He's a fraud." Hermione uttered with a sense of betrayal.
Not, she realized with some asperity, at Gilderoy Lockhart himself, but at his books. Harry had assigned her homework – read the man's books, make a timeline of events, look for logical inconsistencies. There were plenty.
"Of course he is, girl." Harry's animated Mr. Potato Head doll, Tom, sneered. "If he was as capable as he says, then where was he during the reign of Lord Voldemort?"
She had no idea why Harry had made the thing, or why he'd made it so rude… or why it swelled with pride when it spoke the Dark Lord's name. Still, it made a good point. The fraud had no doubt been well away from Britain during those troubled times.
"Consider this an important lesson on trusting books." Harry chimed in himself. "Biographies are just sanitized life stories, history books are the preferred narratives of the winners, textbooks are government propaganda wrapped in a shell of knowledge. Trust nothing, question everything."
"That's too paranoid." Hermione complained, not wanting her worldview rattled any further.
"Really?" Harry drawled. "Alright then, tell me which faction in the Second World War committed the most war crimes."
"The Nazis?" She replied in a questioning tone, wondering why he was asking something so obvious.
"Wrong!" He shouted dramatically, startling her. "The Nazis were, at best, number three on the list even with Grindelwald sticking his fingers in, and given that they were the losers, you can't even be sure of that. Demonizing your enemies once they were defeated is a time-honored tradition after all. The Japanese and the Soviets were both significantly more barbaric in their conduct and had larger civilian body counts, but you don't hear about that because one was on the winning side and the other never fought in the European theater. You grew up learning about the Axis of Evil and the noble Allies that opposed them, but there are no good guys in war, only arseholes claiming they're the good guys and corpses who can't argue the point anymore."
"Well, what about Voldemort, then?" Hermione said defiantly. "Are you going to say I shouldn't trust what's said about him either?"
"First off, Voldemort's little tantrum wasn't a war even if the melodramatic twats in the magical world call it that – it was a small scale terrorist insurrection. Historical massaging of the truth has the peculiar quirk of being easier to do the larger the scale of the conflict – because you can always claim that even if they weren't being evil here, they were surely being evil there. Second, you absolutely shouldn't trust a man's enemies to tell you the truth about him – nor his loyal allies for that matter. Third, always assume that the government is corrupt and untrustworthy – you'll either be right or pleasantly surprised. Mostly, you'll be right."
"Lord Voldemort was-!" Tom tried to bluster…
"Shut up." Only to get stuffed the hip ouch where Harry kept him most of the time.
"But…" Hermione wasn't even sure what she wanted to say. She'd always taken a sort of comfort in rules and authority figures and now Harry was ripping all of that away.
"Hermione." Harry spoke, staring at her pointedly.
The girl scowled and turned towards him with a huff, giving a short bow and spoke in as deep of a voice as she could manage. "What is thy bidding, my master?"
Curse him and his stupid jokes. And curse his creative punishments, too. The first time she had refused to do a Darth Vader impression, he had cast a spell on her that functioned as an extreme version of dyslexia, making it almost impossible to read.
There hadn't been a second time.
"For your first step in bucking authority, you will confront and humiliate Lockhart." Harry continued in the same portentous tones he used when he was amusing himself at her expense. "I want you to ruin him."
Hermione sweated. Confront a teacher, even a fraudulent one? Attack him with premeditated malice? It was like one of her personal nightmares.
"After classes, right?" She requested more than asked.
"No, right now, in front of his students." Harry denied mercilessly. "I think he has the seventh years at the moment."
"I can't do that!" Hermione… whined. Yes, it was whining, but it was understandable! "It's too embarrassing."
"And what is embarrassment, hmm?" Harry asked archly. "The regard of strangers is neither strength nor armor, it is a shackle chaining you to their expectations. No man is free who is not a master of himself. Discard your fear of looking ridiculous – it will only weigh you down. Once these petty concerns are beneath you, the world itself will stand aside to let you pass."
And Hermione did still want to be a great and powerful witch. She had agreed to trust that his teachings would have purpose even if it didn't seem like it. She had agreed to be his apprentice despite being warned that he would peel away her naïve innocence and show her the real world.
She may not have fully understood what she was setting herself up for… but Hermione couldn't say that she would have made a different decision even knowing what she knew now, because she was learning things no school would teach, at a pace no school could match.
"Alright, I'll do it." She said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle her nerves. It didn't work.
With determination she strode towards the DADA classroom and barged through before she could second guess herself. All the seventh years and Lockhart himself stared at her in surprise. Apparently, they had been in the middle of re-enacting a scene from one of his books, because the fraud professor had the student in a head lock. That was probably from Wandering with Werewolves, where Lockhart claimed to have overpowered a werewolf with his bare hands without taking a scratch. It was one of the most egregious examples of his lies, because werewolves were much too strong for that and would have definitely torn him apart before he could even try it.
It would have made for a perfect opportunity to discredit him… if Hermione hadn't frozen up in embarrassment.
"Can I help you, Miss Granger?" Lockhart asked cautiously.
The teachers always spoke that was to her or Harry – cautiously. Most of them didn't know that Harry was a time traveller, but they did know that he was being given enormous privileges for some reason.
"You're a fraud!" Hermione burst out, tense as a coiled spring.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger?!" Lockhart demanded indignantly.
"In Wanderings with Werewolves you claim to have physically overpowered a werewolf, which is ridiculous." Hermione babbled, running on raw nervousness. "Holydays with Hags and Travels with Trolls happen at the same time. And you claim to have been briefly held prisoner by a group of trolls in the latter, but trolls don't take prisoners!"
Hermione should know, having been forced to confront one last year. The beasts were just barely smart enough to use tree branches as clubs. Harry had even showed her one's brain after she'd started freaking out about its death later on. As it turned out, most of a troll's skull was solid bone, with the brain being about the size of a peach core. The average raven was smarter than a troll.
"Now see here, Miss Granger!" Lockhart sputtered, visibly nervous.
That was a mistake, because Hermione was a female human and a teenager at that. Even with her bookish disposition, she could smell weakness a mile away and was emboldened.
"In Voyages with Vampires you claim to have warded off a blood-starved vampire with garlic, but garlic doesn't actually work on vampires. " Harry had informed her that it was the vampires themselves perpetuating that myth. "In Year with the Yeti, you claim to have given a yeti a cold, but yetis don't get sick. In Marauding with Monsters you say that the best way to deal with a fire crab is to flip it on its back and cast an Incendio on it, but fire crabs are immune to fire. You're a fraud and your books are full of lies!"
Heaving for breath because she had rushed to spit all that out, Hermione stared at the now very nervous man with slightly wild eyes.
"Sorry for interrupting!" She squeaked at the upperclassmen and fled the room, her courage failing her.
"It's a start." Harry nodded. "Your entrances and exits need work, but it's most definitely a start."
"It was a pitiful display." Tom sneered, crawling out of the hip pouch.
"Not all of us can be sociopaths." Harry shrugged.
No, just time travelling wizards and their evil animated dolls.
XXXXX
With Dumbledore out of the way and Voldemort safely enslaved (though his main chunk of soul didn't know it), Hogwarts was actually… fairly uneventful. Harry amused himself by tormenting… err, teaching, his apprentice, but was otherwise rather bored.
Which was why he was glad to see that the Tri-wizard Tournament was going to be happening despite his changes. Apparently, that bad idea had nothing to do with either Dumbledore or Voldemort, go figure.
