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The Lion and the Snake	By : MichaelaElse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 6170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER! This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. I make no money

Chapter List
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Chapter I: A Dead Man's Mission

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

The soft security blanket that kept children warm and safe in their beds at night had been extinguished from this Earth much like a naked flame open to the bitter gales –it was inevitable. The light that brought hope to many witches and wizards was swallowed by the encroaching darkness that flanked the advanced of Lord Voldemort. Wizarding Britain waited with bated breath as the funeral of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore took place – his body laid to rest where no other Headmaster of Hogwarts in history had the honour –upon the ground of Hogwarts itself, as reminder to the students of the present and future – ‘Even in death – never lose hope and always remember Love.’

She had to act fast – upon Albus Dumbledore’s death the protective wards around her childhood home had ceased to exist when he breathed his last breath and his soul transcended to the Afterlife through the Veil.
“Hermione – Tea’s ready!”, her Mother called up the stars to her daughter that upon arriving back from Hogwarts had locked herself up in her room under the pretences to grieve Dumbledore’s death while in reality she was up to something more heart-breaking as she held her breath, waiting, always waiting, for her Mother to return to the living room to her husband carrying the tea tray before placing it on the coffee table in front of them.
Hermione clutched her chest and willed the welling tears that stung her eyes to abate as she tried to ease her racing heart into a more natural rhythm. She closed her eyes and let out an emotional shaky sigh – taking an involuntary step back she whipped her head round from the closed bedroom door in front of her- Her last muggle defence around her personal fortress that her parents respected. Now she wished they were more forceful and intervened with her ‘private grieving’ instead of letting her be alone with her own thoughts and that brought her to her unconsciously shifting the gip of her wand in her right hand. She gazed down at it wondering if she could go through with her plan to safeguard her parents.

The longer she contemplated on doing the task boosted the risk that she would be attacked because of her blood status and in turn her parents would pay the price because of their daughter. She couldn’t allow them to die for her – be another casualty to a war they weren’t privy to.

With that thought in her mind she eased her bedroom door open, her small beaded bag attached to her jeans belt loop, she glanced once over her shoulder at her childhood bedroom that soon will cease to exist if her spell was cast correctly. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her and left the security of those four walls that she had hidden within for the past two weeks. Two whole weeks without protection and soon she will rectify it.

Slowly she crept down the stairs, her footsteps calculated as her weight eased onto each step. She didn’t want to attract her parents’ unwanted attention and postpone her plan for another minute, another hour or another day. It needed to be done and when she eased herself off the last step and crept by to the ajar living room door; she exhaled the breath she unknowingly held throughout her descent. Her parents’ backs presented her – sitting on the couch – her Mother pouring tea and glancing up to the news on the television that had caught her husband’s attention, something about another disaster in London – something about a bridge collapsing and a riverside Barge sinking under suspicious and unexplained circumstances.
It had begun the attack on the muggle world. With that fresh in her mind she lifted her wand and pointed it towards her parents.
“Obliviate”
A small light emitted at the end of her wand, she glanced about the room as her static self was erased from the family photographs on display – portraits became blank – groups became photos of her parents with a gaping hole between them. Her spell was a success, now she began to modify their memories and implanted them with a need to relocate to Australia.
With her work done she turned tail and ran away from the scene, she couldn’t stand the overwhelming guilt as she apparated away from the Granger – now Wilkins- residence. She appeared into Space at the Burrow but not before apparating to a few locations around the UK, including The Giant’s Causeway, The Victoria and Albert Museum in London and a few more Muggle tourist destinations before arriving at the Weasley household.

The loneliest moments of her life lasted split seconds even though to her numbed mind it felt more like minutes as she stumbled across the lane to the Burrow and passed through the Apparition wards to be greeted with Ginny Weasley at the door along with her Mother and Ron poking his head over his Mother’s blockade to keep her youngest son and his older insensitive siblings from harassing the poor girl until Ginny put her arm around the emotional Hermione to steer her towards the open back door – Ginny was the only one that understood wholly why Hermione was in a daze – the other’s believed that Moody or Kingsley had handled the obliviating of Hermione’s Parents.

“Are you Ok, Hermione?” Ginny tentatively asked as she glanced sideways, her head jerking to rid her of the curtain of hair to get a look at her fellow Gryffindor at her side. She then took in Hermione’s appearance – she was wearing skinny jeans, a tank top underneath her baby pink hoody – her outfit awfully familiar to the one she wore in her third year when her and Harry saved Sirius Black from the Dementor’s Kiss. Her white- pink and stonewashed jeans complimented her light brown ringlets that framed her face and bushed out in sheer volume. Hermione wished she wasn’t cursed with thick and obsessively curly hair. The summer heat frazzled her curls into a frizzy mess that resembled a Lion’s mane.

