tom had a very eventful youth. In every way."

"You... you use drug-induced visions to create the Patronus? Even though you know they're only illusions of altered consciousness? So... Tom Riddle could also create..."

"Oh, it's actually a terrible secret, but Tom was able to cast the Patronus Charm. And you've captured the essence of his method correctly. Although I wouldn't go so far as to say that what you just saw was just an illusion. Mescaline has a very peculiar reputation in some small circles of wizards… So, in his third year at Hogwarts, Tom learned that Salazar Slytherin had a Patronus, and naturally, he thought it was a great example of Slytherin trickery. Tom wondered how he could get his own silvery beast. The spell technique had been taught to him by an older Puffendui student. And since Tom was having trouble with happy memories, he had taken a creative approach to the task… And strangely enough, he had succeeded. Tom had gained a wealth of experience with narcotic hallucinations, but only this vision allowed him to create the Patronus. It didn't last long. Very soon, Tom became much more... skeptical about both his vision and the Patronus Charm. But for me, this phantasmagoria flight remains the only real memory that belongs to me personally. It attracts my attention and causes experiences that have long been inaccessible to Tom. Though I have appropriated someone else's memory, still the impressions extracted from the imprint of identity are the experience of another person with whom I cannot identify. At least at the moment."

The girl smiled sadly:

"The assumption seems to be that the Obliviation spell, along with the resonance of the magic, somehow returned Tom Riddle's personality to a state somewhat consistent with his adolescence - when Tom was not yet a dark wizard."

"Something like that crossed my mind as well. But that doesn't explain why the Hogwarts map doesn't think I'm Tom Riddle, or why the shape of my Patronus is unstable. And besides, there are other differences." The man paused. "For example, I can cast a death spell as easily as I can summon a Patronus. Though, as far as I can be honest with myself, I don't hate anyone, and I don't want anyone dead. Perhaps it's just a professional skill inherited from my predecessor. Or maybe it's something else. Of course, I've only tested my abilities on animals, but in this case it's more than enough."

Hermione sighed convulsively.

Why say that? Why testify against herself? Is this a threat? A warning? I don't understand...

"And what are the odds of you becoming Voldemort again?"

The wizard snorted sarcastically:

"You see, Tom and I have unequal starting positions. He sought immortality by resisting the beliefs of society and authority and literally walking over dead bodies, while I got my immortality on a platter before I even considered how much I needed it. I know of such things and possess such capabilities that young Tom could not even imagine. Tom's state of mind, simply put, his psychopathy, while not seeming alien to me, will still limit my potential in the long run. I could become something like Voldemort if I wanted to, but I would need a strong argument for this."

The answer seemed honest, though not at all reassuring... Waves of chills ran through his body, an unambiguous reminder of the fear that wasn't there, but was bound to be.

"How had Tom Riddle lost his Patronus? Had something happened?"

Mr. Nothing rubbed his chin puzzledly:

"I suppose Professor McGonagall would consider sharing such shocking revelations with innocent twelve-year-old girls to be even more reprehensible than trying to instill in them a good taste in alcoholic beverages. Though I rather fear that the story seems pathologically melodramatic even for romantic youngsters. And I don't see how it can help to gain your trust."

"I'm willing to take the risk," Hermione replied rather dryly, ignoring the part of her that seemed to be watching from the sidelines and was sure she was being lured into a trap, but couldn't formulate a coherent suggestion as to what that trap was.

The man nodded, gazing melancholically at the glow of the amber liquid in the glass.

"I'll have to start at the beginning, with the background of this momentous event... Tom Riddle had lived in a Muggle orphanage before entering Hogwarts. All he knew was that his mother had gone there shortly before giving birth and died shortly after the child was born. She had left her son nothing but a name. Naturally, when Tom learned about the existence of magic and became a student at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he initially thought of himself as an ordinary muggle-born wizard. However, very soon Tom realized that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. Tom was on good terms with the then headmaster of Hogwarts, Armando Dippet, and tried to get some information about his parents from him. The Headmaster shied away from asking for a long time and only in his fourth year did he reveal to Tom some details of his origin story. Tom's mother, Merope Gaunt, was a witch from a pure-blooded noble family. She fell in love with a muggle, ran away from home, and secretly married. Later, the woman infiltrated her father's house and stole a valuable family heirloom, an ancient locket created by Salazar Slytherin. Merope's father, infuriated by his daughter's marriage and the theft of the locket, officially renounced his relationship to her and turned to the Aurorate. Merope was arrested and interrogated, trying to find out where she had hidden the stolen item. But all the efforts of the investigators were in vain. It turned out that the woman possessed Occlumency and in addition, probably, used the services of experienced mental mages to set up blocks in her mind, preventing her from extracting the hidden information.

Merope was eventually tried for theft and, at her father's insistence, imprisoned in Azkaban for two months. Mr. Gaunt must have thought that being in prison would rid the woman of her Muggle attachment and make her more cooperative. But that was already Dippet's speculation, trying to justify the father's strange cruelty to his daughter. After her release, the woman was admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital, where it was discovered that she was pregnant. Merope was obsessed with intrusive nightmares, a frequent consequence after her relatively brief incarceration in Azkaban. It seems the woman was terrified that her unborn child would kill her sometime in the future. Eventually Merope escaped from the hospital and died during childbirth in an orphanage...

Tom found this story extremely strange. He knew that the body of wizards was much stronger than that of months on the upper floors of Azkaban did not seem to be able to undermine the physical health of a young witch so much that ordinary childbirth turned out to be fatal. Such a death looked more like suicide. But what was it really like? Where was the locket hidden and what was its value? Why did his mother choose imprisonment in Azkaban rather than return what she had stolen? And why was Merope afraid of her own child? Why was this what had become her nightmare?"

The narrator fell silent. For a while the silence was broken only by the active squabbling of the rats in the cage.

"Tom studied all the information he could find on Dementors, including in the forbidden sections of the library. Some sources said that Dementors were actually visible incarnations of some single mysterious ancient entity, had some sort of shared memory and semblance of intelligence, and sometimes, if they could be negotiated with, they gave wizards very interesting and valuable information. Of course, this had its own price. But in this world, almost nothing comes for nothing… Tom imagined that if he met the Dementor in person, he could better understand what had happened and find answers to at least some of the questions. He came up with what he thought was a cunning plan. In his fifth year, when the students were studying the Patronus Charm, Tom pretended that he couldn't do the spell. He persuaded the Headmaster to arrange a meeting with a Dementor, because it was known that the presence of a Dementor helped in some cases to create a Patronus. The Headmaster went along with his protégé's wishes and arranged a date at the Ministry of Magic… Tom approached the cage with the Dementor, keeping in his mind the feeling of euphoria, omnipotence and immortality. He took his time to cast the spell. The Headmaster, who was standing with his Patronus behind the boy, must have been concerned. He asked if everything was all right, and Tom nodded his head. Perhaps Dippet had decided that Tom was one of those rare people who were somehow almost immune to the effects of Dementors. Anyway, he didn't bother the boy...

At first, nothing happened. Tom didn't feel the presence of the creature and couldn't understand what he was seeing in the cage. Then he heard the dead man's voice: "Do you want to see your mother's happy memories? That's what you came here for, isn't it? Open your mind, if you are not afraid to know the truth." And the Dementor showed Tom what had once been Merope's happy memories. Tom learned that his mother had bewitched a smarmy muggle using a love potion. He saw his father, possessed by an artificial passion and too much like himself. Saw through his mother's eyes his own conception, in all the lovely details. Naturally, under the influence of the Dementors, this in itself dubious spectacle had become a hideous comedy. And then, in the clarity of his mind, Tom realized what Merope was really afraid of. He realized why she had escaped from St. Mungo's... He guessed that Merope was not dead, but had simply played out her death in front of the Muggles and disappeared forever. Tom realized that his happy visions were just illusions he was trying to hide behind from the realization that death was inevitable. He realized that he didn't want to die and would do everything he could to achieve true immortality. He realized a lot of things then... Tom made an attempt to summon a Patronus - more as a diversion - and it was expectedly unsuccessful. Then he calmly turned around and left the room, leaving the headmaster completely bewildered.

Tom never spoke to anyone about the revelation that had come upon him that day. And, by the way, at the first opportunity he visited his mother's grave in the cemetery for the homeless and made sure that it was really empty. Well, almost empty. Instead of a decayed body, he found the stolen locket of Salazar Slytherin and another item, an ancient ring with a mysterious symbol on the stone. Tom figured out the secret of the locket almost immediately. It served only the descendants of Slytherin and protected its owner's mind from almost any influence of foreign magic. Alas, Dementor magic was an exception that Merope was most likely unaware of. Worn around the neck, the locket became invisible and intangible to others, and only the owner could remove it from himself... As for the ring, it was only much later that Tom found out that the stone in it was one of the Deathly Hallows... But that's another story."

Hermione felt a strange emptiness in her mind. The questions had suddenly run out. She thought she understood all too well what her guest was telling her. And she was not shocked by it. And she wasn't even surprised that it didn't shock her. She just wasn't a child anymore. Although she wasn't an adult either. But whereas before she had thought that a new piece of the puzzle would make the whole picture clearer, now she knew it was too presumptuous of her to expect it. Moreover, she had a hunch that behind the endless layers of riddles and secrets surrounding this strange creature lay not the truth, but an impenetrable, unfathomable, untouchable mystery. The girl thought aloofly that Harry would hardly approve of such a mindset. But now her friend's opinion bothered her much less than usual.

What's going on?

"So, Miss Granger, almost immediately after your death, which of course was orchestrated by the Defense Professor, he heard a prophecy."

(Hermione felt a flock of goosebumps run across her skin. She guessed that her guest was finally going to tell her the purpose of his visit. As if he had decided she was ready.)

