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Chapter Text

The cloaked figure snuck through the tunnel from a cave on the outskirts of what was once Hogsmeade, crawling closer to their destination. It had taken several weeks to excavate the collapsed tunnel without using enough magic to alert the sensors, but it had been worth it.

Just as during their school days, the tunnel emerged behind the painting of a witch studying the stars, just a few halls down from the former entrance to the Slytherin dorms. While the rest of Hogwarts lay in ruins above, the dungeons were still largely intact.

There hadn’t been any wards the last time the figure was here, but they still proceeded cautiously as they crept deeper into the dungeons. Just because no one had appeared to approach this site in the last month was no reason to throw caution to the wind. Especially not when they were so close to finishing.

Finally, the figure reached their destination; an old ritual room that had been forgotten about for decades, if not centuries. While once a class at Hogwarts, ritual magic had long ago been declared “Dark” and banned. Once, the figure would have cared about that.

Now, they simply looked around with sharp eyes, ensuring that no detail of the complex ritual had been changed in their absence. The chalk runes on the floor were intact, the herbs placed carefully around the walls hadn’t moved a single leaf, and the first three sacrifices were still in stasis in the corner.

The final sacrifice had been obtained, and the figure pulled it from beneath their cloak and held it up for inspection. The large jar of blood gleamed deeply in the flickering torchlight, but it appeared unharmed by the journey. Six pints, willingly given.

The need for secrecy was still paramount, until the magic of the ritual itself tripped the sensors, but by then it would be too late for anyone to interfere. The figure completed the final preparations by hand, stepping carefully over the chalked lines and placing the four sacrifices in the cardinal positions.

The whole thing was done silently, but with a crisp familiarity that spoke of repeated drilling in the exact steps. There would only be one chance at this; one chance for this figure to save their world.

With the last steps completed, the figure returned to the doorway and finally slipped off the cloak, dropping it outside the room. A drop of her blood on the door raised the ancient ritual wards, protecting the outside world from a miscast ritual, but also shielding the workings within from foreign interference.

Finally, the figure stepped to her place. Her thin, pale body was criss-crossed with scars, the effect highlighted by the flickering torch light. Her false eye was tucked into the pocket of her cloak, the gaping socket a bright red contrast to the white scars surrounding it. Her hair was cropped short, shorn so closely as to be just a dark brown smudge against her too pale skin. The signs of her years spent in battle were unmistakable, but also proof that she would do what she had to when the time came.

Her voice hoarse with disuse, she began to chant the words of the ritual she had memorized so many years ago. The torches expired into smoke, but a glow suffused the chalk lines on the floor. Not that she needed to see to complete this task. The motions were as ingrained as the words, and her hands flowed through them like one conducting an orchestra might, wandless magic unleashed to fetch an herb there, free a sacrificial creature there, and finally to raise the jar of blood high over her shorn head.

With a final runic chant, she tipped the blood, dowsing herself in the life-force of another, willingly given to see her task succeed.

As the blood pooled around her toes, she had a brief sense of the outer wards being attacked, and she allowed herself a silent, grim, smile. They were too late. The blood spread out, closer and closer, until finally it touched the innermost chalk circle. The glowing circle flared with bright red light and then suddenly the room was plunged into darkness.

When the Death Aurors finally broke down the old Hogwarts door, they found an empty room, dusty and abandoned as the rest of the castle. The discarded cloak and eye were the only sign that Hermione had even been there.

Hermione woke up with a splitting headache in a room that had become familiar to her over the last year. Groggily, she turned her head, and saw no signs of the ritual she had so painstakingly followed. Hermione allowed a smirk to cross her face. Had she failed, the ritual would have, at worst, destroyed the room, and at best, left it a bloody, sooty mess. The only way she would find herself in a perfectly clean room was if she had successfully completed it. That meant that Hermione had done it. She had gone back in time.

The first thing she did was conjure some clothes. They would only last for about 12 hours, but that was plenty of time. The ritual had required her to be naked, but Hermione had no intention of wandering around Hogwarts that way. She had timed it so that it should be the summer holidays, with a minimum number of people in the castle, but she still wasn’t taking any chances. As the robes slipped over her scar-free body, Hermione reveled in the lack of aches and pain. She felt like a teenager again, as this body was, instead of the hard forty years she had been. It was one of the reasons that, though it was the more complicated one, Hermione had picked this ritual to perform. The other would have sent her back in her own body, transporting her flesh through time instead of just her spirit. This ritual, though requiring much more complicated and disgusting ingredients, actually created a new body from the matter of the time she was arriving at.

Delighting in the ability to walk without pain, Hermione cast a wandless disillusionment spell on herself and broke the seal on the ritual room’s door. She had a lot to do before she made her presence known, and she had no time to waste.

Chapter Text

Tucked into the small cave outside of Hogsmeade, Hermione finished arranging her belongings to her satisfaction. It would take her a week or two to get the necessary monetary spoils to make herself a proper hideout, but in the meantime she made do with conjured furnishings. With the right runic engravings they would last for about three weeks.

The most important was the large table with her battle plans and maps laid out upon it. Though unable to bring anything physically back in time with her, Hermione had hundreds of memories locked within her Occlumency mind palace, ready to be retrieved at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t conjure a pensive, but there was an older form of memory display known as a thought sphere, which only required a simple crystal ball. These she was able to create herself, and now the first memory she needed was projected onto the wall of the cave as she transferred its contents to the parchments spread around her.

One thing that she appreciated about the old pureblood families was their paranoia. Though a normal witch or wizard kept pretty much all of their money at Gringotts, the old families didn’t trust the goblins that much. They all had contingency plans and stockpiles of gold hidden around the country “just in case.”

Hermione had captured several such purebloods in the past - well, future, but her past - and ransacked their memories for the exact methods needed to get at each cache of goodies. The only problem was that most of them required a blood confirmation before anyone could access it.

This was, in all honesty, the trickiest part of Hermione’s plan, and the part she had agonized over for several months before finally picking the best idea of the lot.

Bellatrix Lestrange had known of an old Black family stash that was surprisingly close to Hogwarts, buried beneath one of their commercial properties in Hogsmeade. It had been established several centuries ago, during a rebuilding of the town after a magical catastrophe, and never emptied until Bellatrix did so herself soon after being released from Azkaban.

Other families had stashes with less complex wards, and there were plenty with more gold, but the Black cache had the best chance of success, from Hermione’s point of view. There were five so-called pure Blacks currently of Hogwarts age in this time period. There were also another eight whose mothers were Blacks, and didn’t have the family name, but whose blood should be just as effective. Further, there were over a dozen adults running around with Black blood right now. They were the most prolific family on her list at this point in time.

While the Malfoys had far more money in each of their caches, since Lucius hadn’t drained them yet, there were only three potential blood members of that family that she could use to access them. Lucius, his father Abraxus, and his aunt Lucinda Nott. Many of the other families were in similar situations, so the Blacks were Hermione’s best chance at finding a blood donor.

In a week, most of Hermione’s targets would be returning to Hogwarts, and then it was simply a matter of making her move. While grabbing someone like Bellatrix, imperioing her to help, and then obliviating her, had a sense of sweet justice to it, Hermione knew that the seventh year girl would be a hard target. So would Narcissa, as the third year would have several family members watching out for her.

Andromeda was a fifth year prefect, and thus easier to catch out at night while on patrol, but also one Hermione would rather not hurt. She would do it, of course, if she needed to, but she would regret the outcome.

Regulus was only a first year, and thus would be fairly easy to grab as he made his way to the boats, but he would be missed at the sorting, and Hermione wasn’t sure she could get through all of the wards that quickly. If only she could collect the blood and use it at her leisure, but it had to be fresh!

Sirius was a distinct possibility, as was James Potter, whose mother was a Black. Both were fourth years, and mischievous, and might even come with her willingly, just for the adventure. It was certainly something that Harry or Ron would have done. Sirius was also preferable, like Regulus, as he was a Black on both sides.

Of the other cousins, there were two more prefects, like Andromeda, who could be caught on patrol, and several younger snakes that Hermione had no trouble with kidnapping. She would simply need to wait and see what opportunity presented itself first.

In the meantime, she studied her plans, and gathered the necessary tools for her next ritual working.

Hermione thought her luck must be in, as it was a mere hour after the feast that a quartet of boys snuck into the Honeydukes passage. As her wards alerted her to the movement in the tunnel, Hermione finalized her plans.

She had no need for Lupin or Pettigrew at this point, though it wouldn’t hurt to get the werewolf on her side. As she appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, she could pretend to be a prefect, but somehow she doubted that appealing to a sense of authority would work with this quartet. Nor would an attempt to blackmail them for their late night wanderings.

No, intrigue was the best with this group.

As soon as the boys emerged into Honeyduke’s basement, Hermione’s specialty ward triggered, freezing all of them in place.

“Congratulations,” she said from the darkness. Her cloak was charmed to both disguise the tone of her voice and also to disperse it around the room, making it impossible to tell where exactly she was hiding. “You have passed the first test.”

Their eyes were the only things that could move, but the differences in the boys were still clear to see. Pettigrew was terrified, as well he should be. Hermione was going to nip that relationship in the bud as soon as possible. Lupin was scared, but that was more to do with the potential for trouble, Hermione believed. The wolf couldn’t smell her, thanks to her cloak, but the boy lived with a certain amount of daily fear of discovery. Anyone unknown would agitate him until he knew that they meant his wolf no harm. Black and Potter were nervous, but excited at the change to their routine night.

“Sirius, son of Orion and Walburga, and James, son of Dorea,” Hermione continued. “You have been chosen to embark on a special quest by virtue of your blood. Toujours Pur” Three sets of eyes showed calculation, while Pettigrew remained terrified. “Only those brave of heart and cunning of mind have a chance to complete this quest. One more among your number qualifies, and may accompany you if you deem him trustworthy in this matter.”

A quiet spell had Pettigrew stupefied, another released all four from petrification, and the rat collapsed to the floor instantly. “The other is hardly worth mentioning, but must be left behind,” She continued, her tone clearly conveying how unimpressed she was with Pettigrew.

Freed from their restraints, the remaining three boys spared a bare glance at their friend as they huddled together. Backs together, wands out, eyes exchanging significant glances that spoke volumes. The actions reminded Hermione of happier times with a different trio, though it was hard to classify Harry’s repeated fights for his life as “happy.”

