Full Summary:

He thought he had won, but how quickly the tides do turn. How quickly we lose the game.

Tom wakes up in a very strange land with a fresh face and a second chance. The memories of his previous life remained, but to his utter displeasure was rendered completely mortal.

As he navigates, Tom finds so much more than he'd bargain for. Horrifyingly enough, his alleged betrothed happens to be a certain persnickety mudblood, and she too remembers everything.

She remembers what he did, all of it, and the worst part of all, yes, the most unbearable, was that she still had her magic.

slowburn / smut / romance / violence / triggers / explicit language

AN: this is my first crossover fic ever. if anyone has any questions, let me know! keep in mind that everything will likely be answered as the story goes on. cheers ;o)

The Realm Asunder
Prologue: It Means Something
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May 2nd, 1998 – the Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts Valley, Earth

All was lost.

It had been a blur really, too quick for her to remember just how she'd wound up like this – the tangent course of difficult choices amidst chaos, of that one wrong move that landed Hermione in the cold, unrelenting chains her weak bones fought against now. They rattled and tugged at her, bloodying up her skin with fresh lashes as she stumbled and slipped over the winding, rain-saturated roots of the forest.

She felt shameful she had been caught, cold and weary, but Hermione would not let go. She was so far, still standing. She had to see this through.

An overly smug, snaggle-toothed Bellatrix Lestrange pushed her along crudely, victorious in her janky swagger. The Dark Lord had been more than pleased she had snatched for them Potter's mudblood all herself. He had rewarded her with a soft slither of his skeletal knuckles down her matching pale cheek and Bella swooned and simpered on her own in barely contained glee all the by.

Hermione had lurched, retching all over the moss at the ghastly sight of Voldemort standing right there in front of her, of him praising the evil slag affectionately.

Voldemort's lip curled dryly as Bellatrix shrieked and cursed in disgust, kicking Hermione in the ribs to which more bile coated her throat, gasping for air that was not there.

They trudged into a clearing where an inordinate amount of dark witches and wizards congregated, waiting in anticipation for their master and his next orders.

Yet he left without a word, and time, though irrelevant, ticked on for too long as Hermione attempted to hold herself up. With all of her might, she ignored the bitter, hateful remarks being spat at her from all sides, shutting her gaze away from the remaining Snatchers' lewd eyes, from the vindictive gaits of the wrinkly old wizards with the oldest names.

Her heart thump, thump, thumped at the shrill pierce of the sharpening daggers, the swords, the incessant twirling of corrupted, temperamental wands – the deafening sick of dark magic permeating her senses.

She was going to die. She just knew it in her soul.

After several of them tonight already, another ominous message from the lips and mind of Voldemort who was out there somewhere. His raspy voice echoed throughout the atmospheres of Hogwarts Valley and straight into the ears of every individual nearby.

Though this was for Harry specifically, to challenge him once more. He had his mudblood golden girl, and no more magical blood had to be spilled if the young wizard valiantly gave himself over and met his fate like a man.

Unfortunately, Hermione was certain his promise didn't pertain to her, though she did not care. It was all she could do, begging her tear-stained eyes up to Merlin, praying to 'God' and deities she never believed in that Harry would not take the ploy.

But who was she kidding? Harry Potter would always do the right thing, whatever he deemed was right. He was full of genuine honor and nobility where most others were not. She knew him, and was aware nothing would stop the brave boy from showing his face sooner than later.

What Hermione didn't know was that Severus Snape had just taken his last breath mere moments ago, that Harry was racing up to the Headmaster's Office. Ron was searching with broken desperation for the love of his life who'd gone missing in the fray, and Hermione's charred wand was deep in Bella's pocket, warded and unobtainable.

And something she would not have expected was a completely unconscious Hagrid being carted through the glen and dumped beside her. He was covered in a sturdy webbing of chains, even more so than Hermione's imprisonment, cursed shackles locked around his large wrists and ankles.

Voldemort eventually oozed back into the clearing, solemn and stagnant. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy followed slowly behind, deep frowns, haunted eyes. No one dared say a word.

