Chapter Text
Draco tugged on her ear and Minimi howled while the toddler cackled.
Narcissa understandably wrung her hands together watching her son play with a magical creature that could very well lay him out and a master that could turn him into dust.
“Relax, Narcissa. She won’t hurt the boy,” Tom said though he was frowning. Generally, Minimi didn’t tolerate any kind of rough handling.
“She, ah, does seem particularly gentle with him,” Narcissa said.
She knows if she treats him well, he will grow up softer, Nagini said with a flick of her tongue against his ear.
“Why would she want that?” Tom asked, watching the toddler and his raccoon play.
Nagini didn’t answer and Tom would have questioned her further but Minimi screeched when the young Malfoy pulled her tail. Tom removed her from the boy.
Draco cried, reaching for her. Tom held the raccoon tighter to him. The Malfoys had so many things, all the things. He wouldn’t share her.
!
”You’re lucky!” Nagini snapped.
!
Tom, as usual, wasn’t sure of the conversation but Minimi buried her face in his chest as he walked out of Malfoy Manor.
—
She’s dying, Nagini said.
“She’s fine,” Tom snapped watching his other familiar limp away from him for her dinner.
“Is Mini alright?” Draco asked with a trembling little voice.
Tom missed when he couldn’t talk.
“She’s fine.”
—
Dolohov swallowed, lifting his wand away from the creature sleeping in his arms. “You cannot heal death.”
Tom sneered. “Oh no?”
“No, my Lord. Not unless you take… extra measures but she is – she is ready.”
Tom’s hands shook.
—
The dream girl couldn’t stand. She was too weak.
“Don’t be afraid.”
”Don’t leave me, you can’t.” Words dragged from him and now they toppled over whatever dignity and pride he had left.
“I’m tired.”
“I can stop this!”
“What is it you want? Power? Everlasting life? You’re not going to get it the way you’re going about it. Don’t touch my soul, Tom. It already belongs to you. Wait for me. I’ll find you.”
—
Mini panted in his arms, eyes darting back and forth. Her paws scratched at him. Sweet girl, good girl.
It occurred to him he’d never seen someone or something die at its natural end. He’d always been in control.
She gave a loud yelp, long, nothing he’d ever heard before and stiffened then stretched. He pulled her closer to him, tried to shush her.
Tom looked at Narcissa in question, asking. Begging.
“Death rattle,” Narcissa said. “I’m sorry.”
Another twitch and shudder. He wished he could settle her, keep her still. He didn’t know. How could he have known that it was violent even in this?
Death rattle. Death Eater. Master of Death.
I’m sorry. i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry
His girl’s eyes went glassy. Then her body went stiff. Her mouth gaped open. Just gone. Tom’s hands began to tremble.
This. This he’d never bore witness to. This he avoided with power, murder. For himself, always for himself.
This.
The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet. But even as he rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Fear fear fear.
Her body went up into flames in his arms and she was ash on his fingertips moments later. Tom hadn’t meant to. He never meant to. Tom would never have the control Dumbledore did.
He stood, leaving Narcissa and Nagini behind. He retreated to his personal chambers. He sat on the edge of his bed. He looked at his hands, she was there.
Tom’s breath hitched. Once. Then once again. Again. Again.
He cradled his wet face in his palms, smearing the ash, and his heart broke.
Don’t. Please. Don’t rip yourself apart for me.
—
When Hermione Granger was born, both parents and doctors knew there was something not quite right. She didn’t cry when she entered the world. She never cried. She was a shell of a human being and it was devastating.
By all measures, she was completely healthy. Physically she hit every milestone. She even began speaking much earlier than was typical but her affect was flat and mechanical. Hermione was never happy, never angry. She didn’t express love or frustration. A true automaton that the doctors chalked down to a cognitive disability.
Her parents loved her anyway.
But when Hermione was four, Mr. and Mrs.Granger ran to her room in a panic in the middle of the night. She was crying. No, she was absolutely sobbing. Tortured wails and they could not console her. It was hours later when she finally settled into a deep sleep that lasted twelve hours and included a hospital visit where she could not be roused.
And when she woke up, she woke up. It was a miracle.
They couldn’t have known that she’d been given back the part of her soul that had been borrowed in this reality for a war-torn version of herself from another timeline. When Hermione woke, she knew deep down in bones that she had a life’s mission. A search. A treasure hunt.
—
Severus Snape didn’t know what to make of Hermione Granger.
But he knew her, somehow. In a way, she reminded him of Lily but where Lily was vivacious and popular, the Granger girl was sullen, perpetually annoyed and everyone avoided her.
She was an excellent student.
But.
She watched the world with eyes that saw too much. That knew too much.
Granger wielded her wand like a seasoned soldier. In her second year, she decimated everyone in the duels with a casual flick of her wand. The only other person that gave her a challenge was Lily’s child who also had a natural aptitude.
Snape let them duel far longer than he should have.
There had been such a desperation in Granger’s movements, as if she had been begging Potter to understand something.
When Potter had her back to the wall because she had faltered, she began to sob. Potter backed away immediately.
Then Granger cast Expelliarmus. Her wand didn’t move. Nor did her mouth. The boy was disarmed and his wand was hers and she nuzzled it like a gift.
And Potter?
He grinned at her and held his hand out. Like he was welcoming an old friend.
—
She made Fred uncomfortable, watching him with a sort of desperation no one understood. Once, Ginny asked her why the hell she was so preoccupied with her brother.
Hermione simply said, “I’m bad at grief.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Ginny snapped.
And the Granger girl looked at her, stone-faced, “I dunno. Fred is hot.”