“How do we know you are trustworthy?” Sirius finally declared himself spokesman for the trio.

“An excellent question, little Gryffindor. Or perhaps that should be Mister Padfoot?”

A look through the school records had shown that the boys were admitted to the infirmary in third year in various states of partial transformation. They might not have completed the transformations yet, but they should certainly know what their animagus forms were and have come up with the nicknames at this point. “The full moon isn’t until the twelfth this month. Isn’t it a little early for yourself and Mister Prongs to be prowling with Mister Moony?”

For the first time that night, Black and Potter displayed fear, though Hermione couldn’t tell if it was because of her knowledge of things they thought secret, or because of the implicit threat to Lupin.

“I have no intention of revealing Mister Moony’s condition, I assure you,” she offered. “Nor do I intend to get any of you in trouble for your transfiguration prowess. As I said, I am here to offer you a quest that you are uniquely suited for.”

“Because of our Black family blood,” Potter said. Lupin may be the brains of the group, but Potter hadn’t been named Head Boy purely because of nepotism. Hermione had dropped the hints, and they had picked up on them.

“Yes. You must realize that I had my pick of Blacks at Hogwarts alone, but I believe that either you or Mister Padfoot would be uniquely suited for this quest for other reasons. Namely the same instincts that saw you here in my trap. And on your first night back, no less. Surely you could have gotten sweets yesterday, or on the train today.” Hermione allowed her amusement to leak through her voice.

“We weren’t stealing sweets,” Black tried to protest.

“No?” Hermione affected surprise. “I had assumed that if you were just out for general fun you would have slipped beneath the whomping willow and gone to the shack instead. Did you simply choose the one-eyed witch passage because it was easier to get to without going outside?”

The trio was again gobsmacked by her knowledge, but Hermione wanted to hurry things along. She didn’t have all night, after all. “Regardless of your intentions, I have come to you with the offer of a quest. Should both of you refuse it, I shall simply approach the next Black on my list. Perhaps the Ravenclaw prefect: she should be patrolling now. Of course, the littlest snake would be suitable too. I hadn’t wanted to delay him from his Sorting, but now that he is tucked in bed in the dungeons, it would be easy to… acquire him.”

As she had known it would, the threats against Andy and Regulus immediately spurred Sirius to action. “You leave my little brother alone!” he shouted. Fortunately, Hermione’s ward-work had included silencing spells.

“Ah, your impetuous Gryffindor nature shines through, Mister Padfoot,” she smirked. “Had I not known which relation you cared the most for, I certainly do now. But, as I said before, you and Mr. Prongs were my first choice. Now, will you accept the quest, or shall I leave you to your business?”

There was a short whispered conference, which seemed to mainly consist of Lupin objecting and offering a brief concern for Pettigrew, before the trio turned back to her. “We accept.” Black said.

“Excellent.” Hermione stepped from the shadows where she had been hiding. Her cloak's hood was pulled over her head, hiding most of her face, but beneath it she was glamoured with the classic Black looks; black hair and gray eyes. If the boys did catch sight of her full face, they would never suspect she wasn't a Black. “I will assume that you have your wonderful cloak on you, Mister Prongs, but I believe it shall be easier if I disillusion us.”

As the boys again registered their shock at her knowledge, Hermione quickly cast a tether charm on each boy before disillusioning them. She didn’t trust the boys not to wander off, but also each should recognize the familiar feeling of a tether, and know now that it was impossible anyway. From the disgruntled look on Potter’s face, she had guessed correctly. “Now, unless you want to still be here at breakfast, we must go,” Hermione warned them.

The boys obediently followed her out of Honeydukes, and, though they had a tendency to range slightly, testing the limits of her tether, they all followed her to the building that housed the Black cache. From the feelings that flowed along the tether, Hermione could tell that neither Black boy had any idea as to the significance of this location yet.

Once inside the house, whose residents Hermione had already spelled asleep earlier that night, it was a simple task to enter the visible basement. There, however, the “quest” began. “Now, this is where your unique skills come into play,” Hermione told the boys. A wave of her wand canceled the disillusion, another dropped the tethers. “What can you tell me about this room?”

The boys looked around for a moment, exploring, before Lupin spoke up. “There are heavy wards here.” He looked a little uncomfortable, and Hermione guessed that the wolf could sense the heavy magic.

“Good,” she praised.

“Now, if you were interested in hiding something in this room, and warding the shit out of it, what would you do?”

“Hide the entrance,” Potter replied immediately.

“Put up decoys,” Black added.

“You’d need some kind of indicator for yourself as to what was the correct space,” Lupin said thoughtfully.

“Exactly!” Hermione approved. “Now, a true Black should be able to get in; how would you ensure that?”

“Blood wards,” Black replied promptly.

“Yes. And what can happen if someone unworthy triggers blood wards?” Hermione asked.

Black immediately looked disgusted. “Sometimes not much, but sometimes it can be really gruesome.”

“And if we were to assume that Aunt Wallaburga placed these wards, instead of, say, Aunt Dorea or Aunt Leona?”

Potter also looked disgusted. “Aunt Wallaburga would want the worst to happen to you,” he said quietly.

“She wouldn’t even let all Blacks in,” Black added. “She would make it so that anyone who wasn’t her would get hurt too.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded. “So you see why we cannot just spread ou- your blood around the room and hope for the best, yes?”

All three nodded, and she could tell also that they were believing that she was also a Black. The use of the familiar Aunt as well as her “slip” convinced the boys that she was a member of their family. They might even assume that the cloak was to hide some horribly disfigurement she had gained from trying the wards on her own. Had they seen her body before she came to the past, it would have certainly affirmed that belief.

“So, what do you need to do before you accidentally trip one of her wards?” she asked.

The boys looked around, thoughtfully. To her delight, Lupin even began subtly sniffing the air as he wandered. She had hoped that he would be with the duo when she caught them; the wolf’s senses could only help her mission.

Finally, Black gravitated towards the same wall that Lupin was sniffing. It was the one that Hermione believed contained the decoy. “There are three different magical scents here,” Lupin said quietly, thoughtfully.

“One general, one decoy, one correct,” Hermione confirmed.

“This wall contains one source,” he said, slightly more confidently.

“There’s a shift in the pattern of the wallpaper,” Black said, pointing to the borders along the ceiling and floor. “There’s an extra snake, which would make you think that this was the right wall, because Slytherin.”

“But though Aunt Walburga does care about Slytherin, there is something she cares about more,” Hermione prompted gently.

“The Black family name,” Black confirmed. “This is the decoy wall. A Slytherin, or a Black who didn’t know her as well would think that they found the clue.”

“Well done,” Hermione praised. “I do believe that is the decoy as well.”

Lupin moved around the room, continuing to sniff. Finally, he zeroed in on a dusty corner opposite of the decoy wall. “This is the other concentrated smell,” he informed them. “If that is the decoy…”

“This is likely to be the true access,” Hermione concluded.

Potter had been looking at one of the walls that comprised the corner, and he pointed at another flaw in the border. “There, where it overlaps? It looks like just a mistake where they ran out of paper, but if you look closely, it resembles a fleur de lis.”

“And the Blacks were originally from France,” Black confirmed excitedly. “The fleur de lis is still part of the crest!”

“A sign for Blacks, not just Slytherins,” Hermione mused. She cast a spell on herself that duplicated the one on magical eyes. Unlike casting a revealing spell at the wall, which could trip traps of its own, casting upon herself allowed Hermione to see what was hidden behind the wall without tripping its protections.

“There is a crack behind the wallpaper, leading straight down from the fleur de lis,” she said, following it with her gaze. “It seems to have a matching crack in the corner.”

“A hidden door!” Black immediately guessed.

“But how to open it?” Potter asked.

The quartet considered this in silence for a moment. Hermione had gotten everything that she could from Bellatrix, but there had been certain secrecy spells that even legilimency and veritaserum were unable to overcome. Hermione knew that there was a decoy, and knew that Black blood was needed to access the chamber, and that a spell needed to be said, but the exact order of the last two items was unknown.

“This is where we need Black blood, right?” Lupin finally said.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “And to cast a spell, Soumettre a sacrefiz; remettre décernez d’or a moi..”

“That means ‘accept this sacrifice and deliver the golden prize to me,” Potter said. Clearly Dorea had continued the tradition of teaching young Blacks French, even though she had married a Potter.

“It does,” Hermione confirmed again. “Now, logically, which would we need to do first?”

The boys considered that. “Well, we can’t just put blood on the whole wall, right?” Black said, thinking aloud. “My first thought would be the fleur de lis, but it could also be along either of the cracks.”

“Or a completely random place, knowing Aunt Walburga,” Potter chimed in.

“Right,” Black agreed. “So the spell might reveal the location to you. Sort of like, put your blood here. It might glow or something.”

Hermione stayed silent, letting the boys work through it themselves.

“Now consider the reverse,” Lupin instructed.

“We put blood on the door, which unlocks it, basically,” Potter began. “Then say the spell, and it actually unlocks it.”

“So, the question becomes, is the blood the revealer and the magic the key, or is the magic the revealer and the blood the key?” Lupin asked.

Black and Potter exchanged a glance. “Blood is the key,” they said in unison.

“Are you sure?” Hermione had her own theory, but wanted to hear how confident the boys were.

Both nodded. “Blood is everything to my mother,” Black said.

“She even thinks that a squib who is from the Black family is better than one from another family,” Potter added. “She said so one time; mum told me.”

“That’s right,” Black confirmed. “I was looking at the family tree, and she was lecturing me on who had been blasted off and why. She pointed to a blast mark that was a squib, and told me he was a disgrace. ‘Still a Black, of course, so better than those other riff-raff, but not nearly good enough to remain on the tapestry.’” The last, said in eerie mimicry of a painting Hermione once knew, was enough to make up her mind.

“Well then, let’s try the spell first,” she said. Hermione pulled a piece of chalk from her pocket and drew a square on the floor, a decent distance back from the corner in question. Then, sketching a few runes at the corners, she quickly raised a protective ward. “Inside please, Mr. Moony,” she said gently. “Don’t touch the lines.”

Lupin carefully stepped into the protected space, shivering as the magic washed over him. Hermione turned back to the other two. “Only one can open the door at a time. I shall teach you the spell, and the other shall join myself and Mr. Moony in the protective ward. Which of you shall be brave enough to try this?”