Harry promptly deposited Hermione's name into the Goblet of Fire, thinking that a little life and death struggle would be good for her growth.
"And the Hogwarts champion is… Hermione Granger?!" McGonagall's voice trailed off into incredulity.
"WHAT?!" Hermione shrieked in shocked horror, jumping to her feet.
There was a momentary silence, broken only by low murmurs of conversation, before McGonagall spoke again.
"I take it that you did not enter your name, Miss Granger?" The headmistress asked.
"No!" Hermione insisted desperately.
"I entered her name." Harry declared.
"Harry, why?!" Hermione implored, dejection already coloring her voice.
"Things have been a bit too dull around here for the past few years. This competition will put some hair on your chest." He explained.
"I don't think boobies are supposed to have hair on them, Harry." Luna opined from where she was sat next to his younger siblings, then blinked owlishly. "Or was that a sexual euphemism? Mummy has been teaching me about those."
"Who knows, it's a mystery." He shrugged.
Luna nodded gravely, agreeing that it was indeed a mystery.
"I suppose you should… join the other champions, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked more than said, giving him an aggrieved look that said she didn't appreciate his antics.
Too bad for her, because his antics were actually quite funny.
XXXXX
Fleur Delacour was a woman on a mission. Things in Hogwarts were strange and most of that strangeness was centered around Harry Potter. She had tried to ignore it at first, seeing as she was here for the tournament and nothing else, but her curiosity eventually got the better of her.
She was going to get to the bottom of all this nonsense.
Finding him proved unexpectedly difficult and took remembering that she could ask the house elves for help. Said house elves gave her the directions to 'Harry Potter Sir's wing of the castle'.
What? Just… what? How the enfer did a student take over an entire wing of the school?! This kind of thing would never happen at Beauxbatons!
Regardless of that further mystery, Fleur strode forth with all the grace of her species and all the confidence of an older teenager about to confront younger ones. No matter what else, he was still a fourteen-year-old boy.
She found her quarry in what had probably once been a classroom, but had since been repurposed into some kind of dueling arena. Harry was there, apparently sparring with his 'apprentice' – another ridiculous rumor! – while the his younger siblings and a gaggle of blonds she had heard were called the Lovegoods watched.
"'Arry Potter!" Fleur declared imperiously, privately disappointed when his beautifully smooth spellcasting didn't hitch in the slightest. "I would speak wiz you."
"I always have time to speak with a beautiful woman." Harry replied in perfect French and cast a silent spell that yanked one of Hermione's legs into the air. "How many times do I have to tell you to watch your feet, Hermione? You can't fight if you can't stand."
Hermione made a grumbling noise and picked herself back up.
Meanwhile, Fleur was shocked by his easy command of her – far superior – mother tongue. "You speak French?"
"I'm very good with my tongue." He replied with a positively dirty grin.
She may have miscalculated just a bit. Nobody who could so confidently make such a bold and innuendo-filled claim could be a stuttering virgin. And now that she was close to him, Fleur found that she could not sense his aura at all. It was like he wasn't magical at all! Which was impossible, because she had seen him completely schooling the Granger girl just now.
"Is she going to be your girlfriend, Harry?" The oldest of his younger siblings asked 'innocently'. The same kind of innocence that Gabrielle used when she said that she hadn't eaten any cookies before dinner.
"I'm not looking for a girlfriend right now." Harry answered his sister and turned back to her with a smile. "But I'd be glad for a friend."
His inflection was such that it implied he would not be opposed to there being a few benefits to their friendship. And more importantly, his aura unfurled to her senses, vast and powerful beyond reason. To a veela, there could be no clearer invitation to his bed.
Fleur found a genuine smile growing on her face. She had come looking to solve a mystery because she was bored and it had been nagging at her, but instead she found someone who seemed to truly understand her species.
"Oui, we can most definitely be… friends."
XXXXX
Hermione rose from the depths of unconsciousness like a hibernating bear – groggy and slightly bewildered. It was an unfamiliar awakening, full of unfamiliar sensations. It was too warm, there was a soreness in her body and she was unpleasantly sticky.
Moments later, the grogginess cleared and Hermione shot up in the bed like a demented jack-in-the-box. Her breaths came in short, panicked pants and she woodenly turned her head to the left.
Silvery-blonde hair, flawless skin, svelte curves, perky breasts and rosy pink nipples. Fleur.
She turned her head to the right.
Black hair and the bare beginnings of teenaged musculature, ancient green eyes and a knowing smirk. Harry.
"Morning." He greeted, smirk widening. "How does it feel to be a woman?"
Hermione wanted to scream. She remembered everything, because she didn't even have the excuse of being drunk, despite the best efforts of the Weasley twins to spike the drinks. The Yule Ball had been… amazing. Harry declared himself her date – which she hadn't actually minded because curse it all she apparently preferred older men and he was older to an extreme degree without actually being old – and then proceeded to make her feel beautiful in ways she had never imagined she could be. Fleur had also helped with her dress and makeup and hair, which had been great because she'd never had a girlfriend to do girly things with before.
She had been the center of attention not just as the youngest Tri-wizard champion, but also as a girl. It was a heady feeling that she had never expected to experience. Everything had been so perfect that she just… hadn't put up any kind of fight when Harry had kissed her and then started pushing further. Even when Fleur had showed up and the three of them had somehow maneuvered to a bed, she still hadn't let out so much as a peep of protest.
It had been incredible and just thinking about it was giving Hermione a renewed sense of tingles down below, but this time she wasn't high on dopamine and could actually think clearly about the situation.
And the situation was that she'd lost her virginity in a threesome at fifteen. Her parents were going to murder her.
"Why?" She asked plaintively, because there was no way that this had been as spur of the moment for him as it had been for her. Harry had definitely planned for it to happen.
"What did I tell you when I offered you an apprenticeship?" Harry asked pointedly. "I told you that the bond between master and apprentice goes beyond student and teacher, beyond even parent and child. I would teach you everything I think you need to know, even things you might not want to learn. Well, I thought it was time for you to learn about sex, so I seduced you. I figured you would prefer that over being ordered to my bed."
The worst part was that she knew that Harry was more than ruthless enough to simply order her to sleep with him if he thought it was necessary and to hell with how she felt about it. And she was quite familiar with his contempt for the law, sot there was no point in pondering that angle either. By his standards he was being considerate.
"I'm only fifteen." She whispered. "Couldn't you have waited for a few more years?"
The worst part was that she wasn't even sure if she wanted to cry or shout or… something. Should she feel robbed that he had taken her first time, that he hadn't left it for her to decide who she would give it to? It was hard to muster any outrage about it when she could remember screaming herself hoarse and begging both Harry and Fleur to not stop.
"Girls used to get married at your age, you're old enough." Harry chuckled, apparently finding her misgivings amusing. "I did you a favor, even, made your first time memorable in all the right ways. Now you can go forth and fornicate without the memory of initial disappointment ruining it for you."
"Mmm, he's right, you know?" Fleur purred in French, either having just woken up or been feigning sleep earlier. She sat up and draped herself over Hermione, pressed flush against her back. "Among veela, the older ones will take younger ones to bed to mentor them."
Hermione shivered, feeling the Allure caress her body and soul. She wasn't even attracted to girls, but that particularly insidious ability of the veela didn't care. Which might explain why her sexual orientation hadn't factored into the equation last night, now that she thought about it.
"But I'm not a veela." She protested.
"Indeed, that's why you needed someone as sensible as 'Arry to show you the right way of doing things." Fleur gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You are lucky to have him."
