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Death Row	By : SalazarRaphael Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 9044 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money from this fic.

Chapter List
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A/N- An epilogue, The thing I have always loved about Voldemort is how he always somehow manages to survive, no matter how weak he becomes. I also recognize how quickly he adapts to change, and how okay he is with it. If only JKR had given him some depth of character, instead of making him as evil as evil could be; he should at least be gray. Even Hitler wasn't pure evil.

-Three Years Later-

            Hermione stood facing a lone gravestone. To most it looked like a boulder, but Hermione saw the writing on the gravestone- Tom Marvolo Riddle aka Lord Voldemort. “I come here everyday,” a voice from behind her spoke.

            She turned and couldn’t believe her eyes. “V-Volde….h-how?”

            “I had to trade. I gave up my magic to win immortality. And life as a Muggle. The Muses saved my life.”

            “So you have no magic now,” she finally looked him over. He looked like Tom Riddle from the diary. She’d seen Harry’s memory of him. He looked a bit older now. She’d guess early thirties. Not bad for a man in his late seventies.

            “The IMC is looking over me. I’m on parole for the next thirty seven years.”

            “Not bad for a man who has committed more crimes than most warlords.”

            “I do well,” he shrugged. “My soul is intact. And I don’t know how they did it, but they restored my body.”

            “I don’t think talking out here is a good idea. Could we go back to your home?”

            “Certainly,” he offered her his arm, which she accepted.

            His house was quite quaint. It was a two-story of obvious Muggle design. She entered with him, “How’d you get this?”

            “Delacroix apparently has a son who is a Squib. He’s a carpenter. Built the house, they gave me this land….not a bad end. I helped build the house.”

            “So you can build houses,” she smirked, “I’m very impressed.”

            “I’ve been working with the son as a carpenter for some time now. And beyond that I’ve been working in woodwork. Making bookcases, tables, desks…things like that.”

            “Any good at it?”

            “I furnished my house with my work,” he answered, opening up the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, “Have a seat, Hermione.” She did and he sat next to her, “I’ve been following you in the Daily Prophet. I still get it. The IMC grants me that much.”

            “So you’ve seen my career path choices.”

            “You just got your graduate degree. You breezed through undergrad studies of Transfiguration and Charms in record time and you managed to get your graduate degrees just as quickly. I was very impressed.” Hermione gave him a knowing look and he smirked, “And a little turned on, okay?”

            “The Voldemort I came to know would not have admitted that.”

            “I guess that’s true,” he nodded. “I have a new name now, you know. Rainier Brice Émile.”

            “Very French,” she chuckled. “Delacroix helped with that too?”

            Voldemort nodded and she just shook her head. “How is your accent?”

            “Rough at first, but I’ve always been a quick learner. When I speak English it’s not very strong but when I speak French it’s there.”

            “Still can’t get rid of that English accent,” she sighed. “That’s okay. You had a long life there.”

            “How’s your relationship?”

            “Yeah that didn’t last. We wanted different things.”

            “Like?”

            “He wanted to go out and party and I wanted to stay home and study. We split up not long after your ‘death’. It was amicable, but I think part of him didn’t like the thought of me being with you. Plus the sex was better with you.” He laughed and she just shook her head. “Well you’re still arrogant.”

            “Yes but I have feelings again.”

            “Really? Joy?”

            “Yes. And others.”

            “Like love?”

            He tilted his head back and sighed, “Yes, Hermione. Like love.”

            “For who?”

            “For you,” he answered. She smiled, a blush appearing on her cheeks. “I wanted to contact you but I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to talk to me.”

            “Are you actually buried out there?”

            “I am. Well, the body Pettigrew created is. The Muses are very powerful.”

            “And very mysterious. I haven’t heard from them since.”

            “Neither have I. I looked up everything the Muggles know about them. It never mentioned the things we saw them do.”

            “Nothing magically based matches them either,” she sighed, “I even looked at some Dark Arts books. Nothing on them.”

            Voldemort tilted his head to the side, looking her over. He suddenly looked at the clock, “I’m late. I have to go to work. This form of probation is tough. I work 6 days a week, get one day off.”