Potter and Black exchanged quick glances, then unexpectedly turned back to her. “When did Aunt Walburga set this up?” Potter asked.

Hermione wasn’t sure that Walburga had ever even touched the cache, especially since Bellatrix had known about it. It was likely passed through her side of the family, rather than Walburga’s. “Why?”

Black squirmed. “Well, if she hasn’t been by in a few years, then I’m the best choice. I’m her son, and I’m a Black on both sides.” Hermione nodded with this logic. It was, in fact, why she preferred him or Regulus for this task. “But she blasted me off the tapestry when I was sorted into Gryffindor, so if she’s been here in the last three years, then she might have added something specifically against me, and so James would be better.”

Hermione rocked back on her heels. “Ah, I see.” Thankfully, their concerns weren’t valid, though she could see how they would think so, with the tales she had spun. “Fortunately, it has been many years. Since well before you were eleven,” she assured him. “I take it then that Mr. Padfood will be the volunteer?”

After exchanging a quick glance, both boys nodded. “Good. The spell, as I said, is “Soumettre a sacrefiz; remettre décernez d’or a moi..” She waited until Sirius had repeated it perfectly three times before nodding her acceptance. “Vey well.”

Slowly, trying not to appear threatening, Hermione pulled from her pocket the kitchen knife she had pilfered from the upstairs tenants earlier. She would have preferred a ritual knife, but transfiguring one would risk the magic of the change interfering with the ritual. Remus inhaled sharply, and Hermione realized her mistake. She had chosen this knife because it was pure silver, and thus better than a blended metal for her purposes. She quickly passed the knife to Sirius before turning back to the freaked out werewolf. “I apologize Mister Moony; I should have warned you in advance. Unfortunately, I can’t currently access my ritual knives, and so silver is the next best option for us. However, it will remain out there with Mister Padfoot, while you shall remain inside the protective wards.”

Remus swallowed nervously, but nodded his understanding. Hermione handed the knife to Sirius, who tucked it into his pocket.

“Now, Mister Prongs and myself shall join you, and Mister Padfoot will attempt the next step.” Following her instructions, James quickly moved to Remus’ side, and Hermione pretended not to see him grasp his friends’ hand in reassurance. Then with a muttered enchantment she quickly raised the protective wards from the chalk lines. Once the slightly simmering magic had fully encompassed them, Hermione nodded at Sirius. “If you would? Cast in a circle, as you would with a magica revelare.”

Sirius returned the nod, clearly trying to mask his own nerves, and faced the wall they had picked. He waved his wand in a circle, focusing on the wall. “Soumettre a sacrefiz; remettre décernez d’or a moi,” he chanted.

The fleur de lis lit up when he completed the circle, and Hermione held her breath. Sirius pulled the knife out of his pocket and sliced his thumb before tucking it away again. Then, reaching up to the fleur de lis, he pressed his hand against it, leaving a smear of blood behind.

As soon as his blood touched the wall, the lines began to glow to Hermione’s mage sight. When the spell was completed, there was a soft rumble and the door materialized. The handle was ornate brass, with an indentation near the top.

Sirius looked reassured. “Just like the Lord’s Study at the Manor,” he said. Hermione had never been to Black Manor, so this was new information. But it seemed to confirm that they had done things correctly so far.

“Blood and spell again?” James asked.

“Yeah, just like the Study,” Sirius said grimly. Then, looking determined, he gripped the handle, placing his thumb in the indent. “Soumettre a sacrefiz; remettre décernez d’or a moi,” He repeated steadily. Hermione didn’t even hear his voice waver to indicate when the handle had pricked his thumb.

On the last syllable, there was a flash of light. Hermione had halfway expected some kind of reaction, and was prepared. “Don’t let go!” she said quickly.

Once her eyes cleared, she saw that Sirius had indeed taken a half step backwards, but had not let go of the door. “Can you open it?” she asked.

Sirius stepped back into place and tried the handle. To Hermione’s glee, the handle clicked, and the boy began to tug the door open.

Quickly blinking back her mage sight, Hermione looked for the next trap, but there didn’t appear to be one. Still, she held out her hand to stop James when he would have moved forward. “What do you see?” she asked Sirius.

He peered into the space. “Er… nothing?”

“Cast a lumos?” Remus suggested.

“I don’t think that would hurt,” Hermione agreed. “I need to maintain these wards, so both of you prepare to shield Mister Padfoot if needed.”

She heard James and Remus drawing their wands, and nodded to Sirius.

Looking a bit less worried, he turned back to the darkness. ”Lumos.” Nothing happened immediately, and Hermione could feel the tension leaving all three teens. Sirius peered around his wand for a long moment. “It looks like a broom cupboard, but empty,” he finally said.

“All this work for an empty cupboard?” James said dubiously.

“A marauder, taking something at face value and giving up so quickly?” Hermione tossed back.

Sirius immediately drew himself up, and from the slight sounds behind her Hermione assumed the other two were doing the same. “A revealing spell?” Remus was the first to offer a suggestion.

Sirius shrugged and cast it, then shook his head.

“More blood?” James said.

Sirius shot him a dirty look. “You offering?”

James snorted but didn’t move around Hermione.

“Another spell?” Remus asked.

“Or a password!” Sirius’s eyes suddenly gleamed.

Hermione heard what sounded like a forehead slap behind her.

“And what password would you use?” she asked.

“Tujours Pur,” both Black heirs said almost in unison.

There was another flash of light, and Sirius almost released the door; catching it at the last moment.

Hermione could tell from the sudden change in light that the room was now full of gold. The glow of it illuminated Sirius’s face as his jaw dropped.

“Hold on,” Hermione warned, in case any of the boys were thinking of moving. She thought for a moment before deciding on a plan of action. “I’ll have to drop the wards for a second, unless any of you are up to transfiguring animate creatures from a heterogeneous source?”

“I can do a mouse from most things,” James admitted after a moment. Hermione remembered that one of the few things Harry had been told about his father was that he was a Transfiguration prodigy.

“Perfect,” Hermione said. “Got a sock to spare? Or something in your pockets?”

There was a bit of shuffling behind her for a moment before James muttered, “Rodere”. That was followed by quiet squeaking.

“Levitate it over to Mister Padfoot,” Hermione instructed. “Grab it without losing hold of the door,” she warned him.

Remus cast the spell this time, and a small brown and white mouse was soon bobbing across the room. Sirius easily caught it in his off hand before looking back to Hermione for instructions.

“Well, toss it through the door,” she said, as though it was the most obvious thing ever. “Try to aim for some of the gold, to make sure it isn’t cursed to the touch.”

Sirius’ eyes widened in realization. He turned back to the cache, eyed his target briefly, then gave an underhanded toss that sent the mouse flying out of sight.

There were a few faint squeaks, and what Hermione would have sworn was a clink, and then Sirius’s grin widened. “Nothing!” he crowed.

“Don’t move just yet,” Hermione warned. “We’ve safely performed magic and tested the door’s defenses, but there’s one more thing to check. “Mister Prongs, can we get a block of wood or stone? Something to act as a doorstopper?”

Again the shuffle, as something else was scrounged up, and then he muttered “lithos”. This was followed by a quiet “oof,” as Remus was clearly unprepared for the weight of the rock. Nevertheless, he managed to levitate it over to Sirius, without dropping it on his foot, and set it down relatively close to the door. Sirius then nudged it into position, carefully testing the weight before letting go. After a minute of holding their breath, the door was still propped open, the mouse had run back into the basement, and no magical traps appeared to have been triggered.

Hermione let out a quiet breath of relief and lowered the safety wards. “Thank you for your assistance, Missers Padfoot, Prongs, and Mooney,” she said formally. “Now I shall let you return to your night’s plans. However, I dare say that you will enjoy discovering your reward on the twelfth.”

Remus, of course, immediately picked up the significance of that date. “The full moon? Why?”

Hermione shrugged. “It will take me roughly that long to arrange for your rewards to be transported to the Shack.”

The boys looked a little disappointed - probably thinking about a share of the gold they had all now looked at - but the promise of future adventures seemed to be balancing it out.

Scuffing her feet through the protective chalk lines on the floor to completely break the enchantment, Hermione prepared for her hastily deployed Plan Tealeaves. “Of course, if you’d rather just have a few galleons…”

“No, no, we’ll wait!” Sirius said hastily, an adventurous gleam in his eye.

“Very good, then you should go-” Hermione froze, adopting a slack expression and staring off into the middle distance. Modulating her voice to sound like Trelawney had in Harry’s memories, she chanted, “BETRAYAL DRAWS NEAR, ERE DEATH IS EATEN. DESTRUCTION SHALL BEFALL THE SON OF CLAY. INJUSTICE SHALL BEFALL THE SON OF STARS. EXILE SHALL BEFALL THE SON OF THE MOON. THIS SHALL BE TRUE UNLESS FOUR BECOME THREE. BETRAYAL DRAWS NEAR, ERE DEATH IS EATEN.” pausing for a moment, then shaking her head slightly for effect, Hermione continued normally. “Then you should go back to Honeydukes and retrieve your friend, unless you need to be escorted back?” she ended on a teasing note, twitching her fingers as though holding a tether again.

“We’ll be fine on our own,” James finally said, after sharing significant glances with the other two. “We are marauders, after all.”

Hermione chuckled. “That you are. I’ll see you around... cousins.”

The boys scampered out of the basement, and Hermione’s spying charms cast on them picked up their conversation about her “true prophecy”. Remus had picked out their identities as the three sons immediately, and Sirius confirmed that her actions were in line with real seers, of which there had been a handful in the Black line. James had quickly figured out the clue about Pettigrew needing to go, and was already planning how to drop the rat without him revealing their secrets.

Hermione smirked to herself. One of her presents for Remus would be a book on secrecy spells and hexes. Hopefully, they would take the bait, and be very careful who they trusted in the future. Without the rat in the picture, there was a chance that Harry wouldn’t lose his parents as a baby. Of course, that wasn’t the only change Hermione intended to make. Especially now that she had the gold to make her plans a reality.

Chapter Text

“Did you hear that the new Dark Lord is actually a half-blood? His father was a muggle!”

“Not even a mudblood? An actual muggle?”