"She is, isn't she?" Harry agreed smugly. "By the time I'm done with her she'll be a femme fatale like none other."
"You should bring her to my grandmother's veela colony sometime, I'm sure we could teach her a thing or two." Fleur audibly licked her lips as she disengaged from the hug.
"I know you're just trying to get us addicted to veela pussy, and it's not going to work." Harry informed her.
"A pity, but you can't blame me for trying." Fleur smirked.
"Indeed, and a veela coven would make for a good test of her ability to establish sexual dominance once she's a bit more trained, but for now I'll have to stick to something easier. One of the professors here at Hogwarts is an unrealized submissive and will make for an excellent practice doll."
Hermione could only stare in numb horror as her friends – and she used that term very loosely right now – plotted out ways to turn her into some kind of sexual deviant.
XXXXX
Harry blew air bubbles from his mouth to amuse himself. The bottom of the Black Lake was pretty boring even with the merfolk down here.
He had volunteered himself to be the thing Hermione would 'sorely miss', but like hell was he going to just float here in an enchanted sleep. If he did that then he'd completely miss his apprentice's performance!
About twenty minutes into the one hour event, a rare freshwater man-shark approached.
Must be Krum. Harry mused, giving the confused Durmstrang student a jaunty wave. I'm surprised he made it past the dragons this time around if this half-assed transfiguration is his best effort.
Then again, the first task in this life hadn't featured an all Hungarian Horntail lineup. Harry was getting the sneaking suspicion that that had been another assassination attempt on him. Fucking Lucius Malfoy – and it had to have been him – he was an even bigger cunt than he'd thought. Slightly bigger.
At least Hermione was making a good showing. She'd tackled the first task by conjuring up an animated rope and lassoing the golden egg out of the dragon's nest. Crafty of her. Harry was glad to see that she was developing some mental flexibility, even if she was still prone to fits of moralizing.
Unlike Krum, who was trying to chew through the weeds binding his hostage. It was all Harry could do to stop himself from sending a bludgeoning spell at the back of the idiot boy's head.
"You have a wand, fishbrain. Use it." He said, the words carrying through the water with perfect clarity in blatant violation of physics.
Krum gave him a disgruntled look – or so Harry assumed. It was hard to tell given that he had a shark head. Either way, Harry just stared back judgmentally until the stupid boy looked away and actually used his wand to cast a cutting spell to get through the ropes. He knew that the shark instincts must be messing with him, but come on.
About ten minutes after the Durmstrang boy left, Hermione and Fleur swam down together. Apparently they had decided to work together. Good on them.
They were both wearing bikinis that covered barely anything. Hermione at his orders and Fleur because she didn't want her friend to be feeling left out. Or perhaps because she just wanted to wear something sexy and it was a good excuse to do so. Harry knew damn well that the veela only abided by human standards of modesty when they absolutely had to and the silver one piece bathing suit Fleur had originally intended to wear must have been downright offensive to her sensibilities.
Either way, the result was two girls in sexy bathing suits coming towards him, which was never a bad thing.
Especially because he knew that Hermione must have been mortified from flashing her cheeks at the audience in the tiny thong bottom he'd gotten for her.
Not that she had anything to be embarrassed about. He'd been forcing the girl to get plenty of exercise, so she was a lean collection of tight muscle. No matter how much she whined about the activity, he knew she liked looking pretty. A few more years of work and he'd have not only completely undone the early conditioning that led her to believe she wasn't much to look at, but have her strutting her stuff with confidence. It was an important quality for a badass.
"Morning." He greeted jauntily as the two girls came into range, casting a spell at them to allow them to communicate underwater like he did.
"Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" Hermione near-demanded, reaching to touch her throat under the Bubblehead Charm in surprise that she was able to actually say it.
That had been a bit disappointing, seeing her use such a basic method for going underwater. He'd have to throw her into a few more situations to make her exercise her lateral thinking muscles.
"And leave this little cutie unsupervised?" Harry asked rhetorically, patting Gabrielle's head. "I think not."
"I will be sure to reward you later for looking after my little sister." Fleur said with all sorts of undertones. "Now let us get out of here."
"By all means." Harry smirked and opened his arms towards Hermione. "Save me, oh champion."
Hermione glared, but nonetheless picked him up and began dragging him up to the surface of the lake. Fleur did the same for her sister next to them, the two witches keeping their wands in hand.
"You know, this would be a lot easier if you'd done something to augment your swimming ability." Harry commented, still simulating dead weight. "Just using a Bubblehead Charm is lazy and basic. I taught you better than that."
"I was focused on spells I could use to fight underwater, alright?" A flustered Hermione retorted.
"Never forget mobility." Harry lectured. "It's often more important than killing power."
"Right." She grumbled.
"What do you say to a little ménage à trois to celebrate our successful completion of this task?" Fleur interjected enthusiastically.
"Fleur!" Hermione sputtered in surprise.
"How are you still acting like a virgin?" Harry sighed. "I've been fucking you for two months now and Fleur has joined in four times already. Unclench your butthole, will you?"
Oh, Hermione complained about it afterwards and protested his advances, yet somehow never managed to refuse said advances when they were actually happening. The 'women are mysterious creatures' narrative was cute, but entirely wrong. Women were, in fact, incredible simple creatures. The 'mystery' of women was due to the fact that they were natural liars. They lied as easily as they breathed and just as thoughtlessly, to everyone else and to themselves. It was so intrinsic to them that they didn't even realize they were doing it most of the time. Outliers like Luna notwithstanding.
Case in point, Hermione.
"Well excuse me for not being a slattern!" She bristled, forcing a façade of anger that she didn't actually feel, all to satisfy the instinct to fit in with what was acceptable with the rest of the sheep.
"You are excused, although your vocabulary could do with an update. Who even uses the word 'slattern' anymore? Just say 'slut' like a proper nineties teenager."
Harry chuckled to himself as her swimming got distinctly angry and mused on how easily manipulated the girl was. She didn't even realize that he was deliberately creating a gulf between her and the mass of normies, putting her into an antagonistic relationship with the social pressures that – in a stable society – worked to indoctrinate children into the accepted mindset. Strength was forged in adversity after all, not conformity.
The necessity of being an arsehole to one's apprentice in order to properly teach them was the main reason why he wasn't doing it for his siblings. Let them be happy instead of powerful, although he was of course still making sure that they were well above average. They would just be 'pillars of the community' instead of human monsters.
Speaking of being an arsehole to one's apprentice, it was about time she gained some real enemies to threaten her…
XXXXX
Severus Snape knelt before the cauldron from which his lord was rising. The Dark Lord had recognized his genius and contacted him, providing only a few key ingredients and pieces of information necessary to facilitate this resurrection.
"You have done well, Severus." Lord Voldemort said regally. "You will be well rewarded for this service."
Severus bowed his head, already knowing the reward he wanted. Lily had spent the past dozen or so years popping out Potter after Potter, but that was something that could easily be fixed. A few potions and a few obliviations and it would be like all the years since their friendship had soured had never happened.
"Thank you, my lord." He said, eagerly anticipating that day.
"I think it is time the world be reminded of Lord Voldemort." The Dark Lord said to himself. "Come, Severus. There is work to be done!"
XXXXX
"I hate you, it is very important to me that you understand this." Mr. Potatomort said sourly.
"I know you do, Tom." Harry replied calmly, looking down at the site of Voldemort's resurrection.