“I could be better Ginny, but now I know they’ll be safe.” Hermione replied smoothly, her voice seemed more detached than normal.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow in Hermione’s direction but remained silent and let it be., They entered the Burrow and then the bombardment ensued – Rom and Mrs Weasley was fawning over her but Ron’s run-a-mile-a-minute mouth got him pushed towards the stairs under the pretences of ‘tidying his room’. Hermione let out an amused snort as she herself was ushered over to the table with a plate piled high with steaming pancaked smothered with melted butter and syrup already on the table in front of her designated seat.

The rest of the day was full of tense silence and awkward conversation in attempt to get Hermione’s mind off what had happened to her parents, it was like grieving for the living, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had died and reborn into someone different with no recollection of their past life until their memories were restored – if they were ever restored – someone would have to survive the War and find them in Australia and bring them back to the United Kingdom to a life they might not ever want anymore. Fear gripped her as she swallowed thickly at the thought – they might never want her again and their old lives. She gave them a new beginning with no responsibility of a child or the threat hanging over their heads of a war they didn’t comprehend.

The sun hung low over the hills; its light darkened the sky to dusky orange, rouge and dark yet warm purple, the clouds a mirage of muted colour of pinks, yellows and pasty oranges in the layers of colour in the sky – yet Hermione ignored it all as she passed the lead clad windows as she climbed the rickety stairs of the Burrow to Ginny’s room where she would rest for the night before the impending mission the night after where they would transport Harry Potter from Privet Drive. She had finally escaped everyone with the thanks of Ginny, holding the overzealous Ron from pursuing her and in an attempt to comfort her with his brash words that offended her with his ‘emotional range of a teaspoon’. The Order would be meeting in the morning, running over every possible avenue and outcome to their plan, the possibilities of casualties or fatalities that would be the price of Harry Potter’s safety, the plan in the event of the plan being a success and the most subdued subject, if their plan failed and Potter was lost.
She finally reached Ginny’s room on the first floor, the room was prepared with a rolled up matt on the floor with a quilt folded, resting with the pillow on top of the futon style mattress on the floor next to Ginny’s bed. The room was small and homely- much like the rest of the Burrow – with a sloping ceiling connecting to the small dormer window with its diamond shaped flashing. The light of the late sun made the warm rustic beams glow like kindling. Hermione tentatively stepped into the room, heaving a sigh as she threw her beaded bag onto Ginny’s bed before turning to her own. The job wasn’t hard – the mattress was heavy with age but all she had to do was roll it out, the quilt was light and a thin for the summer nights, the pillow was lumpy in places because of the feather’s shafts that pricked out against the confines. She heaved another sigh as she sank onto Ginny’s bed after her job was complete – she knew Mrs Weasley would have done it if she didn’t have to entertain the whole Order downstairs and fill their bellies with lovely homely food – and large homely portions too!

A small wistful smile crept onto her face, as her eyes turned glassy with unshed tears and memories – why couldn’t things been peaceful, with no War, Death Eaters and their leader, Lord Voldemort. Why did they have to cause so much suffering to fight for illogical ideals of the minority of society – their views were backwards – something she had seen in Medieval England with its prejudice, rifts between classes and bigotry against things or people that threatened them even though they believed them to be inferior. They were so young and innocent – what would have it been like if Harry had grown up with a loving family around him, his parent’s wouldn’t have died because of Lord Voldemort – but would they have become friends in hind sight? They wouldn’t have been the same people they were today – the events that defined them, that concreted their friendship through trials and tribulations. Would Ron and Harry still be her friends if they didn’t need her intelligence? Harry was the common factor- she and Ron were friends through Harry, if it wasn’t for him they wouldn’t mix – they were like oil and water – they would be there but never mix.
A light rapping noise on the window gave her a fright, she jumped, and her heart began to race as the fight or flight instinct kicked in, her head whipped round to the window with her wand drawn, her eyes wide as she couldn’t comprehend what she was truly seeing. There on the slim window sill outside of the window was none other than – Fawkes the Phoenix that belonged to the dearly departed, Albus Dumbledore. Her heart leaped into her throat as she uncharacteristically scrambled over Ginny’s bed that was nestled in the corner along the outside wall under the window in the eaves. Her trembling fingers lifted the latch and pushed the window open slowly, allowing Fawkes to manoeuvre away from the approaching sheet of glass with a disgruntled trill before effortlessly flapping his wings a few beats before hopping down onto the bed, his red plumage set alight like fire in the sun, his crest and tail feathers long and downy much like a peacock’s tail feather – looking weightless – a perfect imitation of flickering flames in the breeze that drifted through the open window. His amber eyes staring intelligently at Hermione as she looked at him in fascination – he was wild with the death of his Master he had no allegiance – he was free to roam yet here he was.