“That’s what she said!”

Hermione smirked as she slipped up the stairs to the seventh floor. Her gossip spell - a variant on one of the twins’ pranks - was set up closest to the Slytherin dorms, but there were enough whispers near the classrooms, or the library in this case, to hopefully reach those of other Houses.

The spell created the illusion of someone speaking around a corner or inside an empty classroom, but whoever evesdropped upon them would never find the speaker. Variations in vocal tone cycled through, to ensure that it was always a different “person” being overheard each time.

Hermione had created nine main gossip chains about Mouldymort - that he was a halfblood; that he was secretly actually a muggle-born; that he had been raised by muggles; that he tortured his followers; that his stance on blood-traitors was just a way to kill more purebloods; that he wasn’t actually the heir of Slytherin; that he branded his followers like slaves or cattle, making them lower than even house elves; that anyone who followed him would have to cede their power as head of house to him as their liege lord; and that he was actually a puppet of Dumbledore.

She had also created a handful about Dumbledore and others in power, to mask her true intentions. And any pain they caused for the Headmaster was just a bonus. Each gossip chain had a handful of variants, and the complex runework she had adapted meant that the spell “recognized” eavesdroppers, and ensured that each person heard every single different piece of gossip before getting a repeat.

She had already walked past two different groups of students gossiping about her whispers, and these patrolling Ravenclaw prefects had been the third. Rumors were rampant in Hogwarts, even in this time period, and Hermione’s spell just dictated the content of the usual gossip. If it stopped even one person from becoming a Death Eater, she would consider it a success, though of course she was aiming for higher numbers than that.

To this end, she was also carefully selecting the “gifts” she would leave for the marauders next week. A book on the old liege system had already been added, as she was sure that the boys would taunt their opponents with it in their next fight, reinforcing her whispers. Now, she was slipping into the Room of Requirement to grab a few more treats for them.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to discover, when she was done emptying the Blacks’ Hogsmeade cache, that she now had just shy of a million galleons. Since she could rent an apartment for about 5 galleons a month, or buy a small cottage for about ten thousand, this put her in a very good position.

She could even afford a few of the more illicit services that the goblins offered. One advantage to Griphook’s betrayal in Gringotts was that Harry had been owed restitution from the goblins once it came to light. Access to their library was one of the clauses Hermione had included, and she had not been idle with her research.

Almost no one outside of the bank knew that the Goblins could create a fake background that would stand up to the strongest Ministry scrutiny. Hermione would need a name and face that she could show in public in this time period, and the goblins could provide it.

After a few days of research, Hermione found exactly what she needed. One Griselda Nettlebriar had passed away a month ago, leaving no known family. She was an elderly pureblood widow, but not from one of the rich or important houses. She was probably related to several other purebloods, as that was somewhat inevitable, but none had a really good claim on her estate. Hermione quickly made her way to Gringotts.

Several hours later, Hermione left the bank as the newly minted Emelia Hermione Nettlebriar. It turned out that Griselda, now her great aunt, had not made a new will since the death of her husband, at which time her youngest child was still alive. With him having passed on in the interim, the will could not be executed properly. Enter young Emelia, her great niece from Canada.

It had cost Hermione almost a quarter of her gold stash, but she now had all of the legal paperwork to prove her claim to the Nettlebriar vaults and country cottage. There had only been about seventy galleons in the vault, which Hermione decided to leave alone for now. The cottage and the connections were the important part. If anyone at the Ministry investigated, Hermione had a foolproof set of documents to prove her heritage. She even had NEWT scores from the Canadian Ministry, and the list of tutors who had home-schooled her. Gringotts inheritance tests and family blood wards would even show her to be the pureblood Emelia Nettlebriar, daughter of Amos and Hermione Nettlebriar, granddaughter of Hortensia and Leontes, the younger squib brother of Griselda’s husband. The fact that only Griselda and “Emelia” were real people would never be known outside of the small Gringotts office Hermione had been ensconced in all day.

It didn’t take long to move Hermione’s stash from the Hogsmeade cave to her new cottage in Blackpool, and to arrange the cottage to her linking. Now that she had a more secure base of operations, Hermione could begin targeting the other Death Eater stashes she knew about, and enact several of her plans to target actual Death Eaters. Plus, she finally had a Gringotts account, so she could begin to invest the rest of her fortune into the companies she had researched.

Hermione took a brief moment to admire her handiwork in the shrieking shack. There were three trunks (scavenged from the room of requirement) sitting in the least-damaged room on the upper floor. The boys might have to do a little searching for them, but that was part of the fun.

Each trunk was charmed to match one boy’s magical signature, which Hermione had collected the other night, and when touched by the right boy, it would display their animal form embossed on the crest. Their touch would also signal her own message to appear on the wall. “Thank you again, ~Miss Corvus.”

Hermione’s form was, in fact, not a raven; she had chosen that name in memory of Harry, who had never been able to earn his marauder name from the originals. But it suited her purposes for now. And if the boys couldn’t figure out the trick to opening their trunks, they didn’t deserve their rewards.

Remus’s trunk held several books, including the one on secrecy spells that Hermione intended him to use on Pettigrew. He also received a set of advanced arithmancy charts that she knew he couldn’t otherwise afford. Finally, she left the brewing instructions and ingredients for a very specific potion. Hermione had considered just providing a brewed sample, but she doubted the boys would trust that. By providing the recipe instead, they could research and brew it themselves, meaning that they were more likely to trust it and actually use it.

The potion was one that had been developed as an addition to wolfsbane, but which would work without it as well. It eased the strain on the body, making the transition less painful. It also reduced the chance of self-injury during the transformation, which reduced the odds of the werewolf smelling its “human” blood and going into a frenzy. Without whipping wolfsbane out of thin air, it was the best she could do to help the werewolf.

James received the books on liege service that tied in to Hermione’s whisper charms, as well as several on advanced transfiguration, and one, almost joke book, on properly wooing a witch. Adult Sirius had shared that Lily caught James’ eye in third year, and he started thinking about pursuing her in fourth. With that in mind, Hermione cheekily wrote in the inside cover, “For Lily,” and then circled the chapter in the table of contents called, “Respect her friends and companions”. It was cheeky, sure, but if it helped Harry’s parents get together, Hermione wasn’t against giving the past a little nudge.

In addition to books, James got a set of Potter family tarot cards, an antique broom, and a sheathed sword with the Potter crest, all of which Hermione had found in the room of requirement. Sirius had also mentioned that Charlus Potter, and after him, James, collected brooms, so Hermione thought to give his collection a little boost. The other two were Potter heirlooms, lost for decades at least, and now restored to their rightful family.

Sirius was, in some ways, the easiest to reward. The summer that Hermione had lived in Grimmauld, before Harry arrived, she had spent several hours talking with the marauder, trying to learn what she could about Harry’s godfather. From this she knew that he had become an auror, as had James, because they felt obligated to help in the war. However, Sirius’ passion, which he hoped to pursue again once he regained his freedom, was enchanting. Despite the war, Sirius had achieved his Runes mastery shortly before that fateful Halloween, which was the first step to gaining his Enchanting Mastery.

So, for young Sirius, in addition to a few Black family books that had been lost in the Room of Requirement, she added a few advanced texts on enchanting. She also included a few enchanted objects she had found that he could have fun playing with, and the notes on the ward schema she had been working on for her own runic mastery. When imbued into a piece of cloth, any enchanted object placed on the cloth would then be easier to analyze and tinker with. It should help him examine the objects she had given him, presuming he could complete the schema. It shouldn’t be that hard, given his interests, and this way he would feel that he had contributed to the design.

All three trunks also held pranks, the highest quality wand holsters, and a few random pieces of junk from the room of requirement that meant nothing, just to keep the boys guessing. Hermione knew that it was just the kind of joke that adult Sirius would have loved.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Hermione cast a quick spell that cleansed the room of her magical signature. Then, she popped into her robin form and flew up to the rafters, where she had already built a cozy nest. Hermione couldn’t help but want to see and hear their reactions to the gifts, though she intended to leave before Remus transformed.

The boys arrived in the shack just after dinner, and Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see that Pettigrew wasn’t with them. She would later discover that he had “accidentally” ended up in the hospital wing this night, leaving the trio free to discover their gifts and play in the moonlight without him.

Her evesdropping spells caught the boys doing a systematic search of the house, and it wasn’t long before they found the room with their reward. Hermione was pleased that they were cautious, casting revealing spells all around, and they did indeed catch the prank on the floor that would have turned their hair pink. It only took a bit of shuffling for them to figure out the secret to identifying the trunks, and for each boy to find his own.

There was a quiet, “I knew it” from James when her thank you note was revealed, leading Hermione to believe that there had been some heavy discussion about her having a marauder name or form.

For the next hour or so, the boys picked through their trunks, showing off their prizes and pondering over some of the less obvious items. More than once Hermione heard a variant of “how did she know?” and was pleased that her information from adult Sirius and Remus was so accurate. She was also smugly pleased that Miss Corvus would appear even more all-knowing to the boys, and hoped that this reinforced their belief in her “prophecy”.

The biggest reaction was when James opened the relationship book and yelped before slamming it closed, prompting the other two to investigate. The ribbing he received was tinged with awe at her omniscience.

The “wolfnip” potion, as Tonks had dubbed it so long ago, was also poured over, and Hermione was pleased to note that the boys seemed to have bypassed suspicion of her and her recipe and progressed straight to finding a time and place to brew it. Apparently she had done enough to assuage their natural suspicion of her so their desire to help their friend was stronger. That boded well for Remus’s health and future transformations.

Once the boys had retreated back downstairs to prepare for the moonrise, Hermione transformed back temporarily, cast another message on the wall just to screw with their heads, and then flew out the window and off to take care of the next thing on her 'to do' list.

After much thought, and reviewing several conversations with Harry from their time, Hermione had come to a decision about Snape. And, just as with her own stubborn wizard, she thought that the best way to get to him was through his best friend.

It was for that reason that Lily found a note on her bedside table the morning after the full moon.

Evans,

I know that sending anonymous notes is highly suspect, but I don’t want to watch this happen to another pair of friends. There are a few things that you should know about the world you are currently living in.

Pretty much all purebloods, and halfbloods of the correct persuasion (read: Slytherin) seem to now receive a visitor the summer after their fourth year. This is especially true of any with a particular talent that has brought them to the attention of Old Sluggy.