Hermione could not help but take in the Dark Lord's translucent skin, glimmering white as snow in the moonlight, almost beautiful somehow, if it weren't for his boney physique, the blue blood and veins undulating beneath like a sickly snake. His crimson red orbs imbedded into Hermione as he billowed near, eyeing her with a venomous hunger true to his demented nature.

"Crucio."

She lost all knowledge, all senses, unable to hear anything but the roaring of blood in her ears, encumbered with the merciless, scorching pain that roasted and liquified her insides.

The Dark Lord snickered and sneered, watching with inner ecstasy as the mudblood's petite body crumbled to the forest floor with the likeness of a seizing ragdoll. "Perfect," he hissed, almost sensual and Bellatrix bounced beside him, irritatingly giddy as he sent curses into Hermione over and over again. He was practically snarling, rabid with exhilaration, with triumph.

Bellatrix could hardly stop herself, squeaking meekly as she was afraid to anger him. "Oh master, nobody moves like you! Did you see? Did you see just now, how our lord did what he did?" She gestured toward Voldemort who cast another effortless hex. "Ugh, my lord, please, out of your good mercy, m-may I? May I please have a – ?"

All of her endless bleating had Voldemort almost rolling his eyes, "Fine, Bella. Have your turn."

He observed with mild disdain as Bellatrix tore into her prize, an annoyed pulse against his forehead. Potter should be approaching now. Any second, the halfwit would be marching through the trees and into Voldemort's palm.

It would finally be over, finished, but Tom's real work was merely just beginning. He had so much to do, so many more problems to fix, the solutions only he had.

He would show them all. They would come to see things from his perspective, and all on this realm would bend to his will, to his desire. Whatever he wanted, whatever he saw fit – it would be his.

His reflecting was rudely interrupted by the wailing of a freshly captured Weasley, lugged into the star-washed glen by Fenrir Greyback's iron grip. "Hermione! No! What have you done to her? What have you done?"

Greyback growled lowly, pounding a fist thrice over the mangy redhead's skull until he went limp, silent. At once, Voldemort summoned another bout of chains and shackles, securing his new captive so it too, could not get away. Greyback dropped him in an unmoving heap next to the others, looking down at the smaller two, unhinged with bloodlust.

Again, Bellatrix extended the mudblood's own wand, sending shock after shock through the prisoners. She was cackling like mad, making a show for the onlookers who attempted to keep themselves busy, wishing that they too, could get in on the fun.

She jumped haphazardly on top of the Weasley boy. She was pulling up her lacy black dress to straddle him, sitting directly on his chest and poking him in the cheek with the tip of the wand. "I'm sick of all these rotten Weasley's and their ugly freckles!" She pulled out a dagger from her dress, not the same cursed dagger she'd owned before but a spare. "Perhaps I'll cut them from his face!"

Fenrir crackled a set of knuckles on one hand, thinking fondly of his time with another Weasley brother. "I could take care of that for you."

"Get away from them!" She screeched at the foul predator. "This lot ain't yours to play with, you beast!"

The Dark Lord believed torture not as pleasurable, if it's recipients weren't even awake to feel it, but he held his tongue. The only thing he could think of now was how good it would feel to finally take out that blasted Potter, once and for all.

He'd been here before, many times, but he had paid his dues, he had done everything he possibly could.

Tom Riddle, the tiniest sliver of himself that was still that sullen young wizard so many years ago, had waited too long, and it was time.

The mudblood was coughing again, faded and hardly alive but coming to, and Voldemort stood over her. Potter's perfect, prissy little bitch. She did not deserve her magic, the wand she'd been handed as a child. Nothing would make him more happy, besides Potter's demise, than to see the look on the wretch's face when he sees the state of his precious friends.

Much weakened now, but still capable, he gripped the chained-up girl by the back of her neck easily. She sobbed defeatedly, not even attempting to struggle now, all of the pain too much for her to bear. Voldemort shook her with violence, all of his hate seething from him, cold, slow whispers into her ear. Hermione could do nothing but whimper and writhe, agonizing ripples of aches from every crevice in her body.