HE IS HERE. THE ONE WHO WILL TEAR APART THE VERY STARS IN HEAVEN. HE IS HERE. HE IS THE END OF THE WORLD.

An eerie, as if otherworldly, voice broke into her consciousness.

The end of the world?

Her head buzzed, the ominous words echoed against the walls of her skull, and reality seemed to float away from her.

There is a prophecy that the world will end?

No, it isn't. The end of the world is already here!

Hermione looked around confused.

This was a turn she was positively unprepared for. Now would be a good time to wake up and... maybe she should stay in the hospital for another day.

But there was no awakening, and Hermione had to listen to the guest who spoke again:

"Tom realized that it was about Harry Potter, that the boy had become a threat to the universe and, even worse, a threat to the immortality of the Dark Lord himself. Harry Potter was condemned to death. Tom had made every possible effort to prevent the fulfillment of this prophecy on every level. In a sense, it was because of this that Tom was ultimately destroyed. While I do not share many of the interests and aspirations of my predecessor, I too am somewhat concerned about the danger that the prophecy speaks of. Perhaps the measures Tom took are sufficient to prevent the destruction of the world, but I'm not sure of that and I'm not willing to take the risk."

"What is this nonsense? Why would Harry want to destroy the world?" Hermione exclaimed, both outraged and puzzled. Her mind refused to grasp the full monstrous meaning of the passage.

"Tom had very good reason to be concerned. Harry was determined to resurrect his dead friend by all means, even if it meant challenging the foundations of the universe. Of course Harry didn't intend to bring about the apocalypse, but Ms. Granger, I don't think you need me to explain the meaning of the Muggle adage about good intentions… Admittedly, when I set out for Hogwarts, my plans were simple. I was going to kill the boy, take Tom's possessions, get the hell out of Britain, and not think about saving or conquering the universe for at list the next fifty years. And even now, I'm not sure that it was wise not to finish as quickly as possible what Voldemort failed to finish. I don't know what stopped me at that moment. Perhaps I was intrigued by the lack of resonance. Maybe Tom's failure, and the strange circumstances surrounding it, instilled a certain caution in me. Besides, I couldn't help but recognize that in some ways I owed the younger Riddle my existence. Anyway, I decided to wait a little longer with the final decision of the Garripotter question. I've given myself twenty-four hours to think about it, and that twenty-four hours expires this morning. So, Ms. Granger, will you help me find an argument convincing enough to keep your friend alive?"

Hermione cast the stranger a desperate look. Suddenly she felt as if he was too close to her, as if they weren't separated by a table and a meter and a half distance. She jumped up and went to the window, turning away from the figure in the back of the room. That way the presence of the interloper seemed a little less unbearable. Her thoughts were confused, her chest tightening with unaccountable fear. The effects of the scotch seemed to have worn off, and she was only now beginning to feel the state that a normal person should feel when captured by a maniac.

What-Is-Left-Of-The-Dark-Lord began to laugh.

No, it wasn't an infernal laughter or anything like that. It was the laughter of a man enjoying life, healthy and strong and downright innocent. But it was so out of place in the context of the situation that Hermione realized it was the creepiest laughter she'd ever heard in her life.

After laughing heartily, the man gave his voice relative seriousness with a noticeable effort and continued:

"Believe me, I don't want to take extreme measures myself. I am even ready to compromise. Especially since there's a ready-made solution for such occasions," he said with undisguised sarcasm in his voice. "I suppose transfiguring Harry Potter into a stone and making him your talisman is a safe enough way to keep the world safe. Or is it still not worth tempting fate? Hmm, what do you say, Ms. Granger?"

Tears sprang from Hermione's eyes, either of relief or absolute despair.

"You've already made your decision, and you're only looking for confirmation of the correctness of your choice. You're much smarter and more experienced than I am. You know what I think, you know my beliefs and the arguments I can make. I don't believe you really suppose that I can help you to see the problem in a new way. What do you really want from me?"

"Pardon me," a voice behind her protested, "I am only one day old. And, though it's not easy to admit, Tom Riddle's intellect in its most complex aspects has suffered significantly from the Obliviation spell. Alas, for obvious reasons, I am not able to assess the full extent of the damage… Who else can I run it by? Perhaps you could suggest someone? You're Harry Potter's best friend. You have a genuine interest in his welfare. After all, this is your death was one of the proximate causes, or preconditions, for the prophecy of the end of the world. However, if you think this conversation is pointless... My original offer still stands. One word from you and you'll forget everything. Whereas I'll go away and make my own decision on the problem."

Hermione stared into the night darkness outside the window and remained silent. The feeling of hopelessness grew stronger and stronger. When the existence of the world was at stake, many among even very good people would agree that it was perfectly acceptable and reasonable to sacrifice one person, especially since he was already doomed to die if the world died. What arguments could have changed their minds? More likely, Tom Riddle for some reason just doesn't want to take all the responsibility on his own and this whole conversation is only necessary to force her to admit that "neutralizing" the Boy-Who-Lived is necessary for the greater good. Making her his accomplice in murder might have been an appealing solution to a moral dilemma for a sick mind.

Some, the most critical part of the mind realized that it was not quite right, that the fate of her friend concerned her far more than the fate of the world. But the ominous words of the prophecy were so far perceived only as a distant and vague threat. The end of the world would have to wait; if it came, it would probably not be tomorrow (it couldn't be that bad!), and Harry's death was so real and tangible.

What kind of world is this that requires the sacrifice of innocent children?

And will those sacrifices ever end? For surely people dangerous to the delicate balance of the universe will continue to be born.

What can she do? What?

After about a hundred years, the stranger spoke again:

"Yes, there is another reason why I decided to discuss the current situation with you specifically. I'm not sure it's worth mentioning, but on the other hand, we don't have much to lose."

Hermione shuddered at that "we." As if she and the creature had something in common.

"Remember the prophecy predicting that Harry Potter will have power the dark lord knows not. People familiar with this prophecy have made many hypotheses as to what that power might be. And though the prophecy has been fully realized, the mystery remains, at least for me, unsolved. Harry himself seems to think that his power lies in the fact that he has something to protect. And it's not that he's wrong... However, one unremarkable circumstance struck me as deserving of closer attention... After Voldemort took possession of the Philosopher's Stone, he helped Harry Potter bring back to life his dead girlfriend, whose mangled body the boy had transfigured into a ring and carried with him. Your resurrection, Miss Granger, was part of the Defense Professor's plan to prevent the end of the world - just in case the Boy-Who-Lived managed to survive this time as well. Tom expected you to be able to keep Harry from doing reckless and dangerous things. Voldemort promised the boy that you would be perfectly fine. He guaranteed your safety and well-being. And then, already on the brink of death, Harry Potter discovered the power to defeat the Dark Lord and save all his potential victims."

Holding her breath, Hermione listened to the ingratiating voice that was gaining strength and hardness with each word.

"I am not an expert on human souls. I can only observe and draw some conclusions. I don't have absolute certainty, but... when Harry Potter was trying to find a way to save everyone... who didn't he have to save? Who's life could he be calm and confident about? Who could he not think about?"

The girl turned almost involuntarily to the speaker. Ex-Voldemort was looking at her with grim interest, green sparks flickering in the depths of the bottomless wells of his eyes. She felt like a rare bug that a crazed amateur naturalist was examining with excitement.

"I found it intriguing that Tom Riddle himself gave back the power that killed the Dark Lord... It would be interesting to turn back the wheel of history and see if Harry could have defeated his teacher if he had known that Hermione Granger was dead and could never be resurrected; if he had known that her existence was interrupted forever. I'm sure that Harry would have wanted to save everyone with all his heart and soul, to put it pathologically, in this case as well. But wanting and being able are not the same thing. Our desires, our values, our goals, and our power are probably different things, though they are somewhat correlated with each other."

Hermione leaned heavily against the wall by the window. So that's why he said "For your victory."

"Of course, you can discuss the subject with your friend if you happen to meet. But I wouldn't recommend voicing my speculation directly."

"Why not?" Hermione whispered in a trembling voice.

"Because some ideas can be useless and even harmful if a person is not ready to accept them."

Hermione shook her head violently, trying to get rid of the obsession, and hit the wall... A brief throbbing pain in the back of her head brought her back to her senses a little.

Is he really serious about this?

"But you do realize that your assumptions are unfounded, don't you? I'm just a child, just a twelve-year-old girl imagining herself a hero!"

"I think I do," the man said slowly, rubbing his temple with his fingertips. "But the other versions are no better. There's even less logic in them, if you look at them closely."

The look of sadness and weariness on his face seemed so natural and so... human that Hermione felt something like sympathy stirring inside.

Just what I need...

The bottle, like a courteous hostess, filled the glasses again. In the ringing silence, the familiarly mocking voice sounded again:

"Miss Granger, I strongly advise you to be polite and not force your powerfully unstable companion to drink alone."

Hermione shifted her gaze to the table. The situation was similar to the one that had arisen at the very beginning of this strange conversation, and yet it was different now. From somewhere she realized that by returning to the chair and continuing the "conversation" she would cross some invisible line, pass the point of no return.

When she had accepted the invitation to "keep company" with the false professor, she had simply agreed to listen to the guest. But now...

...Now it was as if her consent meant that she was giving herself over to this familiar stranger, handing over an additional piece of power over herself that he lacked for something.

For what, exactly?

But if she refused, then...

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the sudden dizziness.

No, tears and despair wouldn't help, this man knows no affection or empathy. Even his happy thoughts are not connected to other people. The night is not endless, one must at least try.

Hermione returned to the chair and, swallowing the lump in her throat, forced herself to drink all of her whiskey: equanimity would not be unnecessary now.