That wasn’t why Granger stared, Ginny knew but she still didn’t understand why.
“You’re odd, you know?”
Her expression was soft, “I know.”
A few weeks later, Granger cushioned Fred from a hard fall in a quidditch match.
Harry told Ginny to leave her alone.
Like she was something precious.
She saved many of the Gryffindors from injury or any injustice with terrifying magic. She was theirs. So even when she began ingratiating herself with certain Slytherins, they did not question her loyalty to her house.
Alright, they questioned her a little bit.
Especially when she began leaning against Draco Malfoy.
Literally leaning. Granger would butt her forehead against his arm when he approached to be the fucking prat he was.
And Malfoy stopped. He looked at her like he wanted to crumple and go to his knees.
Who was this witch?
—-
“Granger.”
“What?
“Will you… can you just —” Draco held out his arms and twitched them upwards, a desperate little “come here” motion.
And she didn’t hesitate. She wrapped herself around Draco, squirming and rubbing her face against his chest. She smelled like earth and sweet though she was far from it.
He felt safe. He didn’t understand it.
Granger let him go abruptly and with a frown on her face.
“Deja vu,” she murmured.
Draco nodded.
–
Draco opened his mouth. Then closed it. He ran his tongue against his perfectly straight teeth and ended on a tsk.
“There’s a mudblood. She’s at the top of our class. Dark magic comes naturally to her. Ask Professor Snape. She… She would be good for us,” Draco muttered looking everywhere except at him.
Tom arched a brow. This was unexpected.
“Speak up. If you’re going to be meek about a request, you’re wasti–”
The boy jerked his head up to meet his gaze and stood taller.
“I want a mudblood to join our organization,” Draco said.
“A bold ask, Draco.”
“I know.”
Draco Malfoy was never bold.
“What’s her name?”
“Hermione Granger.”
He didn’t recognize it.
—
“I apologize for being late,” he said hastily and he wasn’t sure why. Tom didn’t apologize for anything. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
Tom ran his hands through his usually perfectly coiffed hair.
He never gave thanks either but he felt unaccountably flustered. He was a leader of a terrorist organization. What was his problem? Upon waking that morning he felt like something was going to happen. Tom had always believed in signs. In gut feelings and intuition.
The clock in his room stopped at 11:59pm. The lack of ticking and silence weighed heavy and he stared up at it.
Clocks in the wizarding world never failed.
He’d cast a charm. 8:12am.
Late late late.
Now, Tom sat in his high-backed chair, took a breath, and looked at the mudblood Draco Malfoy was so certain of.
Tom Riddle, Master of Death, Lord fucking Voldemort gaped.
It was the eyes he noticed first. A deep brown shot through with black striations and just a hint of gold flecks he knew would reflect in the dark.
Then her hair, frizzy and bushy curls, dark brown, almost black. It crackled with energy just like the fur on her spine did when she was afraid or angry.
Brown skin, dark circles under her eyes, pouty lips, fidgety fingers, looking for something to hold, to take, to eat, to want.
It was her. Minimi. Hermione. The girl in his dreams whose face he could never quite remember, who always felt like a ghost, like a memory just out of reach, like a fucking lesson.
The girl, his girl, tilted her head. She leaned forward and stretched out her hand. Tom took it without thinking. A firm shake, not like her little paws reaching but it felt…
“Nice to meet you, my Lord.”
There was something there, an emphasis on the “my” that made it sound more possessive, more sure.
Tom swallowed. “What—“
The door to his office was pushed open and Nagini slithered in. She immediately wound up the chair, up his torso, and then finally draped her upper half across his shoulders. Her forked tongue flicked against his ear.
Severus said my venom was subpar! she whined. I am nutrient deficient! I—
It was clear when Nagini scented the Granger girl.
Oh… oh. I sort of thought she might be joking about crossing time and space to find you, to be honest.
The girl scrunched her nose at Nagini but did not exhibit any fear. And when she looked at him, it was only with consternation. She had freckles that dusted across her cheeks like a mask. Tom eyed them and the girl lifted her hands and splayed her fingers against her skin. As if to hide them. As if in another life he didn’t stroke her mask with his thumbs while she purred and looked at him like he was everything to her.
Tom shook his head.
“I know this isn’t an interview, ” she said. “Not really. I know what you are, who you are.”
“And so you know how astounding it is for a mudblood to walk into this snake’s nest willingly. You are not welcome. Draco–”
Nagini tensed against him.
“Draco didn’t trap me,” she snapped. “I’m here because—”
The girl swallowed and wrung her hands.
He pushed the jar of hard candy forward. “You seem low on sugar.”
Her fingers twitched and she mewled.
You know it’s her because if it was anyone else, you would have killed them by now, Nagini muttered.
“Take one,” he said, voice embarrassingly hoarse.
“Thank you, sir. Incidentally, this is exactly what I’ve been looking for,” Granger said, popping raspberry flavoured candy in her mouth and humming with pleasure.
“This being a criminal organization bent on world domination?” Tom asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in fate, then?”
It was a stupid question, one that always made her angry. As the animal. As the girl in his dreams. He kept looking for more signs of her though Nagini’s excited writhing should have confirmed it. He just—
“Absolutely not,” she said, her nose turning up. Her lips were dark blood red from the candy, which was now tucked away into her left cheek. She plucked another one out of the jar, and then another. Ever the little hoarder. ”I earned my way here, to be able to work for you.”
I’ll find you. Wait for me.
Nagini scoffed.
Min— Ms. Granger’s eyes darted to Nagini and then back to Tom.
“Your snake is a bitch.”