Chapter Text
Hermione suspected that the final task was going a bit too well. She had prepared, of course, but their goal wasn’t to win. Harry wanted to survive, and unless the two of them worked something else out, he was going to win.
“Am I the only one who thinks there’s something waiting for whoever touches that cup,” Harry interrupted her thoughts.
“How do you feel about a faceoff against a dozen Death Eaters?” she asked in return.
“Only a dozen? For the Harry Potter. I’d guess at least thirty.”
“Well, as long as you know what we’re getting into.”
The two turned to see the Triwizard Cup.
“I really wanted Cedric to win,” Harry said as the two approached. They had their wands at the ready, the incantation of a shield spell started, and they touched the cup in surprising sync.
After a moment of getting over the portkey disorientation, Hermione observed that she and Harry were in the middle of a large ballroom, surrounded by a circle of Death Eaters. Walking in front of them was a somewhat tall teenager she didn’t recognize as attending Hogwarts–or either of the other wizarding schools. He was peculiarly familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.
“Hermione Granger, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
That wasn’t what either of them had been expecting, but at least no one was actively trying to kill Harry. And at least now she was pretty sure of who stood in front of her.
“I’m sure the pleasure is all mine, Lord…” Hermione channeled all the confidence and propriety she contained, doing her best to hide the fear undercutting her very being in the face of Voldemort.
“That’s not necessary, call me Tom.”
“Of course,” she said immediately, but couldn’t figure out what to say next.
“Forgive me, I should tell you a bit more about why we gathered you here.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Hermione said, still in shock, trying not to sound too terse.
“I think we can come to an agreement that is mutually beneficial.”
Hermione found his smile off-putting, but he was composed and she would be too.
“First off, what I have to offer you. It is currently impossible for me to harm him,” he tilted his head indicating Harry, but not breaking eye contact. “There is a ritual we are prepared to perform which would end this interdiction. Or you could agree to a different type of ritual and I will do everything in my power to protect him, and you.”
Harry would be safe, one of the most powerful wizards in the world vowing to protect him, that’s not something she could easily dismiss especially if the other option is his –probably quick– death. And if he would protect her, then the ritual wouldn’t kill her. But he was evil, wasn’t he? Is this some extermination of all other Muggleborns thing? Hermione could never bear that weight on her conscience.
“What does this ritual do exactly?”
“That is a discussion for the drawing room, Lucius lead the way.”
He stayed close to her as they walked, but they didn’t touch. Harry was behind her followed by two of the Death Eaters.
They quickly reached a room lined with bookshelves and a table at the center. Faced by two couches on opposing sides, a loveseat on another and two chairs rounding it out.
He directed for her to sit at the end of one of the couches, she was the first to sit down, followed by him on the other side of the same couch. Harry sat as close to her as he could without sitting between the two–at the adjacent loveseat. Lucius Malfoy sat in the middle of the opposing couch. Finally, the masked Death Eaters sat in the individual seats across from Harry.
“To really understand the ritual I am proposing to you, we’ll need a bit of a crash course in soul magic. Though, perhaps I should start with how I am here in front of you today.”
His body language oozed with confidence, as though he had nothing in the world to hide. He must have been telling the truth before, this was Tom Riddle and not Voldemort. Coming to this conclusion made her feel less guilty about how much she liked that his eyes never left hers, and his soft, charming smile put her at ease.
“--and if you do the math, that leaves me with an incomplete soul, which I’ll tell you isn’t very pleasant,” Hermione chuckled with him, before realizing that she hadn’t been paying attention to a word he was saying. Odd, that wasn’t like her.
“So, this ritual will essentially take the extra soul that you have as a Muggleborn and fit it into the gap left from his resurrection,” Lucius Malfoy summarized, for which she was incredibly grateful.
“The soul piece will still be yours, resulting in a very intense form of soul bond.”
“Hermione’s soul and mine will rearrange to share just the right amount each, like an ionic bond,” so he knew muggle chemistry terms, was that supposed to not be attractive? Was it bad that she didn’t hate the idea of her soul being tethered to his? Probably, but for now she was just going to embrace it.
“What exactly is a soul bond?” Harry asked.
“There are many types. A minor version used to be common in marriages, it would cement affection and lead to a more cohesive family unit.”
“How much stronger will our bond be-would it be?” she asked.
“Those bonds form a momentary tether between souls, and each exchanges an ebb of energy, magical power. Ours is a transfer of the soul itself. We can’t know the specifics, but it’s possible each of us will have access to the other’s magic.”
Harry shot her a ‘There is no way you are doing this’ look.
“It’s also likely you will only be able to act in the other’s best interest,” Lord Malfoy added.
“What are our options here?” Harry asked.
“I’ll do it,” Hermione said before anyone could respond.
He smiled at her, and it made the searing feeling that she was making a mistake sting a little less.
“Terrific,” the words held no emotion, but his eyes had something she couldn’t quite put words to. She didn’t want to be too optimistic and say hope.
And so the ritual took place.
Waking up with part of your soul gone isn’t a pleasant experience, Hermione knew that much going into this, but experiencing it was a whole other thing. She was flanked with every sensation imaginable, and on top of it all was ‘the emptiness.’ She was missing something–part of her soul–and she could feel it. It wasn’t just painful, everything felt off.
‘Tom’ wasn’t there, no he was about 15 meters away. She could sense it, as if there was a tether connecting them. She followed it to reach him. As she did, the pain began to dull slightly. It subsided more and more the closer she got to him. She passed through the final door to reach him, and at this point she needed to reach him.
He was apparently in a meeting, meaning she was causing quite the commotion, but she didn’t much care. Part of her soul was in this man and she would be as close to him–and by proxy, her soul–as she wished. Also, he didn’t mind either. She was still a bit too distracted with the pain and need-to-be-close-to-my-soul things that she couldn’t catch the specifics of what he was saying, but she gathered enough that he was telling his followers that she had every right to be here.
And she was practically preening. Is that who she was now? She’d have to figure that out, but later, because the emptiness had been filled with his presence, and with it came a certain euphoria she intended to enjoy at least for a little while.