The effect was not long in coming. It didn't take a minute for Hermione to slip back into her familiar state. Still, when she looked up at the ex-Voldemort, she flinched when she met his understanding, smirking, and yet hungry gaze.

"I think you should tell me more about the end-of-the-world prophecy and what happened yesterday," she tried to break the long silence. "It could be important. Do we," Hermione stammered, "have time?"

"There is enough time for now. And I was going to give you this information anyway. And not only this. Though I don't know what's important and what isn't."

Hermione froze, her body tensing reflexively, her hands gripping the armrests of the chair. She didn't just hear a voice in her mind, as she had when she had spoken the prophecy, or communicated with the Allocating Hat, or spoken mentally to the Headmaster. Now she felt the presence of another's mind almost physically. Like the soft touch of her clothes against her skin, the taste of whiskey in her mouth, the slight tingling in her legs, the humming of her heartbeat.

"This will allow us to exchanged memories, thoughts, and ideas more quickly and efficiently. This way of communicating may seem unfamiliar at first, but I believe you will quickly get the hang of it, and even," he laughed mentally, "find it quite fascinating..."

Hermione curled her lips in response. The presence of the foreign entity was not unbearably unpleasant, but still pressing, irritating. Her consciousness involuntarily sought to displace the stranger.

"Don't try to fight," the alien voice warned. "The discomfort will soon pass. Close your eyes and concentrate on what you see."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. For a while she just lay there, trying to relax and get used to her 'mind neighbor'. And then Tom Riddle's memories began to flicker through her mind, somehow related to the Boy-Who-Lived. She guessed that transferring such volumes of information at this pace required a colossal expenditure of magical power, but she hadn't had a chance to think about it further. Her own brain was working at maximum capacity and only her newfound supernatural physiological stamina prevented nervous exhaustion from developing. After the revelations of this night, Hermione felt like she was ready for anything. She had accepted with stoic humility even the "news" that Harry had participated in the release of Bellatrix Black from Azkaban. But near the end of the "session", when she learned about her immortality, how she got it and how the Death Eaters were killed, the girl had to pause several times to catch her breath and regain at least relative calm.

When the information transfer was over, Hermione felt quite confused and still didn't understand how she could have helped Harry. She thought of Dumbledore with regret: that's who could surely clear up a lot of things.

"Yes, I wouldn't mind talking to him myself. Alas, Dumbledore had become a prisoner of ancient magic, the secrets of which were unknown even to Salazar Slytherin..."

Hermione sighed. And then it suddenly hit her:

"Headmaster... At the beginning of the school year, Professor Trelawney had started uttering a prophecy about someone who is coming and who will tear something apart. Dumbledore had taken the divination professor out of the Great hall, without letting the others hear the ending. But he had heard the prophecy in full himself. And he must have guessed that it was about Harry. Nevertheless, it doesn't seem like the headmaster sees Harry as a mortal danger to the world. Dumbledore must have known something else very important!"

…you cannot imagine how badly things could go if the events surrounding Harry Potter turn to ill.

The argument seemed to make a definite impression on Mr. Nothing.

"Dumbledore was indeed defending Harry Potter. Protected him as his greatest asset. He had even sacrificed himself to save the boy... The Headmaster was undoubtedly hiding something. He couldn't patronize someone who was a threat to the world. Or could he? But that's just... You've set a problem, old man."

That reaction cheered Hermione up a bit. It seemed that she had managed to plant some doubt in the mind of her interlocutor.

"Maybe the Headmaster had good reason to think the prophecy was talking about someone else?"

The answer was a nervous, mirthless laugh.

"Nice try, Ms. Granger. Alas, there's really no mystery here. I didn't want to disappoint you, but now that you've brought it up... The old man must have lost his mind after listening to the prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. He learned that our world was destined to be destroyed, and that Harry Potter was one of those destined to destroy it. But none of the prophecies, you see, mentioned that Harry would be the end of life. Even when it said he would tear apart the very stars in the heavens, it didn't say he would tear apart humans. Ha, that sounds so reassuring! Dumbledore had insinuated himself that Harry Potter could save the life of the world, even if he destroyed the world itself. And so, instead of preventing the boy's birth, he did everything he could to make sure that he came into the world and became the new, proper Tom Riddle. I don't know what the Dark Lord would think of these ideas... Just the day before yesterday, your friend tore thirty-six people apart. At only 12 years old. It doesn't matter what his motives were. What's important is that none of the prophecies, I'm guessing, gave any hint of this feat. Are criminals not human? Or is what happened too insignificant? Just how many enemies does Harry Potter have to tear apart for Time to take notice? Or perhaps Dumbledore has succumbed to mediocre self-deception, refusing to notice inconvenient facts and information and looking for any loopholes and tricks to make sure his assumptions are correct? Alas, Dumbledore, to top off his eccentricities, had destroyed all the prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, perhaps, just so that no one else could double-check the adequacy of his conclusions."

Each caustic phrase of that expository speech seemed to smash with a hammer the remnants of the naive notions and illusions that had inadvertently survived in the existential chaos that had once been her sanity. Of course, she could console herself with the thought that Mr. Nothing, taking advantage of his opponent's absence, was judging him somewhat prejudicially. But even with that correction, the situation was looking more and more hopeless.

And then, instead of the expected attack of despondency, Hermione felt a slight irritation. Listening to her guest's rant, she had forgotten something. Probably something important. Or not?

The stranger's thoughts, meanwhile, flowed again, already more impassive.

"It reminded me of an incident that happened the day after you died. Harry had visited his parents' grave in Godric's Hollow with Mr. Lupin. On the tombstone he saw an inscription that shook him to the core, "The last enemy that shell be destroyed is death."

Hermione smiled against her will. The New Testament. The apostle Paul's first Epistle to the Corinthians... (Hermione had read the Bible as well, purely for the purpose of expanding her general erudition, of course.)

"Mr. Lupin had said it was something like the Potter family's unofficial motto, and she and Harry had begun to debate the meaning of the phrase."

The girl furrowed her brow.

"Are you implying that neither Mr. Lupin nor Harry recognized the quote?"

"What is it that surprises you, Ms. Granger? Mr. Lupin's ignorance is understandable and quite forgivable. Religiosity has never been a characteristic of wizards. And it's not Mr. Potter's fault he grew up in a democratic secular environment, not an Anglican orphanage."

"Hey!" Hermione said indignantly. "I didn't come from a noble maiden's boarding school either. But how can you not be interested in your friend's family motto? Especially one so... eccentric...? And it's ironic," she added a little later, "that Harry admired a phrase from a book he would have picked up only if all the other books in the world had been burned."

The stranger's mind chuckled:

"Aren't you too skeptical of Mr. Potter?"

The question is rhetorical, and yet... Her retort could have been seen as an echo of her former rivalry with Harry. But now that rivalry seemed so naive and childish... For a few seconds Hermione was sucked into the memories. And it was as if the stranger's mind had fallen silent, watching. No, not just watching, but as if tasting her emotions and impressions.

"We're dodging the subject," Hermione said grumpily, chasing away the sudden feeling of awkwardness. "Does the Potter family motto mean that Harry's ancestors were Christians?"

"Doubtful." As if nothing had happened, the voice replied. "It's more logical to assume that one of the ideas expressed in the Bible - the future resurrection of people and their eternal life in transformed immortal bodies - seemed inspiring to wizards who set out to defeat death."

"It seems so. But agree, for someone who knows about the existence of magic, the legend of the death and resurrection of a certain Jesus of Nazareth does not seem so implausible. Is it possible that the magicians of antiquity found a way to resurrect the dead? At least in some cases."

"Ms. Granger," his intonation became grim and prickly, "do you really think the thought never once crossed Tom Riddle's mind? Naturally, Tom has studied the matter extensively in his time... It is not difficult for a wizard to pull off the trick with death and resurrection in front of Muggle witnesses. Of course, it's impossible to know for sure what happened two thousand years ago. But most researchers are inclined to the version that it was an attempt to create a world state with a magical government. And what it eventually turned out to be, testifies only to the lack of organization and ideological unity among the magicians of antiquity. However, not much had changed in that regard since then."

Hermione had a lot of questions, but after thinking for about six seconds, she decided that a discussion on religious and historical topics was unlikely to help solve the current problem...

"So why did you tell me about the inscription?"

"It was only a lyrical introduction... After Harry, impressed by the inscription on the tomb, threw, one could say, an official challenge to death, he and Remus heard the mysterious, incomprehensible words: "Traen bein Peverellas suna and three hira toul tissum Das bey evunen". And it translates from the medieval dialect as "Three shall be Peverell's sons and three their devices which Death shall be defeated."

"One more prophecy?" Hermione whistled unexpectedly for herself. "And I suspect it won't be the last. Would you like to announce the whole list at once? Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"Tom didn't pay much attention to the incident, and I'm only just remembering it now..." a mental voice murmured, relaying Remus Lupin's memories to Hermione. "Tom could sense the boy's emotions and knew that something unusual had happened to Harry at Godric's Hollow. But when the Defense professor had examined Lupin's memory, he had regretfully realized that visiting his parents' grave had only confirmed Harry Potter's ambition. No doubt Tom was interested in the words Remus and Harry had heard. He visited the graveyard and found the source where those words came from - the grave of Ignotus Peverell. Tom decided to tackle this mystery later, when he had more pressing issues to deal with."

"But... had the brothers really defeated death?"

"Tom didn't think so. Deathly Hallows don't get rid of death. And the Peverell brothers are already dead. Well, at least they haven't shown any signs of life for centuries. Apparently, they hadn't had time to complete their work... Or they'd created artifacts so powerful that they couldn't unleash and subdue the power they contained."