Of course, the Dark Idiot had no idea that all those little flashes of inspiration he'd been having lately as to how to restore himself back to corporeal form had been planted there. With such a large chunk of Tom Riddle's soul in his possession, Harry had a great deal of influence over him. To the point where he could even possess the idiot and then prevent him from remembering it. Heck, he was even able to plant a few dreams into Neville's head thanks to the little shard of it the Boy-Who-Lived had in his forehead.
Snape sure had gone off the deep end, though. Harry had been wondering where'd he'd vanished off to since he hadn't been at Hogwarts, only to find him living as a hermit in some arse end of nowhere. The isolation hadn't done his obsessive little mind any favors.
"What do you even gain from this?" Mr. Potatomort asked.
The multiple fragments of soul stuffed into a ridiculous doll had long since had any hope of freedom burned out of him. The ancient monster in the body of a child was simply too powerful and too knowledgeable.
Seeing his main self being moved around like an unknowing pawn only further cemented that despair.
"Anything that isn't constantly challenged begins to grow weak and stagnant." Harry explained. "My cute little apprentice is reaching the limits of how much she can grow without opposition. Voldemort will make for a fitting graduation test to journeyman status."
Mr. Potatomort ground his plastic teeth together at the indignity. The Dark Lord Voldemort, once the terror of the British Isles, reduced to an exam.
"I despise you."
"And you're starting to repeat yourself."
XXXXX
Lord Voldemort apparated onto the grounds of Hogwarts just as the Tri-wizard cup was being awarded to that mudblood that had snuck her way into the competition somehow.
The Dark Lord reveled in the terror he was causing, even before these sheep knew who he was. They could feel his power! Yes, showing up like this had been a good idea. It may sacrifice the element of surprise, but that was more than compensated by the impact of his return. Besides, with Dumbledore seemingly having died of old age or some kind of illness after that debacle with the Philosopher's Stone a few years back, there was no one left to oppose him as he took his rightful place.
"People of Britain, Lord Voldemort has returned." He announced grandly. "I give you this one chance to surrender peacefully."
Of course, upon the confirmation of his identity, most of those present began screaming and running away, while the aurors prepared to fight.
He saw the so-called Boy-Who-Lived within the crowd, looking scared and angry and not at all like his prophesied nemesis. He would fall before Lord Voldemort.
As he batted aside spells cast by the aurors, the Dark Lord noticed that two of the three Tri-wizard champions weren't quite fleeing like everyone else. No, instead they were running towards… the Potters? Yes, those were definitely the Potters. They had been some of his more troublesome enemies and he recognized them, even if they were older now… and had apparently been busy spawning more Potters.
His gaze briefly crossed the eyes of what had to be their eldest son and his mind briefly went blank. Automatically blocking another spell, Voldemort decided that his objective for today was accomplished.
"Morsmordre!" He shouted, aiming his want into the sky. The Dark Mark leered down, proclaiming to all the glorious return of Lord Voldemort.
Satisfied, he apparated away.
XXXXX
"Mr. Potter, I was given to believe that you would take care of V-Voldemort if we gave you free reign in Hogwarts." McGonagall said frostily.
"What makes you think he isn't being handled?" Harry asked curiously.
That gave the old woman pause, but she soldiered on, with sarcasm that he hadn't thought she was capable of. "Perhaps the fact that he has somehow returned to life and disrupted the award ceremony."
Harry responded by reaching into a pocked and placing Mr. Potatomort onto her desk.
"Tom." He commanded.
Mr. Potatomort gnashed his plastic teeth, but nonetheless bowed. "What is thy bidding, my master?"
"Introduce yourself to the headmistress, your full name and title."
Mr. Potatomort turned around and looked sourly at the confused witch.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort."
McGonagall gasped and fumbled for her wand, only slowing down when it was clear that she was in no danger.
"Explain." She demanded.
Harry smiled thinly. "I'm afraid Tommy was a bit of an idiot and left pieces of his soul lying around. Terrible idea that, you never know when a skilled necromancer will come along and use them to enslave you. Now he has no choice but to obey me like a good little slave. Isn't that right, Tom?"
"Yes, Master." Mr. Potatomort ground out.
McGonagall shuddered. "Then who interrupted the awards ceremony?"
"Oh, that was the remaining parts of Tom that doesn't know its enslaved." Harry explained casually. "He isn't even able to wonder how exactly he got brought back to life or why he's behaving so stupidly."
"You brought him back?!" McGonagall exploded, putting the pieces together. "WHY?!"
"Hermione needs a challenge and the Dark Idiot is convenient." Harry shrugged. "Don't worry about him. He'll make a lot of noise, but won't actually do much. Also, don't tell anyone. That would ruin the whole point."
XXXXX
A few minutes after Harry left, an extremely frazzled McGonagall went for the bottle of scotch she had hidden in her desk. She cursed the day that Albus had left her to deal with this mess.
XXXXX
Neville had not enjoyed his summer. With Voldemort returned from the dead, it seemed like everyone was expecting him to challenge the Dark Lord to a duel at dawn and save the day. Even his grandmother had been getting more and more obsessive about his 'responsibilities'. There was even a bloody prophecy about it!
It didn't help that Neville had been having ominous dreams lately. With the knowledge of the prophecy that his grandmother had informed him of, it now felt like a confrontation between him and Voldemort was as inevitable as the sunrise. And he wasn't ready.
Fortunately, he knew exactly where to go to get the help he needed.
"I want you to train me." He said to Harry Potter three days into the school year.
Ron would probably never want to speak to him again because of this 'betrayal', but his jealous tantrums were nothing compared to the threat of Voldemort.
"Why?" Harry asked simply, not looking at all surprised by the request.
"V-Voldemort will be coming after me." Neville managed to keep the stutter to a minimum. The fear everyone had of the Dark Lord's name wasn't easy to shake off. "I need help."
Harry hummed and turned to his 'apprentice' (Neville still had no idea what was going on with them), and spoke. "Hermione."
"What is thy bidding, my master." The girl asked in a deep monotone that nonetheless managed to convey a great deal of exasperation.
She was widely acknowledged as one of the most beautiful girls in the school. Her hair and eyes might be a plain brown and she might not be as curvy as some of the others, but there was something about her that demanded attention that no other girl had. Something in the way she walked and held herself, something about her presence that made her seem like she lived in a different world.
She was also, without dispute, the scariest girl in the school by a huge margin. Nobody dared ask her to go to Hogsmeade with them, nobody dared mock her, nobody dared talk about the rumors about her and Fleur Delacour last year where she might hear. Even Draco Malfoy had stopped calling her a mudblood after she had challenged him to a duel and publicly humiliated him.
"I am assigning you to help Neville kill Voldemort. You have until you graduate from Hogwarts."
Neville would have expected her to be angry or frightened by such a ridiculous decree, but she just… sighed.
"Am I really ready for that?" She asked, displaying only a hint of the nervousness Neville felt she should have.
"No." Harry admitted. "But you have all the tools you need."
"That's not… what I had in mind." Neville managed to say.
"I'm not taking a child of prophecy as an apprentice, that's too much trouble." Harry snorted.
"You know about the prophecy?!" The Boy-Who-Lived squawked. "How?!"
"I know everything, Neville." The most mysterious of the Potters replied snidely.
"Then why don't you take care of Voldemort?" He found the courage to ask. Or maybe the anger, because he was definitely feeling a bit indignant that this seemingly all-powerful 'boy' was treating this so cavalierly.