The Dark Lord did not typically manhandle his detainees like this, but this was special. It called for fresh action, something memorable that he could relive for all time. "How does it feel, girl? How does it feel to know its about to be all over? Most of your friends are already dead. Your beloved Potter, and here," he motioned with his wand hand to Ron, still not moving on the ground. "Your blood-traitor lover – this is where you meet your end."

But she did not have to tell him. He knew exactly how she felt. She was an open book for him now as he drove himself into her mind's eye, feeding off of her fear, her sadness. He drank it in like it was sustenance, siphoning her energy and magic like a vampire.

"Your deaths are going to become an example of the highest order, a demonstration of what happens to those who oppose the Dark Lord. You should feel grateful I don't allow you the privilege of living, mudblood. If I did, you would be spending the rest of your days, however long, with…" he gave a drawn-out nod towards the voracious riffraff behind him. "…company. "

Hermione still held the tiniest ray of light in her one open eye, a smoldering of embers in her belly. "N-No," she squeezed out and Voldemort's clench on her neck tightened cruelly, the tip of the Elder Wand pressing to her pulse point. "Your not – going – to get – what you want."

There was a flash of horror on his face, but he quickly composed himself, sniggering coarsely. "Your bravery is not only futile, but immensely unamusing and dull."

With the last bit of strength she had, Hermione reeled in her saliva and spat directly on his cheek, causing him to instantly growl in rage. He hastily casted 'Scourgify' over himself, not letting the girl go, serpent slit eyes dilating down at her with tempestuous loathing.

"All of this – it-it matters. It means something." Hermione was not certain exactly what she was hoping to convey, but she saw it cut him all the same, however briefly.

"Yes, it does," Voldemort agreed, but she clearly had no idea what this all meant, for him, for her, the pitiful ignorant child.

Hermione wept, but her words held uninhibited faith. "It won't all be for nothing."

"For you, it will be."

Finally, Salazar be true, Potter stepped in through the wood.

Harry had not been sure Hermione would still be alive by the time he found them, but he felt some relief to see her still conscious. The same could not be said for Ron, who Harry could now see had been captured as well.

His ever-rising ire and most of all, his regret, threatened to swallow him whole. He should have told Ron to stay by him, but Harry had been worried for Hermione too and desperately wanted to find her. That was before he knew Voldemort already had her.

The wind kicked up around their feet, green leaves swirling and swishing by, incandescent glow of the moon swelling above.

"Here I am." Harry's voice reverberated amidst the clearing. "You can have me. Now let them go."

"Oh, Potter, Potter," Voldemort clicked his tongue, viciously holding Hermione out for him to see like he just picked up a lost puppy. "You know I cannot do that. Their lives and deaths are mine, as is yours. Just as you've always been - mine."

"Put her down!" Harry roared, fists balled, stance ready. He could not take seeing his friends like this, all because of him.

Voldemort snickered, unimpressed. "Come and get her."

Harry, fueled by anguish, by his grief, charged to the side, wand brandished, about to cast a curse. It was the last mistake Harry Potter would ever make.

With a flair of his wrist, Voldemort manipulated the roots of the trees until they turned from the earth and twisted around Potter's legs, tripping him to the dirt. His glasses fell to shatter beneath an elbow, the unyielding timber twining over the boy, over his torso and arms until he was completely retrained.

All the darklings laughed at the spectacle, enthused at their pain, the despair. "No!" Hermione had screamed watching, her eyes finding Ron for anything, for any reassurance at all, but he still had not awoken. Blood seeped from a gash in his skull, his once grey jumper entirely sanguine stained and she could not be certain he wasn't already gone. She felt herself slowly blacking out, but Hermione stubbornly held on.

She would be here until the last second, for Harry and Ron, for everyone – to prove the point.

"Watch, Potter!" The Dark Lord felt renewed, the fresh excitement, everything coming together for him, the final pieces to this longwinded puzzle. "Watch closely as I take the lives of your most precious companions. I want you to watch the light leave them before I take your own."