Her consciousness seemed to vibrate with a hissing snake's laughter. She had heard something like that before in the memories passed down to her: it was the way Voldemort laughed, and that laugh usually didn't promise anything good. Well, the creature with no past and no name was still a member of the Slytherin bloodline and clearly didn't think it was necessary to hide it. Hermione only squirmed and shook her head at such directness.

"Hmm, what about the legend of the the Master of Death?"

An ancient legend said that the wielder of the three Gifts would become the Master of Death. The legend itself might seem like fiction, but when you knew the prophecy associated with it, it wasn't so easy to dismiss.

Hermione shuddered.

And after all, Mr. Nothing knew in whose hands the Cloak of Invisibility was in. All that was left was to find the Elder Wand and then...

"Oh, Ms. Granger," came the answering thought, "if it was so simple, why couldn't the brothers agree and give the artifacts to one of them? Even if they didn't trust each other, which was likely, it was possible to make a magical pact and then cast lots."

"Maybe, the brothers didn't realize that in order to defeat death, they needed to somehow combine the magical properties of their creations?"

"If the inscription on Ignotus' tomb is to be believed, the prophecy was spoken in the presence of all three of Peverell's sons. It doesn't explicitly state that the power of the Gifts should be united, but it's hard not to get a direction to ponder. After all, where did the legend come from if not from this prophecy?"

"It turns out that possessing three Hallows doesn't automatically make their owner the Master of Death." Hermione began to guess what her interlocutor was getting at. "Either the wizard should be powerful and clever enough to combine the power of all three Gifts, or it was not necessary that the Gifts had one owner. Something else is necessary, another way..."

"And by the way," the other's voice had a trace of confusion in it, "although the prophecy was spoken in the presence of the brothers, it speaks about the about the Peverell's sons in the future tense, as if they had not yet been born."

"So," Hermione concluded excitedly, "the prophecy points not to the brothers themselves, but to their descendants or heirs. The prophecy emphasizes that there will be three of them and that it takes three chosen ones to defeat death, not just one."

She had no doubts about the two candidates for the role of Peverell's sons. The Invisibility Cloak is in Harry's possession and he is the heir to Ignotus Peverell. Tom Riddle is also a descendant of one of his brothers, Cadmus, from whom he inherited the Resurrection Stone. But who is the third chosen one?

"I know you want me to believe in the fairy tale we've made up and start thinking in the style of Dumbledore," the stranger said in a low voice, "but I must warn you, there is one fatal flaw in this story. Harry Potter here is not the center of the universe, not a unique hero-savior, surrounded by loyal companions and helpers, but only one of three equal in spirit and power wizards. This is a ridiculous assumption! Even Dumbledore, I suppose, would agree that the Boy-Who-Lived had a much better chance of dying at the hands of a worthy adversary than being in such company."

Hermione had to make a Herculean effort not to burst out laughing and lose the thread of her reasoning.

Well, no one had promised her that it would be easy.

"Yes, Harry and Tom are indeed descendants of the Peverells, if their bloodlines are to be trusted," the mental voice continued. "But as for the third... The Elder Wand obeys the person who defeated its previous owner. Until recently, it belonged to Albus Dumbledore, already well known to you. What an amazing coincidence, isn't it? And Albus, in turn, took possession of the wand after defeating his former friend, Gellert Grindewald, in a battle. This outstanding personality is also well known to you, albeit in absentia. Unfortunately, I don't know the details of the bloodlines of the two nemeses, but it hardly matters now: after Dumbledore's disappearance, the wand passed to Tom Riddle, and then to Harry Potter."

So the third Deathly Hallow had belonged to the Headmaster for many years? When had Mr. Nothing found out about it? And why had he only told her now? Wasn't there a reason? Yeah, sure...

And... is Harry the owner of the Elder Wand?

Some small part of Hermione's mind noted that something was wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. The other part of her mind tried to catch the slippery thought with the passion of a hunter stalking his prey.

"When Harry had decided to resurrect me, there had been a prophecy about someone who would tear the stars apart. And when Harry defied death again at his parents' grave, he heard a prophecy about the Deathly Hallows. Could it be that these two prophecies are parts of the same mystery? Perhaps the destruction of the stars has something to do with the Hallows and defeating death?"

"Hmmm..." her newfound alter ego pondered. "It was likely that Harry Potter would come to that conclusion someday. And it was very possible that in testing that hypothesis, he would destroy the world."

For a few uncomfortable moments, Hermione felt stumped again. How could this creature manage to twist any idea in the Harry Potter accusation?

No, she wasn't going to let herself be confused this time. If they realized exactly what the danger was, then maybe they could find a way to prevent it. Forewarned is forearmed!

What do we know about the Deathly Hallows?

Hermione began to go through all the information available and...

"The Resurrection Stone allows the spirit to leave Horcruxes and fly wherever it wishes. But can the spirit of the owner of the Resurrection Stone leave the living body to fly around the world for a bit? And what happens to the body? Would it die?"

"The Stone creates a kind of magical mobile projection of one's mind with sight and hearing. The focus of consciousness and perception, as Tom called it, shifts into the projection, but the spirit itself does not move anywhere. Thus, the spirit can travel without leaving the body or the Horcrux."

"That's how! And how far, purely theoretically, can the spirit travel? Any guesses?"

There was that jerky hissing laughter again.

"Tom hadn't had a chance to test the Resurrection Stone in practice. Even a temporary loss of control over someone else's body and mind would have disrupted his plans... And I wasn't really in the mood for experiments yesterday. However, I don't see any factors limiting the movement of the projection of consciousness in space. Of course, except for those restrictions that are set by the mind itself..."

Hermione was seized by a familiar euphoria - Tom Riddle's 'happy memory'.

It was obvious!

Salazar Slytherin cast a spell on his descendants that allowed them to understand and use the snake language. And the happy memory is not a drug-induced vision. It is Cadmus Peverell's personal experience of his flights to the stars: flights that the wizard made with the Resurrection Stone. The inventor deemed this experience important enough to pass it on through a spell to his descendants, those who would prove to be "worthy" heirs. For security reasons, Cadmus probably could not leave clear instructions. But the memory was to point the successor to both the end and the means of accomplishing it. Tom Riddle had "activated" the spell through his experiments with consciousness. Alas, the memory came to him, perhaps too early and in the wrong circumstances. Tom didn't understand its origin and so didn't even try to grasp its true meaning... But even when he was disappointed in the 'vision', he remained obsessed with the vague idea it carried.

Hermione smiled blissfully. The stream of her consciousness was like... a melody being played on the same instrument by two musicians. And she could barely distinguish who was playing which part.

Among all the wizards on earth, perhaps, only the owner of the Resurrection Stone has the practical ability to tear the stars apart. Whatever that means...

His spirit can move freely in the universe... And the speed of light is probably not an insurmountable obstacle for him...

And if the wizard's skill level allows him to use non-verbal wandless magic...

But... the spirit semblance that the Resurrection Stone creates, although it is a magical entity in itself, does not possess magical energy that could be used for spells...

And why would Cadmus Peverell need to tear apart stars? How could these fusion reactors and immortality be related?

The slippery thought this time seemed to have been taken by surprise by the right question. A guess-answer flashed through the mind:

STARS ARE THE SOURCES OF MAGICAL ENERGY IN THE UNIVERSE!

And then a mad whirlwind of ideas swirled around the answer: theories, spells, knowledge, memories, sometimes as if familiar, but mostly unimaginable. Some sixth sense told Hermione that now she might go mad in the truest sense of the expression, and she almost instinctively pushed the alien entity out of her mind. The girl would hardly have succeeded so easily if the entity had still clung to her with its tentacles. But it seemed, the stranger had completely forgotten about her existence.

For several long seconds the mind felt an unfamiliar, almost painful emptiness, and then it began to ask questions: "What was that? Could she be thinking like that? Had she become a little bit of Mr. Nothing? What did she do?".

The truth was that on some level Hermione already knew the answers. But this was all too much... It was beyond any limits.

Hermione struggled to open her eyes and looked at her guest. He was frozen in his chair, as if he had lost all connection with the reality around him. There was a black abyss in his detached gaze and a half-crazed smile on his face. Hermione wondered if Tom Riddle had left something completely inadequate that posed a danger far greater than a destroyed Voldemort.

And then the man disappeared.

For a while Hermione stared dazedly at the empty chair. The hospital had installed anti-apparatus spells. How in the world had he been able to do it then? A Time-Turner? No, she would have noticed... Her mind, which had recklessly decided that she had a chance to save herself, advised her not to hesitate, to get out of the room immediately and call for help. Hermione rushed to the door and, to some surprise, swung it open with ease. Immediately she recoiled. Behind the door was... emptiness. And standing in the middle of it was Tom Riddle. But this Tom was younger than the one who had disappeared, a young man of about fifteen or sixteen, almost a teenager.

"Who are you looking for? Is it me? There's no one else here but us two," the soft velvet voice was full of irony.

Hermione mumbled something unintelligible, walked back to the table and fell into a chair. The young man entered the room and beckoned his glass with relaxed motion. The door, leading to nowhere, closed silently.

The girl took a few deep breaths, trying to gather her thoughts.

"What did all this mean? What is this place?"

"This isn't a place, Ms. Granger. It's a dream," the young man said in a condescending tone.

Hermione squinted. Inside, despite the voice of reason urging her to remain calm in an incomprehensible and dangerous situation, anger was rising.

"So now you want to convince me that I'm sleeping?"

"No way! It's not so trivial. We're both sleeping. This is our dream. Have a whiskey. You don't seem to be feeling well."

"What if I don't drink?"

The guy's got a cocky grin on his face:

""I'm afraid you've been thinking about this question too late."

"And yet?"

"Then, judging by your condition, you'll wake up very soon and never know how the story of the Boy-Who-Lived ended."

