Work Text:
May 2, 1998
"Avada Kedavra!" Tom's older, decaying, shell-of-a-self shouted. Tom felt three connections sever in that moment—one from the man across from him, one from all the shattered half-selves, and one from the prior owner of the body he had inhabited.
He lay still, knowing that despite the thrum of power he felt growing inside his chest that brute force could not get him out of a situation where he was so outnumbered. That was the kind of reasoning that his other self, the one making sounds of glee, could not have comprehended as he was too lost in delusions of grandeur.
Tom couldn't help but flex his index finger ever so slightly as he reveled in the knowledge that finally, after seventeen long years, this vessel was his.
May 4, 1998
"You and Ron…" He spoke the words nearly neutrally, but injected the slightest amount of distaste to get Hermione's mind drawing its own conclusions regarding why she and Ron might elicit such a response. "Was that an in-the-heat-of-battle type of situation?"
"You already know the answer to that, Harry," Hermione said in a snappish tone, although he could see the look of uncertainty flash behind her milk-chocolate-brown eyes.
Tom nodded, not moving his hair as a perfectly shaped wave fell in front of his eyes. He watched as Hermione's breath hitched as she took it in too; he had noticed that she seemed to like his much neater hair. It turned out that Harry had almost the same hair that Tom had as a teenager. Harry simply didn't know how to take care of it properly, despite all of his whiny thoughts that it was just genetics.
"I know," Tom said quietly. "It's just that sometimes I think we're all different people now than we were even a few weeks ago; don't you?"
"I do know what you mean; you seem to have changed the most, though, Harry." Hermione seemed to be holding her breath.
Tom nodded and moved his muscles in the way he had felt Harry move them countless times when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself. "I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself now that I'm not in constant danger, you know?" He lifted the corner of his lip ever so slightly, and Hermione's mouth followed suit, although the rest of her face held a sort of sadness.
August 12, 1998
"Harry, this office is a mess," Hermione chided, although her voice was light. He was just in the process of moving his belongings into the castle before the start of term, pleased that he had so easily achieved his lifelong wish of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and living within these walls for good. He would be slow in his change of teaching methods and one day he would be Headmaster.
Privately, he agreed with Hermione that the office was a disaster, but he had to keep up appearances to an extent. Some abrupt changes in personality could be explained away with the supposed vanishing of his Horcrux—ha!—along with the ending of the war and related imminent threat on his person, but other changes would have to be slow moving, especially given Hermione's keen observational skills and his intention of keeping her close. Very close.
He had always had a soft spot for Hermione; he had admired the way that she came up with the responses and solutions that he had been practically shouting inside his cage of Harry Potter's body, and over time he had begun to admire other aspects of her—the deepening curve of her hips, the increasingly defined way that her curls framed her pleasant face, and the expressiveness of her otherwise rather plain brown eyes.
Besides, he knew people much better than the prior inhabitant inside this skin did. And that's how he knew with a deeper certainty that Hermione was going to achieve greatness. He had three options—stop her, have his plans defeated by her, or ensure that she was on his side. And the third option suited his purposes quite nicely.
Hermione was tidying his lesson plans into one neat stack when she looked up at him with hesitation. "Unforgivable curses?"
"Yes," he said, allowing no emotion to seep through.
"But that's not part of this curriculum."
"Who are you, Umbridge?" He retorted.
"Who are you, then, Crouch?" Hermione snapped, her voice much more irritated.
"He was a good teacher; NEWT students deserve to know what other wizards are capable of. It's putting them at a significant disadvantage to those whose parents would teach them all magic, regardless of light or dark, legality or non-legality."
"Harry, we're not in a war anymore," Hermione said quietly, gently.
"You know better than anyone that not all dark wizards have been apprehended." Hermione had started an apprenticeship at the Ministry immediately after school and was working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had already expressed disappointment in their relaxed approach to catching dark witches and wizards.
Hermione nodded reluctantly. "I understand your reasons," she said, handing the stack of lesson plans to him in a gesture of cautious approval. He opened a drawer and shoved them in with other messy paper stacks. "But I don't agree with them."
December 15, 1998
Tom heard the abrupt knocking at his office door and knew from the shallow, clattering taps that it was Hermione. Still, he raised an eyebrow when he opened the door. "Hermione? Come in," he opened the door wider, moving his body so that Hermione could pass into the office and take a seat.
Hermione looked between him and the chair, obviously deciding whether or not she should bother sitting before speaking, but she did so as Tom made his way around the desk—much too large and imposing for the tiny office he had been given, but oh well. One day he would be in the Headmaster's Office.