The so-called Dark Lord Voldemort then offers them a few choices, none of which include freedom. Or, at least, not for long, and not without a hideous death awaiting them. You are either his minion or his enemy, no exceptions. Neutrality is a myth to be subverted.

After his visit, your friend will be watched carefully, especially by those spies outside of his own House. Every interaction with you will be judged, and if he is found to be too close to you, he will be punished. They’ll encourage him to call you a mudblood, to put you in your place. He’ll be pressured to ignore you at best and bully you at worst.

If history repeats itself, then eventually they’ll push him too far, and in a moment of overwhelm, or out of desperation to protect you, he’ll turn on you in public. You’ll then have a choice: accept the break and leave him to fall to the Dark Lord, or make his struggle harder by stubbornly refusing to be pushed away.

I wish you better luck than I when this happens.

-C

Of course, Hermione knew that if someone had given her a note like this, she would have had four alternate scenarios worked out by lunch, refusing to follow either of the paths that the letter instructed. If Lily was half as smart and stubborn as people fondly remembered, she should do the same. With luck, and with James following the books’ instructions and backing off, Lily would be able to save Severus, denying both sides their spy, and the Dark Lord the benefits of a Master Potions brewer. It should also keep him from getting caught under Dumbledore’s thumb, and thus making a generation of students absolutely miserable.

Snape may or may not be saved, but he would have a chance. And if he did become a Death Eater, at least Lily would know why he had turned on her.

Hermione was now able to have the Daily Prophet delivered to the Nettlebriar cottage every day, and she read over each issue carefully. Three days after the full moon, she saw the announcement buried deep inside that covered the charitable mission in Albania being undertaken by Abraxus Malfoy and Telemandus Nott later in the month.

It was the kind of thing that Lucius Malfoy and Marcus Nott would do while she was in school. The trip was about something dark, of course, and likely at the Dark Lord’s bidding, but by saying it was for charity, they got brownie points with the Ministry and the public. The reason it wasn’t blasted on the front page in advance was because they didn’t want anyone looking too deeply at their plans, or offering to come along. After they returned the fanfare would be there, but for now it was more subtle.

For Hermione, this meant that the adult Nott and Malfoy men would be out of the country for a week, while their children were in Hogwarts. This was her best chance to hit their secret gold caches. Retreating to her “office”, as Hermione called the war room she had created in a nice sitting room upstairs, she began to plan.

Hermione curled up in the window seat of her library and sipped some soothing mint tea. Outside, the rain was pounding against the glass, creating a deep counterpoint to the crackling fire behind her. It was the perfect kind of morning to curl up with a book, and in the past Hermione would have been doing that exact thing. Days when she could just relax like that had been few and far between during the war; the last time she had completely relaxed was probably when she was 20. After that, even when she was “relaxing”, the war was still prodding at her mind.

Now, with literally decades at her disposal, Hermione should have had all the time in the world to sit and relax. And yet she found her book closed in her lap, her brain pouring over her recent progress and next steps.

She had successfully registered herself at the ministry after they finally wised up to the discrepancy in Griselda Nettlebriar’s will. Hermione, or rather, Emelia, had used the excuse of being Canadian (thanks to a simple accent charm) to excuse her ignorance of British Ministry policy and explain why she hadn’t come in sooner.

Everything was now officially hers, and Hermione had deposited her “savings” into the family vault. No one but her knew that these “savings” had come from the Malfoy, Nott, Black, and Rookwood family stashes. Any future gold stashes she hit would be stored at the cottage, unless Hermione could think of a good excuse for another deposit. As it was, she now had a tidy nest egg of about 12 million galleons in her vault, placing her on par with the less wealthy pureblood families. It wasn’t comparable to the probably 100 million in the main Potter or Black vaults, but it was more than a hundred years’ salary at the ministry, so she wouldn’t be wanting any time soon.

She had also invested close to a million galleons, and expected to make a few thousand galleons profit a month - more than enough to live off of.

Hermione had, as new British resident Emelia, made her way through Diagon Alley and its neighbors. With the logical explanation of different weather and styles in England, Emelia had purchased an entire wardrobe, fit for a pureblood young lady. She had “restocked” the family potions lab, chatting cheerfully with the young woman who worked the counter at the apothecary. She also intended to pursue her Mastery, following the story that she had been researching potential Masters in Canada when her great aunt died.

In line with this story, she “added” a few relevant books to the family library at Flourish and Blotts, picked up some “more modern” household objects than Griselda had had, and used her “inheritance” to upgrade her own arithmancy and enchanters kits. She even bought her own owl, since she had “used her roommate’s” in Canada.

All in all, over the course of two weeks, Emelia Nettlebriar did everything that one would expect of a young pureblood woman moving home to take over the family estate from a deceased, elderly relative. She chatted cheerfully with shopkeepers around the alleys, delighting them with her unusual Canadian accent and easily recounting the sorry tale that had led to her inheriting Griselda’s estate. She appeared to be the quintessential naive Hufflepuff, who most purebloods wouldn’t think twice about.

Of course, Hermione had also visited the alleys on other days, wearing the cloak that masked her face and voice, and purchasing some of the less innocent things on her list. A pensive was the most expensive single item, but she also got a fair number of books from the less wholesome bookshops, which cost almost as much as the pensive, all together. Hermione also picked up several less-savory potions ingredients and a new wand. All of Olivanders’ wands were tracked by the Ministry, but it was possible to get a custom one made down on Proxima Alley that wasn’t registered. The first chance she had to leave the country, Hermione would pick up another wand as a backup, as different countries used different woods and cores. It wouldn’t hurt to have a Canadian one to use as Emelia’s, for that matter.

There were also the things that weren’t illegal, but that a young innocent girl like Emelia shouldn’t be concerned with, such as cursebreaking supplies, a foe glass, sneakoscope, and dark detector. Hermione also picked up a Peruvian Viper from the pet shop. She had milked snakes for venom for potions in the past, and though she wouldn’t have Harry there to talk to it, she was still capable on her own. The venom would be useful in creating some of the Peruvian Instant Darkness powder that the twins had invented.

Parchment that could be tied to a magical signature was another thing on her “legal but questionable for Emelia to purchase” list, as were spare wardstones, a massive quantity of runic chalk and blood ink, and a set of ritual calipers.

By mid-October, however, Hermione had firmly established her alter-ego and had also outfitted her cottage with everything she needed that could be obtained in Britain. She had also made good inroads into the room of requirement’s vast collection; particularly in terms of books.

At Hogwarts, Hermione had spread her rumors around like chocolate frogs; befriended the marauders and began their break from the rat; reached out to Lily for Snape’s sake; and connected with the house elves. Save for continuing to foster those relationships, Hermione had no real plans for the school until the summer break. She could possibly work on courting the faculty, or some of the other students, but nothing was set in stone.

Hermione also had lists of gold caches to raid, lists of Death Eaters to take out, lists of ministry workers to investigate, and lists of potential horcrux locations and objects to find. Lists upon lists upon lists all carefully implanted into her mind in the future and then drawn out of her mind into thought spheres over the summer here.

It had seemed so simple, that night she was talking with Harry and George around the fire. Such a simple question: what if they could go back in time? What would they fix first? Obviously the first thing was to save so many lives, but then as the night had worn on, they had started thinking about the bigger picture. The clear favorite was the same that most muggle time-travel stories focused on with relation to Hitler. Go back and kill him as a baby, before he can cause any problems.

Once upon a time Hermione would have argued against infanticide, even in the cases of Hitler and Voldemort, but that Hermione was long since dead. The problem was actually with the limits of time travel itself. Riddle had been born in the 1920s, and therein lay the problem. With the exception of short-duration time turners, most time travel was limited to the life of the traveler. Things like transferring into your younger body and such. If they wanted to come back as a 40 year old 5 year old, that would be the way to go.

To travel back to before you yourself had been born was a much more tricky prospect. Hermione had only ever even encountered three rituals that would even achieve it. The strongest would send a person back as far as they had come forward. So, for example, a twenty year old could go back to twenty years before their birth. As the oldest person in their group at the time was thirty-nine, the farthest back they could go was 1931. While Voldemort would be a child then, he would also be almost impossible to find, having been dispatched to “some” orphanage by that time.

And, of course, that ritual was ridiculously complicated to perform, requiring several ingredients that Hermione didn’t even think existed any more. The slightly more reasonable rituals allowed one to go back up to five years before their birth. So, that night, Harry, George, and Hermione talked about what they would change in the seventies or eighties. The Hogwarts students of the seventies had grown up to be the parents of Harry and their classmates, and the Death Eaters that they had faced, like Lucius Malfoy.

Because of that, most of the conversations revolved around taking out the Death Eaters as students, killing Wormtail before the betrayal could happen, and preventing the creation of the later horcruxes.

At the time, they had been blowing off steam after a rough week, but five years later, when Hermione was all alone, desperately trying to figure out what she should do, those conversations seemed more like a roadmap. It took her a few years to pull off, but she was also able to tweak the formula in order to come back five years and two months before her birth, reasoning that she was a viable baby at that point, and capable of living outside the womb. The arithmancy was murder, but she managed to make it to late July of 1974.

Hermione couldn’t kill Riddle before he became a threat, and she couldn’t kill his first generation of Death Eaters, like Abraxus Malfoy and Telemandus Nott, but oh, she had plans for their sons.

Chapter Text

The more she had worked on her plan, during those dark future days, the more Hermione had realized that she was going to have to take her potion - wizarding for ‘bite the bullet’ - and do what she had always sworn she would never do. She was going to have to bond a House Elf.

Not just one, as it happened, but probably dozens, to really accomplish her goals.

It had taken Hermione several months to reach the conclusion that she had no better option, and to convince herself of the correct morality of her actions, but she had finally solidified the plan. So, while in her Emelia guise, she went to the two more “reputable” House Elf dealers that Light families generally dealt with. Both were at the far end of Diagon Alley, and Dunkirk’s Elf Emporium actually had its entrance on the Covent Alley side of its corner building.

There, posing as Emelia, Hermione enquired after elves that had training with libraries or as research assistants. She also “debated” over getting an all purpose elf, but explained that, for her Mastery studies, having an elf trained in academia was really a far more pressing issue.