Hermione ignored the glass flying towards her. She picked up the bottle from the table and twirled it thoughtfully in her hands, examining the label with the stag's head on it and suppressing a sudden urge to throw it at the head of her overly cheerful drinking companion.

"Miss Granger, you're being unfair to me!" his voice blazed with righteous indignation, blending seamlessly with sarcastic mockery. "I was trying to be normal, polite, tactful. I came to you with a basket of cakes and tea. I've tried to make intelligent conversation. But you rejected me! You didn't believe me. You refused to listen and you refused to think. I was about to despair, and then I remembered this scotch that Tom kept for a special occasion. I spit on all the rules of decorum, shoved common sense aside and put on this cheap show. And it turns out it's exactly what you need!"

A magical hybrid of human, troll and unicorn. Hermione really wanted to hope that this was the only reason that explained her unfortunate predilection for hard liquor. Or maybe it was because it was a dream. In reality, her reactions and impressions would have been different...? It was still terribly embarrassing. Why was she so easily provoked? And what was the purpose of this whole spectacle for her crazy guest? Certainly not to save Harry.

Unless her hunch was correct...

"Why?" she hissed through her teeth.

"Because you are a power the Dark Lord knows not, and I am the end of the world. I speculated that we might be of interest to each other."

The hunch turned out to be right after all.

Does he really believe what he's saying?

Well, at least Harry's in no danger now. Her guest just wanted to have some fun and... Anyway, it's not the worst thing that could happen.

Nothing did happen, did it? They were just...chatting, sharing fantasies on a given topic...

The young man's smile grew even wider, something that had seemed impossible a second earlier. Hermione felt as if the joker was about to vanish into thin air, leaving only his smile. And that brought to mind...

"Why did you disappear? What had happened?"

"I'm sorry for leaving you unannounced," Tom Riddle said, a look of regret on his face. "I lost control and, oops, woke up... And by the way, if you're not bored with my company, I advise you not to neglect Professor McGonagall's gift."

"First, why don't you explain to me how Professor McGonagall's gift has anything to do with the reality of our dream?" Hermione shook her head at the bottle. "It's not real whiskey, is it?"

"Yes, it is only a representation of the original drink in the dream space. Its qualities and properties are customized to some extent to the needs, expectations, and desires of the dreamers. It's a... a bond that stabilizes the dream together. Unfortunately, to create a phantom, its real-life prototype must be destroyed. So for this date, I really had to sacrifice, without any guarantee of success, a very real bottle of high-end scotch. And I don't have another one just like it."

Hermione arched an eyebrow skeptically:

"I'm flattered, but for what are all this difficulties? You didn't stand on ceremony with Harry yesterday, did you?"

The young man waved his hands with feigned simplicity:

"Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to talk in a comfortable environment with an interesting interlocutor? And naturally, I didn't want to be disturbed. And so, all tracking charms now show that Hermione Granger is sleeping peacefully in her bed... Even if someone enters your room, he won't be able to find anything suspicious. But most importantly, in such a dream, time slows down several times... Haven't you noticed that this night is dragging on unnaturally long?"

She thought she had lost track of time. Well, it looked like this night was really going to be the longest night of her life...

Fighting the premonition that she was once again treading on a slippery slope, Hermione sipped from her glass.

"So much effort doesn't come from idle interest in someone's person. So what are you doing all this for?"

"Oh, Ms. Granger, if I had known what my purpose or desires were, I probably would have managed somehow on my own... But I really didn't have any definite expectations. That's probably why it went better than I could have imagined. I still can't believe it..."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Are you talking about that stupid telepathy session?"

A nervous chuckle.

"A telepathy session? Who do you think I am? Actually, in theory, it was supposed to be a joint consciousness. Yes, without practice, it's almost impossible to achieve a complete and stable fusion the first time... But you have to admit, even what we got was impressive."

"Well, it had a curious synergistic effect," Hermione agreed evasively. "But did you really expect it would unlock the mysteries of magic that even Tom Riddle was no closer to unraveling?"

"I didn't expect. How was I supposed to know where this was going to lead? And yet, it worked!" With a gusty wave of his hands (and without spilling a drop of whiskey), the young man continued, quickly and excitedly, as if the dam of self-control had burst from long-restrained tension. "We have unraveled Cadmus Peverell's scheme! Those ridiculous mysterious prophecies, hereditary spells and happy memories... When I put it all together, I realized something, realized my humble place in this universal jumble! I had everything I needed, all the pieces of the puzzle, all the knowledge, all the ingredients... When I woke up, I went back in time, and you can't even imagine how I spent the last six hours!"

The remnants of equanimity and mystery faded away. Tom Riddle seemed about to glow with childishly naive exuberance.

"I did it! I tore apart a star! I created the perfect Horcrux for the soul - an immortal invulnerable human body! Imagine, here, inside me, is where all the magic of the star is contained! Tom, you fool, you'd die of envy, despite all your Horcruxes...! I haven't quite gotten used to my new abilities yet, but I'm pretty sure my body can't even be harmed by a supernova explosion. I can be easily injured, if I let it, of course, but it's impossible to inflict fatal damage. And, most delightfully, star magic protects the the Horcrux body from any outside magical influences. I've checked it out. First with Bella's help. And then I paid a visit to Alastor Moody. Great Merlin, it was an epic battle! He pelted me with cruciatus, avadas and other more creative curses. And they had the same effect as an angry pixie trying to kill me. It's a pity that I had to erase his memory of that duel... I have already been in space, at the bottom of the ocean, in molten magma. Yes, the sensations were not the most pleasant at times, but it was a matter of habit and training. Lastly, I stopped by Australia and depressed a couple dozen local Dementors who were unsuccessfully trying to eat my soul. This is the best day, I mean the best night of my life! This is bliss! It's freedom!"

Hermione's hand had long since unclenched and released the glass. The glass, however, was still hanging in the air.

"How did you do that?" Hermione said, still hoping it was some kind of stupid prank. "You said it was impossible..." she trailed off. "And where did you get a Time-Turner?"

"Of course it's Tom's one. To my surprise, it recognized me as its master. The Dark Lord acquired it through Dumbledore's patronage when he was still playing David Monroe. But as it turned out, Tom couldn't use the Time-Turner while in the same body as another sentient being... Funny, isn't it, considering that it didn't stop Tom and Quirinus from traveling through time as hand luggage at all!" The guy seemed to be holding back hard not to burst out laughing again with that hilariously creepy laugh of his. "The seeming of a spirit, created by the Resurrection Stone, doesn't really have its own magic. But that doesn't matter at all. When a spirit is inside a star, all the magic of the star is at its disposal. Unless, of course, he knows how to deal with it. Cadmus' spirit reached inside stars, he felt their magic, knew there must be a way to subdue and use it, but he couldn't... Brooms fly according to the laws of Aristotelian mechanics. And partial transfiguration is based on timeless physics. But both work! Magic can achieve any transformation of reality, if the mind can overcome its own limitations... All I had to do was figure out how to bind the magic of a star in a human body. I wish I could brag that I'd figured it out on my own. But Tom had already done most of it for me. All that remained was to apply his experience and knowledge to the new task..."

For several long, delightful moments Hermione floated in an unimaginably gigantic sphere that was the embodiment of fire, light, and magic. And somehow, she knew: she knew exactly what to do to create a Horcrux... It was only when consciousness returned to the room that it came to her that it was all true. Tom Riddle had really done it.

And... it had been a disaster.

"...As I suspected, all it would take was the creation of a small, stable focal point of transformation - a chain reaction would do the rest. I ripped Betelgeuse apart in one hour and thirty-two minutes. And according to a cursory calculation, if I live, for example, in the modest mode of an ordinary demon, the magic inside me will last for trillions of years." A triumphant grin shone on the guest's face. "What reward would be worthy of the power that made Tom Riddle a god in the flesh? Any thoughts, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione didn't move. Lowering her head, she stared at the pool of amber-brown liquid into which clear tears dripped from time to time.

How? How did everything work out like this?

What reward was worthy of the feeble-minded power that had unlocked the secret of immortality and, as a bonus, ensured inevitable and sad end of the world?

The newfound demon pondered, settled back in his chair, and once again began to remotely resemble a mere mysterious stranger.

"Mm... Do I really look like a madman?" There was genuine concern in the wizard's voice.

The awkward silence was more eloquent than Hermione's best essays.

"Thank you for your candor, Miss Granger," the silence was broken at last by a sarcastic whisper. "Since we're both concerned about my mental state, we might as well discuss it further... But first, answer me one more question. Why do you think the Defense Professor couldn't even think that the end-of-the-world prophecy was referring to him, to Tom Riddle?"

Hermione stared at her interlocutor in surprise through her tears. Her brain, however, was quick to come up with a suitable explanation-as if she were in a classroom and there was a serious danger that someone would answer faster than she did.

"You said so yourself. The prophecy was uttered right after Harry made the promise to resurrect me. And the Defense P-professor decided that the prophecy was prompted by that decision and therefore it referred to Harry. Although, strictly speaking, such a conclusion, if unsupported by other arguments, could be considered a classic logical fallacy of "Post hoc ergo propter hoc" (6)."

Alas, the Dark Lord had other arguments. Harry knows the physical structure of the stars better than any other wizard. Harry set out to combine the power of science and magic to change the world. It was in Harry's head that the idea that tearing apart the stars could be something useful could most likely occur to him. His ambition and self-confidence have no bounds, though Harry himself considers himself very cautious.

Voldemort probably became the so-called end of the world the moment he rediscovered the Resurrection Stone and subjugated its power. So why was the prophecy not uttered until three months after this event? It was as if It was deliberately waiting for a convenient opportunity to mislead the only witness...

Hermione wrapped her arms around her head, afraid her mind would explode.