Before Hermione opened her mouth, Tom knew what her visit was about. He had informed Ron that he wasn't coming for the holidays. He had mostly done so to orchestrate the conversation that was about to happen, but he was also glad to have an excuse to avoid the ginger-haired brute. Even being in Harry's head made it difficult to see what Harry saw in Ron when Ron had betrayed him so many times. And what Harry had seen as a positive—Ron's connection to an overbearing, nosy family with a little sister whom Tom wanted as little to do with as possible—Tom decidedly saw as a negative.
"Why aren't you coming for Christmas? This is our first Christmas after the war, and it won't feel right if you're not there."
Tom nodded slowly, injecting awkwardness into his movements, slumping his shoulders slightly in the way Harry would have when he felt uncomfortable. It was difficult for him to do these things. It was not because it required remembering and constant attention; Tom was used to that from his school days. It was because this was not the image he wanted to present of himself, though it was one he stuck with for years to come. He would have to fade it away degrees at a time.
"I want to spend it with Teddy and Andromeda. They're the closest thing I have left to Sirius—to my parents."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione looked conflicted and he could see her conviction deflate, but she pressed on. "We're family too. You're not really avoiding us because of Ginny, are you? She moves on quickly; in fact, I think she might be bringing a date to Christmas." Tom had broken things off with Ginny just a week after the final battle, wanting to blame it on things settling down while not doing so too quickly.
"It's not that, really. It's just… nevermind."
"Harry, tell me what's going on," Hermione said, her voice becoming bossier.
Internally, he smiled. "I can't see you and Ron together; I didn't want to have this conversation"—that was definitively a lie—"but I can't do it. Not anymore. Before, there were so many distractions and I thought I could step aside. But now…" He shrugged in a defeated sort of way, looking down at the table instead of up at Hermione. Tom didn't need to look to feel the shift of her thoughts, hear the creak of her chair as she wriggled uncomfortably in her seat, or feel the air move as she breathed a little too hard.
"Harry, I'm with Ron…" Her voice held no conviction in it, and he might have been able to break that resolve, but he had all the time in the world.
"I know; that's why I think it's best I spend Christmas elsewhere. Perhaps we can see each other over New Year's." For my birthday, he added to himself only.
December 31, 1988
"You seem so different," Hermione was saying; they were spending New Year's Eve at her flat in London; it was just a five-minute walk to the Ministry, but that was about the extent of its perks. It was small and despite skilled charms, always slightly musty and cold.
"So do you," Tom lied in response. Hermione hadn't changed at all; she didn't even really seem less stressed as she had just transferred her anxious energy into her Ministry work.
Hermione accepted the falsehood, though. "You seem surer of yourself, Harry."
"Now that I know what's me and what's not, I've been feeling like I'm on steadier ground and that I can trust my instincts and trust that they're all mine."
"That makes sense." Hermione moved her knee farther up onto the couch they were both sitting on so that she was facing more toward Tom, draping her arm over the back cushion as she did so.
"I'm sorry Christmas didn't turn out the way you expected," Tom said in a low voice, placing his hand on her outstretched knee. Hermione's breath hitched. Earlier in the night, she had confided that she and Ron had broken up on the holiday. It was exactly what Tom had expected, but it was still good news.
"Ron's always been jealous of you and me," Hermione said, not quite making eye contact. "And he kept pressing me on why you had been so distant and why you really weren't coming for Christmas…"
"Perhaps Ron has been more perceptive than we have," Tom said, staring at Hermione until she finally lifted her head, no longer able to resist the feeling of his eyes on hers.
"Harry…" Her voice had a slightly hesitant note, but her eyes were burning. He leaned forward decisively, threading his fingers through her hair as he had imagined doing so many times over the years. She reacted at the last moment, bringing herself forward so that their lips brushed together, tickling Tom's bottom lip slightly before he felt her hand on the fabric of his sweater, pushing him closer so that their kiss deepened. Hermione tasted like the drink he had made her: alcohol and lime with a hint of sweetness. It suited her.
"I never thought it would feel like that to kiss you," Hermione said thoughtfully as they broke apart. "We could have been doing this all along..."
Tom smirked; not Harry's small pull of the right corner of his mouth, but Tom's version. "I think our timing is nearly perfect, actually."
"It's just that I never felt anything for you until after… until after this summer," she amended the course of her sentence, clearly concerned for Harry's reaction to discussion of the war. Her tone was apologetic.
Tom nodded. "As I said, I don't think it was our time before." Even though Tom detested Ron, there would have been something worse about Harry touching Hermione—perhaps because Tom would be forced to know every detail or because he knew Harry so much better. It would have felt more personal either way. "I wasn't ready for you," he continued, smiling slightly.
Part of him wanted to prod Hermione to admit that they were so much better suited than she was with Ron—what had she been thinking, anyway?—but he knew it would be too much too soon, especially with her breakup so fresh, so he contented himself with the knowledge that a mere seed of doubt had broken apart Ron and Hermione. It would take a lot more than that for him to let go of the woman across from him.