"And deprive you plucky young brats of an opportunity for personal growth? Don't be ridiculous. Now, why don't the two of you scamper off and make a plan for killing the Dark Dingus? Shoo!"
Nevile could only stare. He wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he wasn't actually a teenage boy. How had news of this not spread all over Magical Britain by now? If Harry Potter wasn't a boy, then what was he?
"Come on, Neville." Hermione said firmly, snapping him out of his shock. "We have work to do."
"What is he?" Neville asked quietly.
The look she gave him would haunt his dreams.
"There are bigger monsters than Voldemort out in the world, Neville. They just have better things to do than trying to overthrow governments."
XXXXX
Hermione knew that Harry was up to something. He hadn't even tried to hide it.
'Take Neville to Hogsmeade' had been his order and it could have only two reasons. Either he expected something to happen in Hogsmeade or he wanted her to seduce Neville. She really hoped that it was the former.
Nothing against Neville, but…
"Umm, is this a date?" Said boy asked nervously, blushing like a tomato.
Hermione could only stare at him for a moment, feeling not a lick of embarrassment at the question. After the things Harry had done to her, with Fleur sometimes helping, and then the depraved things he had made her do to Professor Vector, she just couldn't.
And he had promised to introduce her to a 'professional man-eater' in the future to round out her education.
In comparison, Neville was just so… young. She might be less than a year older than him, but the gulf between them felt like a great chasm. He was still a child, whereas Harry had made sure that she wasn't.
"No." She said curtly. "There might be something happening there, so stay on guard."
"How do you know?" He asked, frowning.
"I can sense it." She lied, not wanting to get into another discussion on how Harry knew something.
Neville was forever trying to figure the time traveller out, but his theories were always way off and she didn't feel like going through it again. Harry probably thought it was funny to subject her to it while forbidding her from telling Neville the truth.
The Hogwarts rumor mill, active as ever, whispered about their 'date', just like it had whispered about the time they now spent together in the library and in unused classrooms. Ron Weasley was one of the worst offenders where rumor mongering was concerned, and he was doing with all the malice his tiny little mind could conjure.
This, too, seemed so very petty and insignificant compared to what she'd already seen and done during her apprenticeship to Harry. It was hard to remember why such things had ever bothered her.
"Is it Voldemort?" Neville pressed.
"Could be." Hermione nodded.
Granted, she had no idea how Harry might know or be able to influence the Dark Lord's actions, but she wouldn't put anything past him.
Their walk down to Hogsmeade was largely silent after that. Even with the amount of time they'd been spending together recently at Harry's direction, Hermione just couldn't really call Neville a friend. The difference between them was too big and she really couldn't relate to him anymore, just like she couldn't relate to any of the other children in her year group.
"So, umm, do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer?" Neville suggested.
Hermione pursed her lips in thought and nodded. Without any idea as to what exactly was going to happen, it was as good a course of action as any.
The iconic inn had plenty of other Hogwarts students inside it, but Hermione could only sigh at the sight of her master sitting at the back and staring at them as they entered. Clearly he had somehow been expecting them despite the decision to come here having been made literally only moments ago.
She marched towards his table and sat down without being invited, pretty much forcing Neville to trail behind her.
"Alright, what's going on?" Hermione demanded.
Harry gave her one of his infuriatingly insincere innocent looks, the kind that even a troll could see through. "Why would you think anything is going on? I'm just having a relaxing drink and flirting with Rosie when she comes by to give me a refill."
"You knew we would be here?" Neville asked, slowly catching up to the situation.
"Nah." Harry blatantly lied. "Just a coincidence."
Madam Rosmerta showed up then, a clear sign that she was paying extra close attention to Harry's table.
"What can I get you two?" The proprietor asked with a bright smile. It was easy to see why she was so popular with the boys in Hogwarts, even discounting the size of her chest.
"They'll have chilled butterbeers." Harry ordered for them. "And I'll have the key to your room, please."
Rosmerta laughed at the bold proposition. "I'll get you the butterbeers, but you'll have to try harder to get the keys to my room."
"Challenge accepted."
"You are worse than your father and godfather put together, Harry." She chuckled and left.
"Better, the word you're looking for is better." He said to her retreating back then turned back towards Hermione and Neville. "So, how are things? Done any combat practice lately?"
That seemed like an awfully leading question.
"Why? Are we going to need it?" Even Neville picked up on it.
A scream came from outside, followed by many more screams.
"You might." Harry answered the question, amused.
Hermione didn't bother asking any more questions and neither did Neville. The burst out of the inn to see a scene of chaos. Voldemort was there, along with several Death Eaters, and the Dark Mark already leered over Hogsmeade.
"Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger." The Dark Lord said softly as soon as he noticed them. "The Boy-Who-Lived and the mudblood Tri-wizard champion. There are some who call you the rising stars of the wizarding world."
The fact that Harry's name wasn't spoken of anywhere was pure absurdity. Her time travelling master was somehow able to suppress any rumors about him despite the minimal effort he put into keeping a low profile.
Neville swallowed thickly and raised his wand at the Dark Lord, slowly moving into the street.
"You wish to duel?" Voldemort asked rhetorically, brandishing his own wand. "Very well. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is not obliging."
… Why did that remind her of Harry's annoying animated Mr. Potatohead toy?
XXXXX
Bystander Syndrome was an interesting thing that revealed exactly how sheeplike humanity was. During the initial scare, the people of Hogsmeade and the visiting Hogwarts students scattered like mice, but once Neville and Hermione showed up to fight, they trickled back to watch from a safe distance.
Neville was 'dueling' Voldemort and being thoroughly schooled. Only Harry's orders to the unknowingly enslaved Dark Lord kept him alive… not that it was hard to get the dramatic asshole to go for humiliation instead of killing.
Meanwhile, Hermione was fighting the handful of minions the pasty bastard had brought along.
She was doing reasonably well, but lacked a proper killer instinct. They weren't taking her seriously and should have suffered at least one casualty for their hubris by now, but Hermione wasn't using some of the more vicious spells that he had taught her. That pesky morality and civic responsibility of hers again.
A Cruciatus slipped past her attention and she went down screaming. This distracted Neville and put him into the same position at the end of Voldemort's wand.
Harry compressed the air into a volley of contained spheres and launched them into the chests of Voldemort and his lackeys. It wasn't a spell designed to do much damage, no more than a hard shove really, but it was enough to disrupt their focus.
Voldemort was the only one attuned enough to sense where the attack had come from, but his eyes slid over Harry without seeing anything. He was not allowed to see anything.
"Hmph, just a weak little boy." The Dark Lord sneered, already forgetting about the air blast. "Come, my Death Eaters. We are done here."
The lackeys were too fearful of their master to ask questions and apparated out without comment.
Hermione and Neville picked themselves up with some difficulty. The Cruciatus exposure had been too brief to do any lasting or permanent damage, but they hadn't yet learned how to throw off mere pain.
"Here." Harry said, offering them the bottles of chilled butterbeer he had ordered for them.
Hermione took hers without question and started drinking.
Nevile, on the other hand…
"Why didn't you help us?" He demanded.
"I am helping you." Harry disagreed with his premise. "Who do you think stopped them from torturing you into insanity?"
"But you could have stepped in, fought with us." Neville insisted.
"Why? So that you can go hide in a greenhouse while other people fight your battles?" Harry snorted. "If you don't like what life has in store for you, then force it to change. Whining only makes you a slave to the whims of others."