"Yes, Harry's decision had played a part in confusing the situation. But it wasn't the determining factor that set Voldemort on the wrong track. Tom Riddle was absolutely certain that he himself would never want to destroy the world. He didn't want to rule over a pile of ashes, much less have all his Horcruxes destroyed in some galactic catastrophe. And he knew he wouldn't cause that catastrophe by accident, by carelessness. So his mind dismissed the hypothesis as utterly improbable..." the guest mimicked Professor Quirrell's trademark sardonic smirk. "But what if the circumstances were different? If the Dark Lord's immortality didn't depend on flimsy magical gizmos? If humanity was no longer his only plaything? If Voldemort had found other worlds and discovered other sources of pleasure?"

The temperature in the room dropped perceptibly.

"You cannot imagine, Ms. Granger, what bliss it is, what an overflow of life, when the magic of a star flows inside you and becomes your essence. You won't know until you feel it. It's just impossible to convey. Tom could be quite passionate about it. Especially since the magic of a single star, no matter how unimaginably huge, is not infinite. And being an ordinary deity would hardly satisfy the Dark Lord for long..." The young man's lips curved again. "If he had thought for even five minutes. If he had realized that he could create and destroy galaxies, that he could become the demiurge for thousands of tame worlds. And he was glad the Stone had saved him the trouble of finding suitable victims. What a villain... But I digress. In losing his confrontation with Harry Potter, Tom fulfilled one prophecy and hopefully prevented the fulfillment of another. And if there was anything dangerous left of the Dark Lord, like me, I had already taken steps to neutralize that danger as completely as possible. I had originally thought of simply destroying the Stone and the very possibility of becoming possessed by its power. Another idea was to give the Stone to Harry Potter... But both of those would be too trivial, don't you think? So... in the end I came to some compromise between the opposing aspirations. I hid it in the Mirror of Atlantis. Before that, I ordered the Stone to obey whoever retrieved it from the looking glass. Return the Stone and you can grant people physical immortality and invulnerability... You must be wondering what the catch is. The catch is that only someone with true love can get the Stone."

For a while Hermione stared at Tom Riddle in utter bewilderment.

What in Merlin's name is going on in that creature's mind?

"I invited the Mirror to decide for itself whether the person before it met the criteria. Without relying on anyone else's perceptions or beliefs on the matter: not the person standing in front of the Mirror, not the person who created the Mirror, not the person who hid the Stone in it... I was almost certain that the Mirror would refuse to take the Stone. But it accepted the bet!"

(Hermione's brain was methodically scanning her memory for all the information about Atlantis, the Mirror, and true love. And it seemed the brain was going a little overboard. In addition to snippets of magical fairy tales, book quotes, and information from ex-Voldemort, some uncomfortable memories concerning the Boy-Who-Doesn't-Understand-Anything-About-Girls surfaced in her mind).

Hermione covered her face with her hands and groaned quietly:

"Why are you making fun of me?"

The young man grinned.

"M-yes, I guess I was being a bit sly when I said I didn't want revenge on Tom Riddle's enemies."

While Hermione was smearing tears on her face, thinking over a decent answer and trying to assess (given the latest data) how bad things were for the universe as a whole and for herself in particular, another meaning of the night guest's revelations began to come to her consciousness.

Return the Stone and you can grant people physical immortality and invulnerability...

The ill-gotten hope stirred timidly again.

Is he really not going to erase my memory of this dream? Would he really just disappear, leaving me and Harry alone?

Too good to be true...

Or is it?

But...

Why not?

The part of her that had once warned of the trap was now contemptuously silent.

Hermione took her time finishing her glass, glancing at her silent companion. The detached perception was gradually returning to her.

Well, it was worth at least trying to gather as much information as possible. Any little thing could be useful later.

"What was that trick you pulled with the Elder Wand? You subjected Harry to Legilimency and then erased his memory of it. And yet the next day, the Elder Wand recognized Harry as its master. Why? Confundus, Legilimency and Obliviation didn't count? Or did the wand obey Harry because you wanted it to?"

The guest didn't answer right away. Hermione even began to think that he was just going to ignore the question.

"I don't know much more about the Elder Wand than you do, and I can only make educated guesses... Initially, I did intend to kill the boy. But as I studied his memory and thoughts, I realized that the real danger to the world was not him, but Tom Riddle. Moreover, Harry Potter had actually made me complicit in the Dark Lord's destruction. Maybe," he chuckled briefly, "the wand counted that as a double victory over the enemy?"

"You became an accessory to the Dark Lord's destruction? In what way? Did I miss something?" Hermione asked cautiously after several unsuccessful attempts to connect this statement with the data in her memory.

"Huh, and I was worried that during the so-called telepathy session you would discover my little secrets too soon..." the young man shook his head. "Well, there's probably no point in hiding it now... Then, in the infirmary, trying to reconstruct Harry's recollection of what had happened, I couldn't help but notice that Tom had changed the final part of his plan for some reason, acting in a risky and imprudent manner. After thinking about his behavior, I decided that there could be only one explanation for it: Tom was convinced of the correctness of his actions and of the success of the whole event. And the only one who could convince him of this was himself. He trusted only himself, and his own protection against time loops was not an insurmountable obstacle... I could have done nothing, of course: one way or another, Harry would have defeated Voldemort. But that would mean that Tom Riddle had made a series of stupid miscalculations without any logical basis. And, therefore, there were some catastrophic flaws in his mind which he didn't notice, and which I got in addition to the consequences of the memory wipe... I decided that would be too much for me and chose what seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Leaving Hogwarts, I traveled back in time and found myself back in the graveyard - this time just before the Defense Professor and the boy appeared there. I turned into a snake and lurked in the grass. Of course, Tom recognized my presence almost immediately. And I mentally gave him a couple of original tips on how to act to find out all the secrets of Harry Potter... And then I just lay there and watched..." his voice grew more and more alienated. "I hoped that destroying the Dark Lord would prevent the prophecy of the end of the world from being fulfilled. I should have felt it or realized it. But it didn't. The anxiety about the end of the world did not disappear. Moreover, I began to feel as if I were attracting the imminent catastrophe by my very existence. And if that were the only problem... By morning, I simply could not find a place for myself and..."

The storyteller suddenly stopped talking, as if he had reprimanded himself.

"And you imagined that Hermione Granger was a power the Dark Lord knows not, and that the harnessing of that power would somehow miraculously solve your problems... Right?" Hermione continued. "You don't see me as a person... I'm a pure function to you. And that's why it was more natural for you to turn to me than just to talk to Harry."

The interlocutor bowed his head graciously.

"I prefer to use slightly different terminology, but yes, I admit you were correct in your description of my motives. I was only interested in you as an embodiment of the Power, though I didn't know in advance exactly how you might be useful. I only assumed that the joining of our consciousnesses would clarify this point. This whole conversation on equal footing," the boy made quotation marks with his fingers, "and the task of saving Harry was just a distraction for your mind. And you bought into the ruse, even though you sensed a catch."

Hermione felt her calmness leaving her again, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"You were convinced from the beginning that the-end-of-the-world prophecy was about Tom Riddle. You knew Harry had nothing to do with it! Why did you deceive me? Weren't there other options?"

The young man narrowed his eyes:

"Are you suggesting that I should have come and said: "Hello, I am a former Dark Lord and I am a little out of my mind, because almost all my memory was erased and part of my intellect was destroyed; I feel like I am shattered, I am driven crazy by strange happy memories and I suspect that in a fit of confused feelings I could do something so grand that the universe would end. Help me to find peace and harmony, or I won't be responsible for my actions." Well, that's roughly what I did at first. To no avail. It was like I was talking to a stubborn little fool. And I couldn't enforce you to comply. I needed your willing consent and cooperation to carry out my plan. In the end, I decided that since you are Harry Potter's power, it would be more natural for you to solve his problems than mine... Are you satisfied with my explanation, Miss Granger?"

"Quite." Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat with difficulty. She didn't know what was being said seriously, and what was self-irony or mockery. "So what," she said, "are you no longer concerned about the threat of the world's destruction? After all, as far as I understand, there are other prophecies predicting that the end of the world is inevitable..."

Mr. Nothing shrugged his shoulders with a deliberately indifferent look:

"I'm not sure I can adequately assess the situation and the risks. But these prophecies look much less... apocalyptic to me now than they did before. I think the secret of the Resurrection Stone is just part of a global plot to achieve total victory over death. And I just can't imagine what would happen if the power of the three Deathly Hallows were combined. Perhaps the world would become too small for mankind... Although star magic by itself gives almost limitless power by human standards, it is more of a potential power, because the magic of the Horcrux is programmed primarily to protect and preserve the Horcrux itself. To use star magic for other purposes, a wizard must learn to circumvent these limitations. It can take years to grasp the basics, and the process of perfection is probably endless. But with a certain desire and diligence, one can relatively quickly reach a level sufficient to destroy the Earth, and the entire solar system with the nearest neighborhood. At the same time, I suspect, it is much more difficult for an immortal to destroy himself, his body or his mind. And while for some immortality is a natural and desirable state, for others it can become an unbearable burden. So, if you like, I can give you the obvious advice. When... or if... you manage to get your hands on the Resurrection Stone, think carefully before bestowing immortality on someone."

The former Dark Lord casually stretched and yawned:

"However, it will be dawn soon. Don't you think you are a bit tired? You have a strong new body, of course, but for your mind a little ... ordinary sleep now will still not be superfluous. And it would be good for me to get some sleep too."

Hermione realized that the fantastic dream was coming to an end. The mysterious visitor would soon fade into the fog. And it seems, for always.