Between the two dealers, “Emelia” was presented with four elves who fit her criteria. After interviewing each elf, she decided on Wyrie. While most of the elves that Hermione had encountered were downtrodden or pathetically hopeful, Wyrie vibrated with the same eagerness that Dobby had when speaking to Harry. Her love of books was clear, and had not been beaten out of her by former owners or traders. However, she had clearly been taught better English than Dobby had, as her speech was far clearer.

Hermione considered her two hundred galleons well spent when Wyrie became the official Nettlebriar elf. The one thing Hermione hadn’t been able to account for was the way that the goblin inheritance spells would interact with house-elf magic. But, with so much time in the past to plan, she had prepared for several contingencies.

As soon as the bond took hold, “Emelia” sent Wyrie back to Nettlebriar cottage to await further instructions. Then, Hermione quickly finished up her pleasantries with Mr. Dunkirk before taking her own leave.

At the cottage, Wyrie was waiting as instructed. As soon as Hermione entered her office, the elf popped in. “Wyrie, wonderful,” Hermione started, grabbing a roll of parchment and an ever-full quill. “Among other things I want to study house elves, so I have a few questions for you.”

“Yes Mistress,” Wyrie said obediently.

“Now, who does your magic identify me as?”

Wyrie stared at Hermione for a moment in a slightly disconcerting way, before speaking slowly. “Magics says that you are Mistress Hermi-nee Granger, but magics also say that you are Mistress Emelia Nettlebriar.”

“That’s good to know,” Hermione said. “Thank you Wyrie. Now, before we were bonded, who did your magic say I was?”

Wyrie appeared to think back. “You were Mistress Emelia only, befores,” she said.

“Excellent,” Hermione smiled. “So I appear as the name I am introduced as, unless bonded to an elf?”

Wyrie thought about that for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Mistress.”

“That’s the best case scenario,” Hermione said, gratefully. “Now, let me explain.” She quickly ran Wyrie through her personal history, highlighting the relevant parts of Harry’s relationship with Dobby, then covering Hermione’s return to the past, and her plans for the future.

The house elf was an appreciative audience, her bulbous eyes widening at all the right places. She even gasped once or twice. “Mistress Hermi-nee-lia is so selfless! She gives up her friends and family to come back and save them all!”

Thankful that the elf hadn’t thrown herself at Hermione bawling, the way Dobby would have with Harry, Hermione still appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you, Wyrie,” she said, patting the elf on the shoulder. “And I picked you especially to help me. You’re exactly the kind of elf I was looking for.”

Wyrie’s eyes got impossibly larger, and Hermione had to resist the urge to chuckle at her shock. “I wanted an elf with experience with libraries and researching because I need to do a lot of reading for this plan. The fact that you could read was invaluable to me. I am also going to need other elves to serve other positions of my plan, and I can tell that you will have the attitude and energy I need to command those other elves.” Wyrie was so surprised that she fell back on her rump.

“Me?”

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly, knowing that this conversation with her elf was one of the most important she would have. “There were two other elves who could read and do research, and one of them also read French, which could have been helpful. But I chose you, Wyrie, because of your spirit. You have the fire within you to be my assistant, to carry out my instructions, to direct other elves, to help me change this world. I believe in you, Wyrie.”

There came the crying that echoed Dobby whenever Harry pushed his emotions over the top, and Hermione awkwardly rubbed Wyrie’s back as she sobbed and mumbled about her wonderful mistress.

After a few moments, she calmed down and began to compose herself, and Hermione backed off slightly.

“What can Wyrie do?” she finally asked, a slight quaver in her voice.

“First things first,” Hermione said, “you are going to pick out a uniform for the House of Nettlebriar. I know that some families use tea towels, some use pillowcases, things like that. I want you to pick your own uniform in whatever color you like, and make sure it has the Nettlebriar crest on it. Understood?”

“Yes Mistress Hermi-nee-lia!” Wyrie cried excitedly.

“Good, and let’s go with Mistress Emelia from now on,” Hermione said. “After you pick out your uniform, I will have a list of instructions for you. The first thing will be to read all of my notes, and then you will understand how you can help me.”

“Right away Mistress Emelia!” Wyrie said vigorously before popping away.

Hermione quickly grabbed a fresh parchment and began jotting her notes for Wyrie.

1. Read all notes filed in the teak file cabinet.
2. Make a list of the house elves that you recall from the traders, along with their talents and skills
3. Investigate all elves and their talents/experience that are currently owned by other traders or free
4. Create family trees for prominent wizarding families, especially those on the list of Death Eaters contained in purple file
5. Create house elf family trees, especially for those serving Death Eater families
6. Create lists of families and individuals with feuds or disagreements. Include those who are exiled from families for being squibs, marrying someone their family did not approve of, etc
7. Create map of all wizarding households in Britain
8. Obtain list of current Hogwarts students and their Houses

There would be more in the future, but for now Hermione would acquire more house elves and use them to gain information on the current state of the wizarding world. She had learned quite a bit about house elves in her past, and while they were bound magically to stay loyal to their masters, they were capable of bending those rules if they wanted, as both Dobby and Kreacher had proven.

Subtle questioning of Winky had also proven Hermione’s theory that elves were more than capable of revealing the secrets of those who visited their masters, but who were not bound to them. So, for instance, if Nott visited the Malfoys, Dobby could and would gladly share anything he had said, as long as it didn’t hurt Malfoy directly. Elves still bound to a family wouldn’t be likely to talk to Hermione herself, but her elves were a different matter.

Wyrie quickly popped back into the room, shyly fiddling with the sides of her outfit. It was a wrap-around bungalow apron that appeared to have been fashioned from a pale green tablecloth or runner. The Nettlebriar crest, white with a blue fess and green cressents, was prominently displayed over her heart.

Or, rather, where her heart would be if she was a human, but Hermione had learned that house elves’ hearts were closer to the small of their back, on the right.

“Very nice,” she approved with a nod, before handing over her list to the now-blushing elf. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Yes Mistress Emelia,” Wyrie said with a quick curtsey.

That done, Hermione returned to her own research.

That night, after dinner, Hermione invited Wyrie to meet with her again. Once they were both settled, with Hermione’s quill and stack of parchment at the ready, Hermione carefully broached her next topic.

“Now, Wyrie, I know that many wizards and witches want their elves to tell them what they want to hear, even if it is not the truth. I’m sure that traders train you that way. But I am not that kind of witch. When I ask you something, I want the truth.”

Wyrie looked slightly apprehensive, which Hermione had anticipated. “Wyrie, do elves have ways of sharing memories, the way that wizards can use a pensive or thought sphere?”

“Yes Mistress Emilia,” Wyrie said.

“Good. We are about to create a memory that I want you to be able to share with all of our future elves. Can you do that?”

“Yes Mistress Emilia,” Wyrie nodded, looking slightly less worried.

“Good.” Hermione picked up the first parchment, carefully worded in her past with input from Winky, and saved to a thought sphere for her to transcribe now. “I, Hermione Jane Granger, currently recognized as Emelia Hermione Nettlebriar, do swear the following on my magic and my blood. If an elf in my employ wishes to be bound, I will bond with them. If an elf in my employ wishes to work as a free elf, I will free them without prejudice. Any elf in my employ may change their mind at any time and be freed or bound accordingly. When I ask an elf to do a job, I expect them to complete it in a reasonable time frame, without risking their own health or well-being. If I make a request that is unreasonable, I require my elf to inform me, and work with me to find a compromise. If my instructions are unclear, my elves should ask me to clarify. When I ask a question of an elf, I expect them to tell me the truth, not what they think I want to hear, even if the truth is that they don’t know the answer. In turn, I will not punish, or order the punishment of any elf in my employ. No elf of mine will be punished for telling me the truth, or asking a question. As I say, so I swear.”

Hermione’s magic flashed around her body, signifying that the oath had taken hold. She had sworn on her blood, rather than her life, so that, just in case she accidentally broke the oath, she would suffer pain but not die.

Wyrie’s eyes had gotten larger and larger as Hermione spoke, stunned by the implications of the oath. As the glow of magic faded from her eyes, Hermione found that Wyrie had fallen back onto her rump again. Hermione found this display of emotion far less disconcerting than Dobby’s bouncing.

Hermione quickly geminoed the parchment and handed the copy to Wyrie. “This is for you, and all of the other elves that we take in. You may show them this pledge, and the memory of me taking the oath, so that they know what to expect of me, and what I will expect of them, alright?

Wyrie nodded frantically, but accepted the parchment. “Yes, Mistress Emelia.”

“Good,” Hermione pulled up her next parchment, on which she had written a series of questions. “Now, as I said, I realize that traders, and former masters, have trained elves to behave and speak a certain way, which, as I just detailed, is not what I expect. I do know that it will take some time, and probably a few mistakes on both sides, until we find our groove. I also told you that I’m interested in researching house elves, so we’re going to work on both of those projects right now.”

“Now, Wyrie, where do house elves usually live? Somewhere near their Master or Mistress, I assume?”

Wyrie nodded. “Most houses that have elves have a place for them. New elves live in same place as old.”

“Good, good,” Hermione noted that. “What happens in a new house, or one that hasn’t had elves before? How is a place picked? Or is it different every time?”

Wyrie considered this. “Usually, elves find space in attic or basement. If only one elf in small house, sometimes in a closet or cupboard.”

Hermione jotted that down. “So do elves like to live in small, enclosed spaces, or is that just generally what their masters are willing to spare?”

This question threw Wyrie, and her face screwed up in thought for a long minute.

“You aren’t sure?” Hermione asked gently.

Wyrie hesitated, then shook her head. “Wyrie has never lived anywhere else,” she admitted.

“I understand. Have you already picked a place here at the cottage?” Hermione asked.

Wyrie nodded. “Behind kitchen is cupboard for pantry, but older cupboard behind it, forgotten about. Good size for nest for one, two elves.”

“Would you be happy living in there, Wyrie, or did you just pick it because it is out of the way - forgotten about?” Hermione asked. She didn’t expect Wyrie to be at the point where she could identify her own wants just yet, but it was worth a try.

Sure enough, after a long minute, Wyrie shook her head. “Not sure.” She froze, as though expecting punishment, and Hermione bit back a sigh. She knew it would take time to retrain the elves’ harsh indoctrination, and she shouldn’t get impatient with Wyrie.