The Boy-Who-Lived scowled and looked away. The words had clearly not reached him. Teenagers were such stubborn creatures. He didn't really remember his own teens, but he had probably been a handful as well. Or would have been, if there was anyone actually supervising him.
"Shouldn't the aurors be here by now?" Hermione asked, changing the subject.
"Their response times always were shite." Harry chuckled.
As if to punctuate his point, multiple cracks announced the arrival of said aurors. Among the dozen or so irrelevant strangers were two that he did recognize – the brick shithouse form of Kingsley Shacklebolt and more importantly, his junior partner Nymphadora Tonks.
Harry had to smile. He'd met her a long time ago of course – with Sirius never going to Azkaban, they were pretty close to the Tonkses. She'd babysat him from time to time, or that's what she thought was happening at any rate.
It was enormous fun teasing this adorably baby-faced version of his wife. She hadn't been hardened by centuries of life and loss. She was still an idealistic young woman that hadn't seen the deep shadows of the world.
"Why am I not surprised to find you here, Harry?" she asked rhetorically while Shacklebolt took over interviewing the 'heroes of the hour'.
"I don't know, Nymphadora, why aren't you surprised?" He asked back.
Her hair turned red and she growled at him, but instead of being intimidating he just thought it was cute.
"Talk to me, Harry. What happened here?" She ordered.
"We were just chillaxing in the Three Broomsticks with a couple of butterbeers-"
"Chillaxing?" The metamorph interrupted with a frown.
"Yes." Harry offered no further explanation on the word that wouldn't come into common usage for another decade or two, and even then only among idiot teenagers who thought butchering the English language was somehow cool. "Anyway, then the Dark Dingus showed up and started making noise. Hermione and Neville got pissed that they didn't get to take so much as a single sip of their butterbeers and went out to fight him."
"Did they say that's why they went to confront V-Voldemort and the Death Eaters." Nymphadora asked, stumbling slightly over the fake name.
Harry couldn't help but feel a little sad about that. His Nymphadora had become hell on wheels with a little training, but this one was still stuck with a whole bunch of dumb ideas she'd absorbed from the average British magical.
"They didn't state their reasons, so I just assumed."
"Of course you did." She rolled her eyes, clearly losing interest in interviewing him.
Voldie thought he was being clever by putting a Taboo on his name that alerted him to anyone that spoke it. Harry thought that the spell that made his very existence 'normal' so that nobody was overly inclined to dig into it was a few orders of magnitude better. It did wonders to keep people from feeling any particular urge to gossip about him, either verbally or in letters. Everyone who met him knew that there was something wrong about him, but nobody talked about it or thought to investigate it.
Half of Britain would probably be on fire already if not for that, given the way power tended to breed conflict.
"So, did you meet any interesting people lately?" He asked with a saucy grin. "Because I know this sexy veela that would love to take you on a date."
Just because he wasn't willing to get romantically involved with the dimensional doppelgangers of his wives didn't mean he wasn't going to try setting them up with each other.
"I've told you already, I'm not into birds." The metamorph rolled her eyes.
"That just means you haven't been using your powers properly." Harry argued. "Trust me on this, having a cock is amazing, and the best part is that you get to share it with others."
"And what would you know about sharing your cock with anyone, you little perv?" Nymphadora snorted disbelievingly.
"You underestimate my power." He countered arrogantly.
But she just rolled her eyes and gave him a shove. "Get out of here, and give your parents a Floo call! They'll be worried sick if they hear about this attack from anyone other than you."
"Since you asked so nicely, Nymphadora, I'll do it." Harry smirked as her hair went red again. She really was too much fun to tease.
XXXXX
Building Voldemort up as a credible threat without an excess of collateral damage in lives was a wee bit difficult, even with his prior reputation to act as a buffer. Murder was scary, showing up in public places and casting a few spells without killing anyone less so.
He could have just left the insane idiot run wild – it's not like he actually cared about any of the people that would end up dying – but, ridiculously, it was the thought of his family's disappointment that stopped him from doing that. What a situation to be in.
Fortunately, arson was also pretty scary, especially if it was being done to people with big, expensive mansions who happened to control the media. That way they could spread their fear to everyone else.
Some people, however, simply didn't appreciate the genius of his idea.
"Mr. Potter, I think I have been more than accommodating of you." McGonagall was saying.
"If you judge by the standards of my supposed age group, I guess you could make that argument." Harry nodded.
"You would be allowed free reign of Hogwarts in exchange for handling the Voldemort situation." The old witch pushed on as if he hadn't spoken. At least she had stopped stuttering at the mention of the Dark Moron's name. "The last time we spoke, you assured me that the Dark Lord is completely under your control."
"That remains true." Harry nodded again.
"Why then, has he been burning down the homes of the Wizengamot members – in alphabetic order no less – and demanding to be crowned 'King of the Britons'?" She finished severely.
"Sirius didn't mind." Harry pointed out.
In fact, the last scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had burst into laughter when he heard that Voldemort had torched Grimmauld Place. His spiteful and short-sighted godfather never did learn how to look past his feelings, and Kreacher had long since been given clothes and sent away.
Too bad, Harry had liked the cranky old house elf.
"Well, Madam Bones certainly did." McGonagall snapped.
That was true. The head of the DMLE had been quite upset, but at least she and Susan were alive! Honestly , Harry would have left them alive even if he had decided to sacrifice a few random innocents for his schemes; Amelia was actually competent and that was a quality in terribly short supply in Magical Britain.
"She'll get over it." He waved off.
"I wonder if you would say that if it was your family's home burned to the ground." The headmistress said acerbically.
"As long as none of my family was hurt." Harry shrugged. "But he's not going to get that far into the alphabet anyway."
"You still haven't told me why you are having Voldemort do this."
"Foreplay. I'm preparing my apprentice to climactically erupt out of Hogwarts and into the moist depths of the real world when she graduates. If she does that without having the way lubricated first then she's just going to end up making a bloody mess of things with her girthy personality."
McGonagall closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Please choose a less disgusting turn of phrase, Mr. Potter."
"No, I find sexual metaphors to be surprisingly versatile." He refused. "You might not think so because you haven't gotten laid in decades, but I can assure you that one good fucking will bring it all back. It's like riding a bike. If you don't have anyone to plow you, I'm willing to bend you over right here and now."
McGonagall wasn't actually that bad looking for a woman of her age. It wasn't something he'd have thought if he was actually the age he looked, but he'd boinked women older than her in his seven hundred or so years. Granted, most of them were veela and they aged even slower than regular witches, but the point stood.
"MR. POTTER!" The uptight headmistress roared in outrage, face red from both anger and embarrassment.
"Easy there, your larynx isn't as young as it used to be." He advised.
The older-looking-but-very-much-younger of the two took a deep breath to steady herself and brought the full force of her Teacher Glare to bear on Harry. It was a glare that had cowed generations of unruly students even after they were full grown adults.
Naturally, it had no effect on the ancient monster pretending to be a teenager.
"Mr. Potter…" She began, mustering all the self-control she had. "I want you to rein in your… slave… and stop him from burning down the country."
"Don't be so dramatic, it's just a few houses." Harry rolled his eyes. "And it's for a good cause. Trust me, it'll make sense in hindsight."
Yes, he absolutely wasn't making things as he went along. It was all according to keikaku.
XXXXX
It was the winter break and Harry had strongly 'suggested' that Neville invite Hermione to spend it with him at Longbottom Manor.
To Neville this was an obvious hint that Voldemort's erratic campaign of arson was going to strike at his home during this time. To his grandmother it looked like something else entirely.