"I have to tell you some not so pleasant news," the young man suddenly changed to a businesslike tone. "As long as you can't protect yourself from Legilimency, the memories of my visit can easily become the property of some curious persons. Not that I care much about it, but I suspect your friend would prefer not to make this information public. And it's not hard for me to do him a favor. Therefore, I will seal your memory of this night. When you master Occlumency at a sufficient level, the memories will come back to you on their own. And if anyone who has the right to do so is interested in the traces of Legilimency in your mind," an innocent smile appeared on the interlocutor's face, "Alastor Moody will take responsibility for a slight abuse of authority."

Hermione swayed in her chair. Well, yes, of course he'd thought of that too... Probably, such an outcome of the meeting could be considered more than fortunate... But in spite of this optimistic thought a slight sadness came to the surface of her consciousness. She knew she was too young to learn Occlumency. So it takes several years, an eternity, before she remembers…

But no, that wasn't what really bothered her. It wasn't even the fact that there was so much left unexplained. Hermione felt like she was missing something very important. And if she didn't realize what it was - here and now, before she forgot everything - she would forever miss the chance to right some terrible wrong.

A vague uneasiness jumbled her thoughts, and in her haste she asked the first question that came to mind, not really expecting a coherent answer.

"Why did you set this condition for the Mirror - to give the Resurrection Stone to the one who has true love? What does that mean? How did you even think of such a thing? Joking revenge on Tom Riddle's enemies, that doesn't seem like a sufficient motive."

"Actually," the young man stretched out with a slight frown, "you should ask yourself all these questions. Connecting minds is a dangerous and unpredictable experience. Minds mutually influence each other, but in what way - it is impossible to predict in advance. That's why this mental practice was rarely used and was practically forgotten already at the time of the Founders... My point, Miss Granger, is that no matter how fanciful my mental maneuvers may be, it's hard not to see your influence in them."

"Even taking my hypothetical influence into account, I suppose you have something to say on the merits of these questions, too," Hermione mumbled, blushing slightly but trying to keep her tone light.

The guest was silent for about fifteen seconds, as if considering whether or not to elaborate. (However, he was probably just teasing Hermione.) Then he cast a quick glance at the bottle, in which the remnants of the rare scotch glimmered seductively. It seemed to be the decisive reason to continue the conversation.

The bottle poured the whiskey into glasses and disappeared silently.

Hermione took her glass and settled into a chair with her legs tucked under her.

Why not?

"You know, love is traditionally considered to belong to virtuous people, or even the act of virtue itself. Although, it would seem, what does banal emotional attachment, uncontrolled and unfree, have to do with moral categories? This consideration, by the way, was one of the reasons why Tom created Bella, the perfect evil in love... So when I decided to hide the Stone inside the Mirror, which, according to the legends, has a true moral orientation and at the same time reflects the state of mind to which a person has arrived as a result of his own choices... After all, the Mirror, as Candida Cogtevran aptly put it, is a creation not so much of the human mind as of the human imagination... Well, at that moment my idea seemed to me extremely ingenious. I do not even know how adequately... and seriously the mirror took my offer."

Hermione sat cross-legged.

"Do you suppose it's possible that the Mirror took the task as a prank and... decided to take part in it too?"

"I wouldn't rule it out, considering the fact that even the Sorting Hat is no stranger to a sense of humor under certain circumstances."

There was no doubt that Tom Riddle was alluding to the circumstances of Harry Potter's sorting. Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"And what are the chances that the Mirror isn't going to return the Stone?"

"Well, I hope the artifact in question doesn't have as bad a sense of discretion as I do. I suggest you don't panic before you do. And... the centaurs also prophesied that the heavens would soon be empty. You can ask them if the sky has changed its readings."

The girl suddenly grinned. She seems to have passed on some of the frivolity of perception that her interlocutor demonstrated…

Do you think this condition is feasible?

"I have no idea," the young man replied good-naturedly. "I applied Confundus to myself, following the Defense Professor's example, and it didn't fool the Mirror in any way. I'm afraid my imagination is powerless here. But one can hardly draw any conclusions from this experience... Ha, it would be quite amusing if the Mirror ignored all the claims of Harry Potter or Hermione Granger or... let's say Molly Weasley and gave the Stone to Bellatrix Black."

The cheerfulness suddenly left Hermione.

"You think that's funny? What are you even going to do with Bellatrix?"

"What am I going to do? I'll fix her memory and let her live her life."

Hermione was taken aback by the nonchalance with which this was said.

"You know very well that this is a mad and very dangerous witch. And her only purpose in life is to serve Voldemort."

Tom Riddle hesitated for a moment. Then he spoke in a much drier tone:

"Voldemort no longer exists, so she will have to find other purposes in life. And safety for the community is easily secured with the Unbreakable Vow... Miss Granger, don't forget yourself. I know your thoughts and I know what you're getting at. There is no need."

Hermione sipped her whiskey. Just a little bit. This was the last portion.

There's still time before dawn, and you owe me, Mr. Nothing.

"You haven't been trying to read my mind since you came back, have you? I... I think I've already learned to sense interference in my mind."

The young man hummed approvingly.

"You're a fast learner. Yes, now I don't use Legilimency. But this does not mean that I cannot predict with high accuracy the course of your judgments."

"Then tell me exactly where I'm wrong. If you erase Bellatrix's memories of her master, she will simply suffer from an obscure longing. And if you try to destroy love itself along with a part of the personality, then ... The ability to love is probably all that Tom Riddle left in Bellatrix of humanity. Isn't that right? Maybe loving Voldemort is the only free choice she's made in her life. Whatever Tom Riddle himself thinks about it. If you take that away from her, she'll just crumble. It could destroy her!.."

"Miss Granger," the colorless voice interrupted, "I didn't create Bella and I'm not going to mess with her."

"You didn't create Bella? But you're part of Tom Riddle! Doesn't that concern you? And, after all, maybe it wasn't Voldemort, or even Tom Riddle, that Bellatrix loved. Maybe it was you, the other you, the one Tom Riddle could become if he could change. Maybe she saw something that Tom himself didn't see in himself."

His opponent snorted skeptically:

"A fascinating theory. Do you really mean it? I think I'll take back what I said about being able to guess your thoughts."

Hermione shook her head:

"That's not an answer, Mr. Nothing."

"Actually, I was going to give Bella some of the secrets of the Dark Lord's magical arts and send her to Harry Potter. Especially since your friend is eager to get to know her better. But right now, I'm inclined to think that you will get along with her much better."

Hermione realized that she had once again fallen for cheap provocation... sighed, closed her eyes and thought. She had no idea how she could help Bellatrix, but the woman shouldn't be left to fend for herself anyway.

"I have some ideas about that. Bellatrix needs to feel useful, and Hogwarts needs a new Defense teacher."

"What?" Hermione's eyes widened.

"Besides, there is her son at the school. That might be a good additional incentive to try a new role... I'm not insisting on anything, just remember my suggestion when the next mysterious applicant for the Defense professor position comes to Hogwarts."

If she were to allow even the possibility of such a career for Bellatrix Black now, that in itself would be a very disturbing symptom.

I'll think about it. Later.

"And... and will you lift Voldemort's spell from this position?"

"No, of course not, Ms. Granger."

Pause.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Once again, no. The candidate for the Defense Professor will investigate the castle and break the spell herself. And that will be the clearest proof of her competence. Of course, Bellatrix will do it anyway, if you enjoin her to do, regardless of whether or not she is deemed fit to teach."

Hermione frowned.

"I won't remember anything about this conversation until I'm an Occlumens, will I? Bella won't be able to show up at school until..."

"You'll become an Occlumens much faster than you think."

The girl remained silent for a moment, digesting the unexpected news. Then she suddenly blurted out:

"And what will you do?"

The guest smirked insidiously.

"Your curiosity is quite natural, but I can't say anything specific. I haven't thought about it in detail yet... First of all, I'll try to put my mind in order. And then, I have so much to learn and explore... Someday I will find a fast enough way to travel between stars and galaxies... and to travel between worlds... This planet is hardly the most interesting place in the universe..."

A vague sense of impropriety stirred inside again.

"So you'll just disappear? And Harry and I will never see you again?"

"Uh, I suppose when it comes to eternity, the word 'never' becomes somewhat inappropriate. But I don't think we'll have cause to see each other in the foreseeable future. Harry Potter's relationship with the Defense Professor has come to its logical conclusion. As for me personally, I'm not acquainted your friend, if not to take into account the Legilimency session and further surveillance, and I don't see any reason to get acquainted."

The guest leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, threw his feet with perfectly clean shoes on the empty table in a naturally elegant movement.

"Imagine, Miss Granger, Harry Potter wants to restore Voldemort's body someday, to bring to consciousness a mental invalid with a bad temper and bad habits, naive, unaware of his past and his deeds, to coddle him and bring him up in his own likeness, to protect him from himself, to make him happy in blissful ignorance, to open up a new world, new unexplored possibilities... And, of course, to find out from his ward all the professional secrets of the Dark Lord. How else… But everything has already changed."

Hermione tasted the bitterness in this lengthy tirade. Perhaps it was her impressionable nature.

"That's interesting," Tom Riddle was looking at the ceiling with interest? "though I might say I am grateful to Mr. Potter for destroying the Dark Lord... but as for the rest… even considering that this man is driven solely by good intentions, in the form in which he understands goodness, I can feel nothing but disgust at such a manifestation of... care."

He tilted his head slightly toward Hermione and switched to a conspiratorial whisper:

"Ah, Miss Granger, if your moral principles would allow you not to tell Harry Potter about this encounter until he tries to revive his former teacher... His reaction would surely be an entertaining show."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that show either," the copy of Harry in Hermione's head suddenly got its two Knuts in.

The girl blinked. Twice.