Voldemort motioned to Greyback with his scarlet stare, willing the wolf to pick up the bedraggled lump aside Hagrid and follow. Fenrir obliged at once and Bellatrix watched with large, sparkling eyes, sad her playthings would be ruined, yet of course in complete awe of her snakelike idol.

"Your time is up." Tom Riddle murmured into Hermione's ear one last time, and she could have sworn she felt him try and take a whiff of her sweaty, matted curls through the slits of his flattened snout. "What does it all mean for you now, mudblood? Does it all still matter, everything you tried, everything you've done?"

"Yes."

He tossed her away as if she were the most disgusting thing he'd ever touched. Hermione lie just close enough she and Harry could see each other but not enough to reach. Ron's crumpled, blood-drenched form was dragged beside her.

"Harry," she whined, barely audible. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No." Harry was gasping for air, lungs squashed, limbs uncomfortably planted to the ground. "No, I'm sorry. I swear, I – shouldn't have let you disappear."

"Oh Harry, no. Don't think that way."

Hermione nestled her wet eyes into Ron's arm below his chains. He wasn't breathing.

Voldemort allowed this sentimental moment, even though this was it, the most vulnerable he'd ever had them; even though the sounds of their pained voices, their irritatingly unbidden compassion and understanding for each other most unexpectedly pulled at something just now, something wedged far down beyond his hellish depths. It was the unexplored part of his splintered soul – a place he never knew, nor wanted to know.

It was never meant for him, he didn't even believe in it, though their undeniable companionship made him envious still.

"I'm sorry, Ronald. I'm sorry." He heard the mudblood purr with resignation. "I love you so much."

"Ron," Harry wept hot cascading tears. "It's my fault."

"No, Harry." Hermione croaked.

"I… love you, Hermione."

Hermione smiled over slowly at him, bittersweet. "I love you too, Harry. You – didn't fail. You didn't."

Insufferable little children.

"Your love is a façade, I'm afraid." Voldemort crooned, hovering above the trio. "Sadly, you'll not be living long enough to learn from your innocent delusions. I can't say what awaits you in the afterlife. Maybe you'll haunt these forests, the castle… but no matter the cost, the three of you lost tonight." He drew closer to Harry, dirt flying in the younger wizard's dry, blurred eyes. "You've lost, Harry Potter, and – "

"Enough talking, then, and get it over with." Harry countered, dripping with courage.

"Vile abomination." Hermione muttered, bristling with defiance.

Voldemort grimaced, throat tight, teeth bared, his gaze glinting lethally. "Your blood-traitor first," he readied the Elder Wand, his wand now truly, now that he'd killed Snape.

"He's… already gone." The girl suggested, but the Dark Lord shook his head. He'd not be taking any more chances.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A rushing of the atmosphere, a bright, green jet of lightning straight into Ron Weasley's heart.

The whimpers and cries between Harry and the mudblood escalated, their mouths spluttering with unintelligible curses. Voldemort chuckled lowly, intoxicated, absolutely feral.

Hermione was light-headed, dreary, bleary-eyed, though she couldn't control her rapid breathing, the suffocating, anxiety rapidly heightening. She was next.

She was not ready for it to be over, life, but all she could have asked for was to be here with her most cherished friends as it happened. She shan't die alone.

"Now, for your muggle-born comrade. It's over."

"It's not over." She heard herself say, watching from somewhere far above. "Harry…"

Her final words spoken, a prayer so soft before Hermione Granger's world disappeared.

The forest floor beneath Harry was soaked with his grief, he dreamed a tree would grow in his place. However, Voldemort would likely parade he and his friends' bodies around Hogwarts for all to see. Harry only hoped their sacrifices wouldn't be for absolutely nothing.

If only someone could get to the damnable python… Harry believed it could happen, somebody out there. The vision of Neville carved its way into his mind, and he instantly felt more hope.

He prayed on his own with all his magic and might, deeply, inwardly, a secret wish.

Before Tom Riddle could cease his existence, Harry told him, "Hermione's right. It's not over. So, so much blood on your hands, Tom. After all you've done. I know with every ounce of me, you won't leave Hogwarts Valley alive."