"So, Ms. Granger, how long have you and Neville been friends?" the Dowager Lady Longbottom asked. There was no particular emphasis in her words, but to the scion of a pureblood family, the implication was obvious.
"We've known each other since the start of Hogwarts, of course, but we didn't start spending any significant amount of time with each other until the beginning of this year." Hermione answered, taking a sip of her tea.
Neville screamed internally. She had no idea what she was saying! Had Harry not prepared her at all for this?
… In hindsight, this probably was the preparation. Whatever the thing pretending to be a teenager was, he was definitely the type to throw his apprentice into the deep end and watch her flounder until she learned how to swim.
"I see." His grandmother hummed thoughtfully. "You are a muggleborn, yes?"
"For what little that counts." Hermione shrugged.
"You don't think that your heritage matters?" There was a quality to his grandmother's tone that Neville couldn't decipher.
"I prefer to put stock in the strength of my magic." Hermione responded levelly and the delicate china began to rattle as a heavy sense of presence filled the room. Nothing compared to the monstrous pressure Harry could exert at a whim, but it was clear that the master had taught his student well.
Where before the Dowager Lady Longbottom was on the edge of being disapproving of the younger witch, now she looked at her with more respect.
"Well said." She said with a firm nod. "Too many people nowadays are content to rest on the laurels won by their ancestors instead of bettering the fortunes of their House through their own effort. You will be a good influence on my grandson, I think."
"Thank you." Hermione gave a small smile in response, probably completely oblivious to the fact that his grandmother had just given her blessing for the two of them to start courting.
Neville was going to need to take her aside and explain things to her later, before any more misunderstandings could accumulate. It was going to be awkward, but it had to be done.
Not that Neville would mind having Hermione as his girlfriend, but… well, he'd always gotten the impression that she was not very impressed with him. Or anyone for that matter.
Fortunately, the supremely awkward conversation (for him) didn't get a chance to progress any further. Unfortunately, that was because the alarm wards went off.
"An attack?" His grandmother said in surprise, before realization flooded her face. "Death Eaters."
Neville and Hermione were already on their feet, wands in hand. Thanks to Harry's heavy-handed hinting, they had been expecting this.
If Augusta Longbottom was a normal grandmother, Neville was sure that she would have told them to escape or hide or something. But she was not, and her expression was full of pride when he stepped up to fight. She had always pressured him to 'uphold his father's legacy' and this kind of thing was exactly what she wanted.
While Neville did want to make his parents proud, he absolutely didn't think he was ready to be confronting Voldemort. Their last encounter had certainly made that clear.
It was just… he had something a lot worse to be afraid of if he refused to fight.
"There aren't too many of them." Hermione said, looking out the windows. "Just Voldemort and a handful of minions."
"Same thing as in Hogsmeade?" Neville asked. "I take Voldemort and you take the minions?"
"I will assist Hermione and once the rabble is taken care of, we will come to help you." His grandmother said, looking at him with pride.
That did feel good, even if she seemed entirely too happy over the fact that he was willing to duel the Dark Lord.
"Come out and face me, Neville Longbottom." Said Dark Lord called in a magically enhanced voice. "Will you cower inside your home while it burns down around your ears?"
"Neville, I want you to give that blowhard a good pasting." His grandmother said darkly.
Sure thing, Gran. Easiest thing in the world. Neville thought sarcastically.
XXXXX
Far away in the home of the Potters, Harry Potter sat cross-legged on the floor of his room. His eyes were closed and his mind far away.
In fact, he was currently 'attacking' Longbottom Manor while possessing the body of Lord Voldemort, whose terrified mind was currently suppressed. It was impossible to resist a possession when the possessor had chunks of your soul in his…. possession.
Harry felt Voldemort recoil in pain at the pun and channeled his amusement into curving the Dark Lord's thin lips into a twisted smirk as Neville, Hermione and Augusta Longbottom came out of the manor.
"Neville Longbottom." 'Voldemort' said silkily. "The Boy-Who-Lived. It is good to see that you have the courage to face me."
"You're not really giving me much choice." Neville retorted.
'Voldemort' smiled at the mild sass and made a little flourish with his wand. "Fate itself has decreed that we are enemies, so enemies we shall be. Stand back, my Death Eaters. Give us room."
"Should we engage the mudblood and Longbottom's Grandmother, my lord?" The disguised Severus Snape asked.
"By all means." 'Voldemort' said magnanimously. He had brought few enough of the masked idiots that Hermione and the old woman should be able to hold their own easily enough.
"As I am the challenger, I shall allow you the honor of the first spell." The possessed Dark Lord said arrogantly.
Neville treated the stupidity with the contempt it deserved and immediately fired off a blasting curse.
"So vicious!" 'Voldemort' praised, deflecting the spell easily. "Good, good. It wouldn't do for my nemesis to be weak. We are in many ways defined by our enemies; as you are defined by me, I am defined by you."
"Shut up!" Neville snapped angrily, firing a vicious gouging spell.
'Voldemort' deflected it again and retaliated with a lackadaisical cutting hex. Well, lackadaisical for him. Neville still had to throw himself out of the way in a hurry.
Sparing a quick glance to see how the other fight was going, he frowned in disapproval at Hermione's restraint. He'd thought that her brief exposure to the Cruciatus would snapped her out of any delusions of morality where life or death fights were concerned, but she was still refusing to use any of the deadlier spells that he knew she knew.
Apparently his lecture on why mercy was the privilege of the strong hadn't sunk in. She was going to need… remedial lessons.
Neville righted himself and fire another blasting cure, this time at his feet instead of directly at him.
'Voldemort' feigned surprise at the tactic and brought his hands in front of his face to shield it from the spray of dirt. Neville tried to press the seeming advantage with another gouging spell. A wide spectrum shield charm absorbed the curse, while the ones that followed it were dodged. Then Neville started spamming blasting curses at his feet.
A cry of pain from his apprentice alerted him to the fact that things had gone ill for her and he sent Neville flying with a lash of a flame whip so he could sneak a look.
Hermione's wand hand was bloody and definitely missing several fingers, her wand on the floor in pieces. The Longbottom Matriarch was furiously trading spells with Snape, while the other Death Eaters were already downed.
It made him want to shake his head in exasperation. That's what she got for playing kiddie games with an enemy. The non-lethal spells were too easy to block for someone on Snape's level and he'd made her pay for it.
Harry would restore her fingers later (who says wounds caused by dark magic couldn't be healed? Pah, that was quitter talk!) and hope that this incident would teach her something.
"Enough!" He declared, negligently sending Augusta stumbling backwards. "It is clear to me now that these children are no threat. The prophecy was false after all."
The groaning Neville held his burned chest and glared at him. Good, the boy had some fight in him.
"We are leaving." 'Voldemort' continued, gesturing for Snape to pick up the useless mooks. "Let them stew in their weakness."
Several minutes later, Harry opened his real eyes back in his room in the Potter household. Voldie's memories had been edited and he'd be none the wiser, thinking that everything had been his doing.
But had he seriously been this far ahead of the curve during his own youth? Harry knew that he had cheated quite massively to get as powerful as he had been as quickly as he had, but shouldn't the fact that Hermione had a proper teacher have offset that more?
It definitely should have, the silly girl just needed her loins girded a bit more. He'd take her down to some shithole corner of the world and beat a killer instinct into her. This ridiculous aversion to hurting people had to go. Africa had some wars going on in this time period, didn't it?