If Tom Riddle's mother had not abandoned her child, if Tom had been raised by caring foster parents, if he had had friends, if Dumbledore had been more attentive and understanding towards the strange teenager... Tom Riddle could have grown up to be a normal and happy person in his own way. He would surely have become one of the most intelligent and talented wizards of his time. But he would not have had the ambition, the desperation and fear that drove him to do seemingly impossible things. He would not have been able to even come close to unraveling the secrets of magic that Atlantis took with them and that were lost later for various reasons. Without becoming a monster, he would never have created Harry Potter...

"And yet, you gave Harry information about the location of the Resurrection Stone, along with instructions for using it," Hermione touched her finger to her head. "You left him the Philosopher's Stone, the Elder Wand, and you're going to conveyed him through Bellatrix the secrets of Salazar Slytherin. Why the sudden generosity?"

The boy shrugged uncertainly:

"I think it's obvious. Tom Riddle is out of the game. Harry Potter destroyed him and became his successor. And I gained my freedom."

Hermione set the empty glass on the table.

"That's how? Is that the only reason?"

"Isn't that explanation enough for you? What else do you want me to say? Hmm," he put his finger almost defiantly to his cheek and began tapping it lightly, "to be perfectly honest... I'm not sure. Perhaps I have a sense of competition with Tom Riddle that drives me to do some things that are absurd and inadequate from his point of view. Or maybe I'm playing around... I should probably reflect on this thoughts."

"But if to say seriously?"

The guest looked at the girl puzzled. And she felt the presence of another's mind again - light, almost delicate, gliding across the surface of her consciousness.

Hermione remained silent. She just wanted to understand. What did the world mean to this creature? What did all people mean? When it comes to making sense of relationships, there are so few words: mates, friends, lovers, enemies, rivals, competitors... What else is there? Parents and children, students and teachers... That's not it. Roles, patterns… Among the vague fragments of thoughts, there was spinning the banal "Harry will miss you."

"Harry will miss Professor Quirrell," she heard as if from a distance, "but I assure you, losing a teacher will not make Harry unhappy. Whatever the professor means to Harry, you mean something incomparably more to him."

Hermione thought that if we were talking about normal people and their relationships, these words should be definitely interpreted as a manifestation of jealousy.

"I'll definitely reflect on this thought as well," she heard a familiar mocking whisper."

And then Hermione was overwhelmed by a vast loneliness. This loneliness wasn't horrible or unpleasant or painful. It was... normal, acceptable, with a hint of curiosity, a flavor of serenity, a tang of non-seriousness. She seemed to be beginning to understand a little of what was going on in this strange mind. It was probably the best thing that could have happened to Tom Riddle after everything he...

...He knows he has destroyed many people, including Harry's parents. They may not be enemies now, but the former teacher will not be able to be Harry's friend as if nothing had happened. He won't be able to live among his friends and acquaintances, hiding his past. It will be a deliberately bad game, and he is not interested in such games. And even if there was a way to resurrect and heal all of Tom Riddle's victims, even if they all sincerely forgave him in unison (not that he needed it), his life will forever remain a very strange thing.

Even the gods can't make undone whatever hath been done.(7)

Though it's not a fact that it's impossible in principle, considering the fate of Atlantis...

What's gonna happen to you, star boy? Are you sure you can handle it? How do you know that? Is there anything I can do to help?

As a result, the mind rebelled that it was being forced to think about such completely unimaginable things as the future of an optimized version of Tom Riddle. The stream of consciousness was imperceptibly redirected to more comprehensible subjects for reflection.

Tom Riddle believes that unraveling the secret of the Resurrection Stone is only the beginning of the path to achieving true immortality for people. But the prophecy seems to hint that death can only be defeated by the combined efforts of the three sons of Peverell. Hermione was almost convinced of this, although she had no reason to be so sure, except for a vague guess that those brothers had been defeated because they had not been able to unite even for a common goal. And how can the prophecy be fulfilled if one of the heirs is about to either desert or go into self-imposed exile, and the likely candidate for the role of third son and brother is stuck somewhere out of space and time?

This thought also reached a dead end and broke off.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

This whole story from the Bible reminds her of something...

The Dark Lord sacrificed other people's lives to gain personal immortality. The biblical Jesus Christ sacrificed himself to make other people immortal. And thousands of Muggles went to their deaths in Christ-like fashion - not only because they hoped for a blissful existence after death, but also because they were sure that they would one day be resurrected in renewed and immortal physical bodies.

It's like... it's like an inversion of the dark ritual of the Horcrux.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

Could there be truth lurking at the center of a biblical legend? Suppose the ancient magicians were able to create a horcrux for all mankind with the help of some unimaginably powerful ritual, and from that moment the souls of all people gained immortality. For a researcher who knows about the reality of magic, this assumption is not so improbable… However, the well-known laws of magic say that sacrificial rituals are irreversible, it is impossible to return the life that was sacrificed... Hermione winced. What would Harry say to that? That any magic could be bypassed with other magic? And what is the odds that Harry isn't the first wizard in history to learn how to snap his fingers spectacularly...? And if this universal "Horcrux" does exist, could it be something known...?

Common sense suggested that the great mysteries of magic couldn't just lie in plain sight. But one mysterious ancient artifact just had to be at the top of the list of suspects. An archway with a veil, kept in the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic, unknown by whom and how created and existing since time immemorial, about which there are legends that it is a gateway to the land of the dead. Hmm, legends, as if deliberately created to keep the real mystery out of sight.

Harry inside her head quipped something snide, like, "Well, of course, the Horcrux for all mankind is bound to be in England." But Hermione was on a roll. "The Arch is surely only the tip of the iceberg, part of a hidden global system." After a brief discussion, in which Hermione managed to parry all the counterarguments, the inner Harry capitulated, noting lastly, however, that it was much easier to win an argument with an imaginary opponent than with a real one. Well, Hermione would be sure to discuss her assumptions with the real Harry as soon as she had the chance...

I'm curious, what happens if a man enters the archway hidden beneath the Cloak of Invisibility, said to protect from the gaze of death itself? Or an immortal man such as Tom Riddle...?

Suddenly Hermione woke up from her half-sleep, remembering where and whom she was with. She looked questioningly at the young man.

Already?

He looked away, as if he feared that the girl might read his thoughts.

Then Tom Riddle stood up. Hermione jumped to her feet after him. With barely perceptible movements of his brush, the young man sent the table and chairs, and then the whole room, into oblivion. They stood in the middle of a milky white void.

Good night, Ms. Granger.

For some reason her vis-a-vis didn't say those words. They were probably an unnecessary pattern. Hermione knew that the time for this meeting was up. Right now she'll forget everything and...

...Twenty-six milliseconds before Hermione realized what she wanted to do, at a speed slightly less than the speed of sound, she flew up to Tom Riddle and hugged him.

The former Defense Professor had absolutely no chance to defend himself from this attack.

...

She stretched and opened her eyes. It's finally morning. She will now be discharged from the hospital and taken to Hogwarts, where she will meet with Harry. Hermione smiled, licked her lips for some reason and felt a salty taste. It was like she was crying in her sleep. How strange.

...

Once upon a time in one of the alternate universes of one of the alternate universes...

Harry Potter walked into his office, closed the door behind him, took out his wand and cast four protection spells. Turning around, he saw a man. (His hand automatically rose, his lips whispered a spell, and the Elder Wand released a red bolt in the direction of the interloper. The room glowed with a soft silvery light. Nothing else happened.) About his age, dark-haired and… Well, there was nothing remarkable about him. Just an ordinary boy. But Harry had seen this face before. As recently as this afternoon. In a Pensieve, stored in the secret room, where he had come to study Dumbledore's memories of young Tom Riddle. Perfect timing! WHAT?! HE?! IS?! DOING?! HERE?!

The boys looked into each other's eyes. Harry realized everything. The Obliviation hadn't worked. Because Voldemort wasn't stupid and was paranoid enough to set up a defense against basic mental influence. And it was Harry who had almost directly suggested the idea of protecting from transfiguration to his "dying" teacher when he brought the unicorn to Hogwarts. The prophecy was indeed fulfilled already then, on October 31, 1981. The events of the last few days are a different story. He had just successfully knocked a very dark and very evil wizard with a Swerving Stunner, and the Elder Wand had decided that he had won. And now Tom Riddle is back, as promised, and will be killing him. This Tom doesn't hold wand or gun in his hand, but that doesn't matter. Because there's no magical resonance between them either. Why is that? You'll never know, Harry. Because you're dead.

"Harry, er, I think I should apologize first..."

As if to confirm the seriousness of intentions, a silver man stepped out from behind Tom Riddle.

THE END

---

footnotes:

1. Who forgot about it, see MRM, Chapter 25, Act 5 :)

2. In art, homage is a work of imitation (and a gesture of respect) to another artist, musician, etc.

3. To forestall a legitimate question: it is assumed that wizards who know the secret of the nature of the animal Patronus will never be able to summon it; how does Mr. Nothing manage to do this? I believe that the main difference between Mr. Nothing and other wizards is that he is still immortal. Even if he is not absolutely immortal (all horcruxes can theoretically be destroyed and it is not the fact that they themselves have an infinite shelf life), but it is enough to use the spell, even realizing how it works. This explanation probably won't seem convincing to everyone (they say, how is this related?), so here I rather have to refer to the author's intuition: other wizards who knew the secret could not "forget" about their own mortality (ignore the fact of their mortality), and the immortal does not need to forget or ignore anything — he knows that he is immortal.

4. The charming spider-tailed horned viper

5. A very, very naked mole rat

6. A Latin expression meaning "after this, means because of this." This term denotes a rhetorical error, suggesting that if two events occurred one after the other, then the preceding event caused the subsequent event.

7. "It is impossible to make the former non-existent" ("Elegies", 583); "One thing alone not even God can do, to make undone whatever hath been done." (Aristotle quotes the saying of the Athenian playwright-tragedian Agathon (V century BC)).