Voldemort knelt over Harry, teasing his wand before his emerald, green eyes. "A meager attempt to scare me one more time, little Harry?"

"You should be scared," Harry countered. "You'll have a horde of ferocious witches and wizards to deal with when you get back. Imagine their vengeance when they see what you've done."

"Oh, I doo," Voldemort cooed in delectation. "The possibilities delight me."

"Aroused at the thought? Oh wait, yours probably doesn't even work, if you even have one, that is." Harry chose to give him a final dig, unable to do much else but offer his insolence.

Voldemort hardly entertained such filth, yet if he could be flustered now, he would have been. His body temperature rose ever more with annoyance though, the only key to his solace in the elimination of this boy.

"Potter, you do know that nothing you think you've achieved will matter," his gaze fell unwillingly upon the mudblood's. A chill pricked up his neck as her chocolate eyes greeted his. They were nearly emptied of life, yet a foreboding resistance still lingered there, a challenge, a twirl of tenacity on her pretty mouth. "Like I told your little friend, it's all been for nothing."

"I don't believe that. I don't."

"It doesn't matter what you believe, Harry. Are you ready to die?"

Harry sniggered wryly, bellowing through the glen for all to hear. "I've always been prepared to meet my end. It's you, Riddle, who could never quite grasp the simple concept, could you? 'Could never accept it. You've lived so long to learn, what? Nothing. Nothing at all, Tom. You're the one who will never learn or-or ever grow out of your hopeless delusions. You are deluded."

Voldemort's spine shattered and quaked, tooth crisping his lips so sharply it drew the taste of metallic. He honestly could not say why he allowed Potter to continue on, especially when, with great surprise, the harsh notions the boy spoke of were stinging him to his core.

The boy did not know a thing. Voldemort had learned everything worthy of knowing on this miserable Earth. "Were these your last words?"

"No. Fuck you." Harry spat waspishly, and jettisoned a spray of sticky saliva across Voldemort's feet.

He scoured it away as soon as it happened, bloody Gryffindors through and through. "This is goodbye, Harry Potter."

"I'll see you in Hell."

Voldemort chuckled. Hell – what a thought. "We'll see, won't we?" Harry did not deter his glittering eyes from Tom Riddle, pushing away his fear, the quiver of his lip. "Avada Kedavra!"

The blast knocked the Dark Lord several feet back to where he landed conveniently by Bellatrix. It felt like a very long while, but must have only lasted a few seconds when he opened his eyes again, finding himself in her coaxing arms.

"My lord!" He had heard her wail, pushing away the concerned onlookers, his followers. "Get back, get back!"

"I'm… fine. I'm fine, Bella! Get off of me! Let go." He unwound from her coddling grasp, struggling to stand though he did.

"Master…"

"Master!"

"My lord?"

Their hushed, worried voices invaded him, their expressions, the explosion of every shredded bone in his body… he could have been sick, but he refused, clenching his stomach as he waded through the sea of people.

"Potter, Potter," he chanted, nearing the stilled figures of his mortal enemies again.

Narcissa Malfoy was poised over the lifeless heap that once harbored the soul of Harry Potter. "Dead." She said.

And she was right. Harry Potter was dead. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, dead.

These were the things he'd wanted most, the events he worked toward for so long, if he weren't counting Dumbledore, the Elder Wand. Almost always. It was difficult to remember the times before, when he was younger and, somehow more free; a time before Harry Potter existed, a wrinkle in the universe where Tom felt sadly, more whole than he did even now, marching in victory back to the castle.

He'd almost risk it all, for one more chance, just one more, to be young again, to be whole, to start over. He would, but those days were long gone now. It was too late. The mellow sun's rays spiraled over the horizon behind a completely demolished Hogwarts, welcoming him but Tom Riddle wondered maybe for his final time, if he would ever truly feel content.

If he still had a heart, it would have known that contentedness would never find him in this lifetime.

Yet another lifetime called, another waited and yearned within the realm asunder and unwittingly, Tom would walk through the door – his own personal game of fate.

- : o : -

AN: more soooon xx