Trick question, Africa always had wars going on. It was wonderfully convenient that way.
He'd take Neville, too, now that he thought about it. At this rate he'd never be able to engineer a properly believable 'final battle' in which Voldie actually lost.
XXXXX
It felt fake.
The typical Hogwarts graduation ceremony would have the seventh years leaving the school in the same boats that they had arrived in for their first year. It was very symbolic.
This year, her seventh year, it had been interrupted by Voldemort's arrival. The Dark Lord had apparently decided to force a 'final battle' on this auspicious day. It had been climactic. It had been tense. Powerful spells had ripped through the air, Death Eaters had fallen and Voldemort had been defeated in a spectacular light show.
It felt fake.
Hermione couldn't help but note that since his resurrection, Voldemort had mostly focused on big flashy displays. He had focused all of his attempts on humiliating Neville and her, but never killing them. He hadn't actually tried to take over the country.
He sounded like Tom, Harry's animated Mr. Potatohead doll. Sometimes, he even sounded like Harry.
In the aftermath, the Ministry of Magic had showed up, late as usual. There had been talk of an Order of Merlin, First Class, for Neville. For her, they very reluctantly conceded that she deserved a Second Class.
The blatant prejudice was infuriating, but she had bigger concerns on her mind. With Minister Fudge blustering about and the Ministry rushing to put together an event – they wanted to hold it at the same time as the graduation ceremony for whatever reason – Hermione was free to slip away.
Harry and his very large family were here as well, naturally. He was technically also graduating after all. How he managed to stand there and pretend that he was normal and have everyone go along with it was baffling. Hermione strongly suspected that he was suing some kind of magic to make it happen.
Anyway, he was here and she could corner him for a conversation.
"It was you the whole time, wasn't it?" She demanded once she got him away from the crowds.
"What was me?" He asked back with a grin.
"Voldemort!" She hissed quietly. "It was you."
Harry's smile widened and he nodded. "Yes, he was just a puppet. Good catch."
"Why?"
There was so much meaning in that one word beyond the obvious. Why the pretense? Why make everything such a convoluted mess? Why did he bring her and Neville down to Africa for week after week, forcing them to murder people until they were numb to the horror of it.
They had been evil people, that would go on to do evil things if left alive. The first time, Hermione had refused to kill and then Harry had forced her to watch as the man she'd left alive murdered an innocent man and participated in the gang rape of his wife and daughter. She still had nightmares about it from time to time.
She had begged him to do something or to at least be allowed to look away, but he had denied her. Told her that no apprentice of his would close her eyes to the world. His teaching had only grown crueler with the passing of years. The days when all he did was make her fight trolls or verbally attack teachers were a fond memory now.
"Some things, only your enemies can teach you." Harry shrugged with a small smile. "And you did learn some important lessons, didn't you?
Hermione could only give a tired exhale. She was eighteen, yet she felt so old. This apprenticeship had pushed her to the breaking point and beyond, over and over. There were times when she had genuinely hated Harry, just not enough to walk away from him.
Sometimes, it made her wonder if she wasn't acting like an abused spouse, continually returning to her abuser out of sheer habit. Harry had made her read up on the psychology of that, too, and pointed out the similarities in their relationship, the cheeky bastard.
But Hermione had to be honest with herself in the end. She stayed with him because she wanted to keep learning from him, and the 'abuse' he put her through wasn't done with malice or uncontrolled outbursts of anger. No, it was carefully calculated and designed to break her down and reshape her. He was completely upfront about it.
"What happens now?" She asked.
"Well, I did say you would graduate to journeyman status if you killed Voldemort before you graduated." Harry nodded to himself. "That means you're now free to make your own choices and your own mistakes, so… do whatever you want. Go into politics, become a hermit, declare yourself a Dark Lady, become the power behind the throne, leave the country and become an adventurer… whatever floats your boat."
"What if I want to settle down and become a housewife?" Hermione asked sardonically. "You know Augusta Longbottom has been getting less and less subtle with her suggestions that Neville and I should get married?"
It would never happen. Neville was probably the most relatable of all the boys (she couldn't even call them men) her age, but she still couldn't help but feel that he was too… young.
"Not happening." Harry instantly shot down, making her blink in surprise.
"I thought you said I could do whatever?"
"I mean, you can try, but it'll never last unless you've got a fetish for doormats that you've managed to hide from me." He amended, raising an eyebrow at her. "You're too domineering, bossy and willful to let anyone less powerful than you take the lead and you'd grow to despise a doormat."
Hermione gave it a moment's thought and scowled as she realized that he was right. Again. When she thought about what kind of man she wanted, it wasn't honesty, good humor, kindness and integrity that came to mind. Those things were incidental to what she really found attractive – power and will.
That was when she got an idea. An outrageous, off-the-wall, hilarious idea. Something that she would never have considered if not for the past seven years hell Harry had put her through.
"You have to marry me." Hermione said firmly. There was no nervous quaver in her voice, no indecision. It was a statement of fact, immutable and unassailable.
"I do?" Harry questioned, amused more than anything. Even something like this coming out of nowhere wasn't enough to surprise him.
"You've ruined me for other men." Hermione bent the truth a little bit. While it was true that his 'sexual education' had left her unfit for marriage by the more conservative standards of upper crust magical society, that wasn't really the problem. The problem was that she was too powerful now to like anyone she might have otherwise liked. "Take responsibility."
Because there was still a part of her that wanted a little slice of 'happily ever after' and she obviously wasn't going to get it any other way.
"Hmm." Harry's amusement only increased, but he was obviously giving it serious thought nonetheless. "I was going to just wander the world for a bit and catch up on the things I missed the first time around…"
"We can do it together." Hermione was quick to jump in. Honestly, that sounded pretty interesting. Certainly more interesting than dealing with Magical Britain. Now that she no longer hesitated to murder evil, she suspected that becoming a Dark Lady was a distinct possibility. Let Neville deal with that mess, he was the 'Man-Who-Conquered'.
"An extended honeymoon?" He asked with a grin, then quickly turned serious. "It won't be a traditional marriage and I won't be keeping any vows of fidelity."
That gave her pause. Could she tolerate being married to Harry and having him sleep with other women? Surprisingly, the answer was yes, but what did it say about her that the answer was yes because she felt absolutely no threat from these theoretical other women? It would be like feeling that her position as a spouse was being threatened by the family pets.
Hermione winced at the monumental arrogance inherent in that metaphor. Harry was definitely right that a relationship with a normal man would fail if she was slipping into comparing people to pets. Still, even if she scrupulously avoided ever thinking that way again, the fact of the matter was that she simply did not consider other women to be on a level where they could threaten her. They just… didn't matter.
"That's fine, just don't hide it from me." She slowly nodded.
"Hide? I'll be inviting you to join in."
Despite everything, Hermione didn't consider herself bisexual, but she had to admit that there had been a certain thrill in having an extra present from time to time.
"I might even accept." She responded coyly. "So, how are we doing this? Should we go talk to your parents about it?"
The Potters were already here, so that was easily done. They could talk to her parents about it afterwards.
"I was thinking we could elope and then send postcards." Harry counter-suggested. "Weddings are a huge hassle, trust me on this."
"Your family will be hurt if we just run away." She argued. "And I know that my father would want to give me away. Call it a graduation present from you to me if you have to."
"Alright, fine." He agreed begrudgingly. "The things I do for people…"
Hermione hid a smirk. It wasn't exactly a fairy tale ending, but it would do.