            “It looks like you’re doing well though,” she said.

            “Very much,” he nodded, standing and moving toward the stairs, “if you’ll excuse me I need to go change for work.”

            “Sure. You go to town?”

            “Yes,” he said as he walked up the stairs. Hermione looked at his bookshelves. Classics. Dickens, Shakespeare, Robert Louis Stevenson, JRR Tolkein…as she looked at the next one she saw a change. Video game guides, comic book collections, even a few cookbooks. Muggle life must appeal to him.

            Voldemort walked downstairs to see Hermione looking over his collection. “Yes, I’m enjoying Muggle life. Video games, reading, and cooking are my hobbies. What are yours?”

            “Reading, I’m becoming a better cook slowly but surely…You need to go.”

            “Already on my way. Want to go with?”

            “I have to get back, I’m applying to various places right now and I have an interview.”

            “You should look at Beaubaxtons,” he said. “Delacroix told me they’re looking for a new Charms mistress. If I recall correctly, you were very skilled at them.”

            “You want me in France?”

            “Yes,” he nodded, “as close to me as is possible,” he opened the door and she exited, watching him lock his house and walk over to his car.

            “So you have your own car.”

            “Learning to drive was interesting,” he smirked. “Can we have dinner?”

            “Sure,” she nodded. “First I need to go to Beaubaxtons,” she smiled at him as she walked away to Disapparate, watching first as he drove away.



            “Do you like the name Rainier?” She asked while she bent to take the garlic bread out of the oven.

            “It’s grown on me,” he shrugged. “It doesn’t have my father’s name in it, I like that.”

            “Do you want me to call you that?”

            “Do what you want,” he answered.

            “Not controlling, not paranoid, not aggressive…something is very odd. I thought…” He looked over at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. “You said you never recalled feeling emotions beyond rage and paranoia.”

            “Well I couldn’t,” he answered. “If you want to see what happened you can cast the spell on me to find it. I have no walls and no magic, Hermione.”

            “After dinner I intend to,” she said. “Have a girlfriend?”

            “A few suitors, but nothing serious; and nothing at present. Apparently I’m attractive,” he shrugged, “oh, and I have to say Brad Pitt is not very good-looking. I learned who he was.”

            Hermione laughed as she helped him plate everything, then grabbed the wine glasses and the bottle, carrying them to the table. “So you’re enjoying Muggle life, have adjusted well to it, and you’re popular with the ladies.”

            “You’re excelling in the Wizarding World,” he said, pouring her a glass of wine. “A glowing career, fame, beauty…”

            “I don’t have a career, yet. Just…just the fame part.”

            “Don’t forget the beauty, Hermione.” She blushed again and he shook his head, “We have slept together before. Why the shyness now?”

            “It’s been over two years for me,” she said, “and you look…different.”

            “I guess that’s true,” he nodded, cutting into his fish with his fork, “We need to eat before it gets cold.”

            After dinner Voldemort sat down on the couch opposite her and she cast the spell to look into his mind. He’d forgotten how weird it felt to have someone inside of your mind. When she pulled out he searched her face. “Well?”

            “Fascinating,” she answered. “It’s good to see you have emotions.”

            “It’s surprisingly pleasant to feel them,” he leaned in and kissed her, savoring it until she pushed him away. “Very pleasant.”

            “We...what are we going to do?”

            “I’d settle for a few dates, see where things go from there.”

            Hermione nodded, “So we’ll take things slow?”

            “As slow as you wish.”

            “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning in and kissing him again, “Tomorrow you work?”

            “Yes,” he nodded, “I’m free Friday.”

            “I’ll come back then. We can go on a date outside of this house.”

            “I thought you liked dinner.”

            “I did, but I want to see you in social surroundings,” she got up and he followed her to the door, “I’ll owl you, I promise. When I get home safe and sound.”

            “Thank you,” he nodded, leaning in to kiss her, “I will woo you, Hermione.”

            “I’m looking forward to it, Voldemort.”
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Death Row