“Good, good, Wyrie. I wasn’t sure if you would know. I’m glad you were able to tell me that,” she praised instead. Positive reinforcement when they followed her instructions would be important in their deprogramming.

“Now, Wyrie, what about places where many elves are employed, such as Hogwarts, or the Ministry? Or just medium sized groups, in factories and the like? More than a standard wizarding house.”

Wyrie thought about that for a moment. “Hogwarts elves live in attic of unused tower. Ministry elves live in unfinished portion of level 10, behind courtrooms. Nimbus and Comet elves, Sleekeazy elves, Potages elves live in attics over factory. Cleansweep elves, Floo Powder elves, Botts and Chocolate Frog elves, live in basement of factory. Many other factories, elves live in attic or basement.” Wyrie hesitated, and Hermione did her best to look encouraging. “Farms have elves too,” she quickly offered.

“Oh, like ingredient farms for potions, and regular farms for the markets and pubs?” Hermione asked eagerly.

Wyrie nodded. “Sometimes farm elves have shed or barn, instead of attic or basement.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, making another note. “I hadn’t even thought of the farms. This is great information. So it sounds like, generally speaking, elves are tucked away either above or below wizards, though occasionally they are placed somewhere else out of the way, like a pantry, cupboard, or shed. This applies to single elf families and to medium or large groups. Does that sound fairly accurate?”

Wyrie nodded happily. “Yes, Mistress Emelia!”

“Excellent.” Hermione moved to the next bullet. “How many elves, generally speaking, are employed at these factories? How do they compare to Hogwarts or the Ministry?”

“Hogwarts has over ten tens - hundred - elves.”

“A hundred; that’s more than I thought,” Hermione murmured. She had tried to count the elves at one time, back when she was crusading for their freedom in entirely the wrong way, and had come up with about forty whom she could count in the kitchen. It had never occurred to Hermione that there might be other elves, specifically doing different tasks in different areas of the castle. She knew that elves could be trained to do specific tasks, such as those who worked in factories, but hadn’t applied that to Hogwarts. The family-owned elves that Hermione had met tended to do everything, cooking and cleaning, and she had not realized at the time that the Hogwarts elves weren’t the same. Still, her most generous estimate had been about seventy or eighty, not over a hundred.

“What about the ministry?” Hermione asked.

“Ministry has… forty, fifty elves,” Wyrie said, eyes crossing slightly as she did the math. “Farms usually twenty, thirty elves. Factories different. Some ten, some thirty, some fifty.”

“Depending on their different needs,” Hermione surmised. “And are all of those elves bound to the building, the company, or an individual?"

"Small companies, farms, bound to owner. Bigger, more elves, bound to company. Stadium elves bound to team. Can be bound to buildings, but much better to be bound to company or team. Need fresh wizard magic, not stale building magic. Hogwarts and Ministry elves bound to Hogwarts herself and Ministry. Not castle building, but not not building."

"Hogwarts is sentient, isn't she? She's a being," Hermione had had her suspicions before, but the elves being bound to her would be the clincher.

"Yes. Ministry too. Is how they can bond so many tens of elves."

"If a manager was doing bad things that wouldn't benefit his team, or the headmaster or minister was doing bad things that endangered the students or the ministry workers, who would the elves help?"

Wyrie had to think about that for a moment, but finally she said, "Elves should be helping team, students, workers. But if elves not know, and get order, must obey. Sometimes team, students not like something. Drills and detention. But is not bad hurting them. Elves not help. Quidditch be dangerous, players, students get hurt, but elves not supposed to help. Is not simple."

"Thank you, Wyrie," Hermione said, finishing her notes. Now she knew, if she wanted to get the Hogwarts elves on her side, she needed to have ironclad proof that Dumbledore was hurting the students. She couldn't risk the headmaster passing off his crimes as being on par with detention or taking medicine, or other things that students complain about doing. She was going to need proof, and a lot of it.

It took a few months, but finally Hermione had a working set up. She had purchased, through the goblins, a small farm that had gone out of business some years ago. She then created a potions ingredient business operating out of it. The farmhouse itself, with numerous expansion charms, was converted top to bottom into elven quarters, so that all of her new elves had a home. Finally, she hired on as many elves as she could, summoning free elves to her independently and working through the goblins to anonymize her purchases from traders. By swearing them all to the business itself, with Hermione — as "Emelia" — as the only employee, she guaranteed that they would be loyal to her, without fracturing her core by taking on more elves than she could personally handle. She would need to hire more human employees soon, since the farm itself wasn't magical enough to support them the way Hogwarts was, but for now she was able to hold on.

Thanks to the lists that first Wyrie, and then her other elves, compiled, Hermione eventually employed house elves from every single elven family. Her elves were related to every other elf in the country, and many more abroad. For the elves trained for such work, Hermione had them primarily running the ingredient farm, as it needed to be at least functional enough to keep up appearances. Those with library and scribe skills worked on compiling the information Hermione wanted and handing out instructions on her behalf. The rest she set to information gathering.

By Yule, Hermione had as complete a picture as was possible of the delicate web of the wizarding world in Britain. She knew where each family physically lived, how each member was connected and their status, and how their house elves — if they had any — were connected to each others' and her own.

She had also, with a few elves with her for their relevant skills, collected a few more Death Eater gold stashes. Some of this gold was able to be funneled into the business, and the rest went into her own secret stashes.

With her house elf army and all the information they could give her, Hermione went to work. Her test of the rumor spells at Hogwarts had gone swimmingly, so she began to deploy them elsewhere. The Ministry, Diagon and the other Alleys, and Hogsmeade all played host to her rumors. Soon enough, there wasn't a place in the wizarding world that wasn't full of gossip about Voldemort, Tom Riddle, and Dumbledore.

Thanks to her elven spies, Hermione knew that both men were aware, and furious. Death Eaters and Order members alike were questioning their leaders in private, and it was only a matter of time before they began questioning them in meetings as well.

The second prong of her plan involved special groups of house elves that she carefully drilled. Each one was assigned a horcrux and given the proper lead lined equipment to contain it and keep it from corrupting them. Then they practiced swapping out the horcrux for a decoy, just as Regulus Black once had — and would not have a chance to do now.

In Little Hangleton, the two elf crew would work together to remove the ring and box it up; one doing the deed and the other providing an elven shield to dispel the compulsions that would otherwise induce the first to touch it and die painfully.

Severus Snape had not yet invented the eternal thirst potion that Voldemort would force Kreacher to drink when he checked on his work, so at the moment that horcrux was simply sitting on a pedestal with a pressure plate, designed to freeze any who touched it, making them easy prey for the inferi in the surrounding lake. Her elf team assigned to that task knew how to switch the locket for a fake without setting off the plate, but could also unfreeze each other with house elf magic before the inferi stirred, just in case. They wouldn't even need to use the cursed boat, since they could simply elf pop across the cavern — Voldemort hadn't yet found a way to block elf popping, and Hermione didn't expect him to attempt it any time soon.

Wizards took for granted the abilities of house elves, and never thought about finding a way to curtail them, because they had no reason to think that an elf would ever act against them. No wizard would admit he had been bested by an elf, the way Lucius Malfoy had been in their second year, and no one smart enough to use elves for assassinations would then brag about their method, so wizards as a whole were woefully incautious about how much free rein they gave to elves not their own.

The Hogwarts elves had been easy to convince about the danger to their students, and had willingly given her elves access to the Come and Go Room to get their hands on the diadem, so that was already in storage in a lead-lined trunk in the basement, under as many secrecy charms and wards as Hermione knew, including a fidelius with herself as the secret keeper. She had even convinced the Hogwarts elves not to tell the headmaster about the operation by reminding them of the curse on the DADA position — also courtesy of Riddle — that Dumbledore had ignored. Clearly he couldn't be trusted where Riddle's dark deeds were concerned.

Hermione had planned to reach out to Dobby for help with the diary, but to her great fortune, it had been hidden in one of the Malfoy caches that she and her elves raided. She still intended to free him one day, because she'd made a promise to Harry, but now that they had the diary, that could wait a little longer.

Though Bellatrix had received the Mark this past summer, before returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year, she had not yet been entrusted with the Cup. Through judicious questioning of the elves, she finally found that it was actually in the hands of the elder Lestrange. Hermione had always assumed it was something about her Black heritage, given that her brother-in-law and cousin were both involved with other horcruxes, but now it appeared that was just a coincidence. Certainly since Abraxus Malfoy was the one entrusted with the diary she had found, not fifth year Lucius or his future wife, third year Narcissa.

Bellatrix might not have been trusted with the protection of Hufflepuff's cup yet, but she had provided Hermione with a way to obtain it. Amongst the free elves was Mimty, a former Lestrange elf. This past summer, Bellatrix, while visiting her betrothed, had cursed the elf with the cruciatus so long that she couldn't move. When she had been unable to get up and serve Bellatrix, the girl had flung a glove at her and told her to get out. Rodolphus had reinforced the order to get out of their sight before inconveniencing them by dying.

It was enough to break her bond to the Lestranges, but the head of the household hadn't actually properly revoked her access to their properties. It was the same loophole Dobby had used to get them from the Malfoy dungeons during their prolonged Horcrux hunt. With elven healing, Mimty had been able to recover, though even with a new bond to Hermione she still got palsy shakes. Still, she was able to lead another elf, her sister Nimty, into the Lestrange household, and show her exactly where to find the cup.

With the exception of the diary, which she had not expected to fall into her lap quite so easily, Hermione left the rest of the horcruxes in place for the moment. Her elves were ready to fetch them at a moment's notice, but she didn't want to tip off Riddle that she knew of their existence until the last possible moment. He was still more than capable of making more — considering that he hadn't yet attempted to create one with Gryffindor's athame or Nagini. The former was the one that was disrupted by Lily Potter's ritual, and the latter hadn't happened until after he heard the prophecy. Though she had elves tailing him 24/7, so she'd know the moment he even considered making another horcrux, Hermione didn't want to risk tipping him off and making him more unpredictable. The moment he looked like he was going to move a horcrux, she could dispatch her elves in seconds to get ahead of him, so it was worth the small risk to leave them in place now.

Not that Hermione wasn't going to drive Riddle around the twist in a different way. Her campaigns against him and Dumbledore were only just beginning.

Chapter Text

The next stage of Hermione's plan began shortly after Yule. Elves, while bound to a family, were generally tied with loyalty oaths and instructed to keep their Masters' secrets. Being freed released them from those bindings, unless it was done in a very particular way. Hermione had already taken advantage of that more than once, both in the old timeline with Dobby, and in the new with Mimty. But more importantly, elves were almost never bound to keep the secrets of their Masters' guests.

A currently serving Nott elf might not be willing or able to share anything about their own Master, but they were more than willing to explain that they were not allowed to serve shellfish when Goyle was visiting, or that young Travers was a squib, or that the elder Rosier needed a daily heart potion with breakfast.

What's more, most people didn't ward against elves who weren't their own, since it was highly draining to ward against elves at all, and it was a hugely complex endeavor to set the wards not to exclude their own elves in the process. Just as elves owed no loyalty to visiting guests, visiting elves could do whatever they wanted, with tacit approval. Some elves were loyal enough to tattle, but thanks to employing their family members, Hermione knew where not to stage her attacks.

And that was why Hermione had courted so many families of elves to her plan. Because as far as Hermione was concerned, the only good Death Eater was a dead one, and she had, from one source and another, the means to take out most of them.

Over the course of the next few months, Death Eaters began dropping like flies. Allergy attacks, missing potions, unexpected tumbles down the stairs, brewing accidents, spellcasting mistakes, escaped magical creatures kept for ingredients… the list was endless, and none of the deaths could be proved as murders. Most of the early ones weren't even investigated by the DMLE, but taken at face value.

And it wasn't just Death Eaters. The most ardent of Dumbledore's supporters — those who would never be convinced to hear a bad word about him, regardless of the evidence — were also having their own run of bad luck. Those he had potioned or spelled into compliance could potentially be saved, but those who willingly worshiped the old coot had to go.

Thanks to the elves she had tailing the two men, Hermione knew the moment they figured out their followers were being targeted. Riddle had lost far more of his forces, so he cottoned on around March, but Dumbledore remained oblivious right up until July — and then only because he connected it to the multitude of dead Death Eaters.

Riddle and Dumbledore weren't the only ones to realize what was happening, and several Death Eaters made a break for the continent, clearly believing that whatever curse was killing their fellows was local. Hermione was more than happy to make sure they were never heard from again: there were plenty of volcanoes and shark infested waters and acidic lakes around the world to conveniently toss them into, after all.

At first, Riddle responded by marking more followers, but Purebloods talked to each other, and they quickly worked out that serving their Dark Lord was a one way ticket to being caught up in "the curse". His pool of willing volunteers plummeted as families desperately struggled to keep enough of their members alive to carry on their name.

Her work to make the deaths look like accidents meant that none of them had realized that there was a third faction in this war: Riddle and Dumbledore both believed it was a curse of some kind, tied to the Dark Mark. Once Dumbledore realized his own followers were being targeted, he stopped marking them with his Order of the Phoenix tattoo, and removed it from those he had already marked. While easily removed and a less heinous marking than the Dark Mark, Hermione was still pleased to see it gone from those who could be redeemed.

With a little prodding, and a tweaking of her rumor spells, the press was actually the first to openly make the connection. Death Eaters Dying blazed the headline, one week after Dumbledore cottoned on and unmarked his followers. The article went on to expound on the curse theory with all the salaciousness and conjecture that would make Rita Skeeter proud, were she not still a sixth year. It made a point of tying in several of Dumbledore's precious followers who had died by similar means, including one that Hermione hadn't even been involved in, but was a result of actual natural causes.

With that, even those who weren't part of the pureblood grape vine knew that to join Riddle was to give up your life, not to the cause, but to an insidious curse. Or, as the article called it, the Hand of Fate. Hermione liked to think she was more of Harry's Hand than Fate's, but as long as she completed her mission before a certain prophecy could be made, it didn't matter. Harry wouldn't be born for five years yet, and if the war was entirely wrapped up by then, fate would have no use for him.

Two weeks later, once the "Death Eater Curse" theory was well established, Hermione sent an anonymous tip to the Daily Prophet. The next morning, the headline blazed Dead Death Eaters Tied to Terrorism on the Continent. It detailed the recruiting trips of Abraxus Malfoy and Telemandus Nott, previously described as 'charity missions' and the spate of attacks that always coincided.

Thanks to her elves, Hermione had been able to find evidence of similar trips made by the Lestrange, Rosier, Carrow, Mulciber, Persimmons, and Fliggens patriarchs. Each in pairs, each to a different area, and each repeated every year. With the evidence handed to them on a silver platter, and also sent to the DMLE, it was obvious even to the writers at the Daily Prophet that these 'charity missions' were in fact recruitment drives for Riddle's cause, and the spate of deaths in each of those areas, thanks to Hermione's elves, provided further proof of The Curse. Of course, the Prophet made no mention of their own gushing over the men in the past for their charitable deeds, but Hermione contented herself with the fact that the truth was now out there. It wasn't real truth in journalism — not yet — but it was a step in the right direction.

And it was the perfect set up for her next blow. Because, among the other things she had memorized to her mind palace in the future and then meticulously copied to a thought sphere now, were a copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore and a book of her own making featuring everything she and Harry could put together about Tom Riddle. True, she had to cut out anything that happened after 1974, but there was still plenty of material for both books.

Rita may not be old enough to be the voice that Hermione needed in the world, but that wouldn't stop her from being useful. It might not exactly be ethical to steal the woman's future work, but Hermione was past caring about that kind of ethical dilemma: she had a war to stop.

Hermione had bought another abandoned building a while back, and filled it with printing presses. With some specialty elves obtained and set to work, she now had hundreds of copies of her new books, The True Albus Dumbledore and The True Tom Marvolo Riddle. Neither book mentioned the horcruxes, but in every other way they were designed to infuriate the men they were about, while being 100% the truth.

Now that the pump was primed with the information about the dead Death Eaters and Order members, and the truth of Voldemort's recruiting practices, Hermione was ready to reveal everything. She paid for front page ads in the Prophet, Magical World Today, and the major papers across the continent. All of them advertising her new two book set, available by owl order for a galleon for the pair. Hermione knew that the general public didn't yet know Riddle's name, so they would be enticed to buy it for the Dumbledore book only. But as soon as they read the first page of the second book, she guaranteed they wouldn't put it down.

Because there, in magically moving font, the words constantly cycled between "Tom Marvolo Riddle" and "I am Lord Voldemort", rearranging themselves between the two anagrams just as Riddle had done for young Harry once upon a time that would never now happen.

If that wasn't enough, the first line was guaranteed to piss off the self styled Dark Lord: Tom Riddle was a wealthy muggle, unfortunate enough to live in the same town as the deranged and squibbed out remains of the once proud Gaunt family. This tragic circumstance would one day see him eventually murdered by his barely half-blooded child, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry, having the best insight into Riddle's mindset, had done his best to make the first few pages as incendiary as possible to the man who had staked everything on his reputation, first as Slytherin's Heir, then as a pureblood champion, and finally as a Dark Lord to be feared. By tearing down his mystique and then breaking down his origins into the most unflattering interpretation possible, they hoped to give the man a metaphorical stroke. Maybe even a literal one, if they were lucky.

Now Hermione just needed to sit back and wait as the legacies of both of her enemies imploded around them.

Hermione had been keeping an eye on Hogwarts whenever she had a moment. Though not as dangerous as it had been in her and Harry's time, the castle was still full of the children of Death Eaters and Order members, and tensions were high. True, the rumor spells that she had started at the beginning of the school year had done a lot to break down respect for either leader, but Dumbledore had fostered inter-house tensions for so long that it was hard to fix it right away.

She did have her elves keep close tabs on certain 'favorites', however, and through them she knew that her plans were proceeding perfectly.

Lily, as expected, had doubled down on saving Severus. With the deaths of so many prominent Death Eaters — including Abraxus Malfoy, who had originally courted Severus through Lucius — the ranks were in disarray. With so many of their recruiters dead, and so many of their heirs too busy taking over their family estates to act in their stead, recruitment had come to a standstill. Before it could really gear up again, news of The Curse had broken, and suddenly even those heirs who had been 100% on board with joining the Death Eaters found themselves too busy to answer Voldemort's call. Some were still marked, of course, and with her elves tracking such things, Hermione was easily able to take them out soon after.

When Bellatrix Lestrange proudly took the mark over the spring holiday, Hermione decided to fuck subtlety and took the witch's head off the day before she was to return to Hogwarts.

There was a kind of poetry to killing her the same way Neville had killed Nagini, even if Hermione was the only one who could appreciate it.

With Bellatrix dead and the Lestrange twins unmarked, Neville's parents were safe. The pair of fifth years had no idea they were under her personal protection, but they were safe, and that was all that mattered.

Between the lack of pressure from Lucius and the increased attention from Lily, Severus didn't take the Dark Mark. He still spat words of blood purity at Lily, enough to make their friendship a shadow of what it once was, but he was saved from throwing his entire life away, so Hermione was satisfied. Her goal hadn't actually been to salvage Lily and Severus's friendship, as that would potentially impair James and Lily's future, but simply to keep the talented brewed out of the hands of Riddle and Dumbledore, and away from a generation of Hogwarts students.

Hermione's plan to turn Pettigrew into a similar non entity had also borne fruit. The three elves she had tailing the boys had witnessed them casting the secrecy spells on Pettigrew to keep him from spilling the beans about their earlier adventures. The one Hermione had chosen for them actually slid the memories into the back of the mind, eventually erasing them. In a year or so, Peter would forget everything he had known about the other three, and they would be merely acquaintances who shared a dorm with him.

They performed the spell shortly before Yule, and over the next few months Hermione wasn't surprised to see Pettigrew gravitating towards those in other houses. He had a distant cousin in Slytherin, and another in Ravenclaw, both of whom Hermione knew had become Death Eaters in the future. Merlin, it was so obvious he was the traitor! Dumbledore had to have known!

Now, he spent his time hanging out with his cousins, ignoring his dorm mates, and that was just what Hermione wanted. With the trio safe from betrayal, and with Lily looking at them more favorably now that they'd stopped hexing Severus in the halls, Hermione had done what she could to ensure Harry's conception and Sirius's freedom.

All she had to do now was end this war.