“Fawkes – what are you doing here?” she whispered her voice and face in awe and the spectacular beauty of the phoenix that was in the prime of this life. He gave another lyrical trill before inclining his head to his leg, there strapped to it was a small roll of parchment and in his talons was the twine attached to a small package no bigger than the size of her hand, he lifted his wing giving her better assess to his cargo with a tiny call.

“Oh” Hermione gasped, before setting to work to relieve him of his package and letter, she was gentle, her movements precise and abated the urge to cry in triumph of unbinding the scroll to the magnificent bird’s leg. With the scroll in her hand Fawkes relinquished his hold on the small brown paper parcel before hopping off onto the interior window sill and waiting, his eyes staring down at Hermione as she stared at the name on the letter in Hogwarts green ink:

To Hermione Jean Granger

She ripped the wax Hogwarts seal in Ernest as she hurriedly unfolded the parchment to eagerly read the letter, her eyes skimmed, eyes widening with each passing sentence.

Dear Miss Granger,

If you are reading this now, that means I am dead and Fawkes has delivered this letter and package as I had ordered before my death. There isn’t much I can tell you for its sensitive information that none of the Order should know – not even Mr Potter or Mr Weasley. In the package is an artefact similar to a modern day time-turner but this device outdates time-turner technology by hundreds of years.

All I can say, Ms. Granger, that that artefact will allow you to travel back in time to a time that needs your help the most – I can tell you this Ms’ Granger, that I’m a long time acquaintance of yours long before your true birth, your help is gravely needed and I advise you to use this device or events that should have happened will never happen and the outcome of the First War would not have been in our favour.

From,
Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

PS. Give Fawkes a stroke on the chest – he loves that.
PPS. When you open the package, anything you wish to have with you must be on your person, keep this letter with you and produce it to my younger counterpart on your arrival.

I wish you luck, Ms Granger.

At the first post script she had to smile – she could hear his jovial voice through his words alone, his affection – even in death- for his most trusted pet, Fawkes, phoenixes are known for their loyalty to their owners in life but nothing was recorded of a phoenix staying loyal to an owner after death – many phoenixes must go through a lot of owners throughout their endless lifetime yet as she looked up from the parchment to gaze lovingly at the loyal fire-bird she was almost drawn to tears at the sombre look within the amber deaths as if Fawkes knew that he was fulfilling his Master’s last wish then he was free to the world once more until a worthy Master was born in the next generation but unbeknownst to her – Fawkes gained a new Master after Albus’ death through the Headmaster’s progeny and godson.

She lifted her free left hand to gently stroke down Fawkes’ breast, his plumage emitting pleasant warmth of its own, much like the summer sun’s heat sinking into her fingers on a bright afternoon. Fawkes let out another lyrical trill, lowering his head to nuzzle her petting hand affectionately, his amber eyes closed contently a tear weeping from his closed eyes and dripping onto her cold hand – the salty dropped full of sadness scolding warm to her numb fingers before he raised his head and opened his sparkling eyes and gazed up into Hermione’s eyes, clucking his tongue before looking over his shoulder to the outside world – it had been a long time since he ventured out with no companionship – Hermione mused, a small frown on her face as her heart went out for the creature. He gave a sorrowful cry much like his lament on the day of Albus Dumbledore’s funeral before flapping his wings and taking to the skies.

Hermione looked longingly at the shrinking figure of Fawkes flying away into the distance, the breeze tickling her frizzy brown mane of hair before she stretched onto her knees and shut the window and put it back on the latch.

She rested back on her heels on the bed and gazed at the package in a scrutinizing piercing look as if she was trying to x-ray the package with her eyes before trying to open it and triggering the artefact that Albus Dumbledore had stated was inside it.

She glanced at the door and then around the room, she was truly alone in the small room, the constant creaking of the age old building as the wood contracted in the hot sun her only company, the walls looked on with deaf ears and closed eyes in her private moment as she thought of the pros and cons of heeding Albus Dumbledore’s letter and plans of her travelling back in time to a place that she was most needed and shape the world as it was now. Her efforts would allow the world to progress on this time-line and she knew – with her experience with the time-turner- that you could change time to a degree- thinking back on how her efforts with Harry in their third year saved Buckbeak and Sirius Black from death – but Sirius died two years later in the war in an event that could have happened to anyone within the Death Chamber but Bellatrix had to choose her Blood traitor cousin instead of anyone else – bringing reorder to time, extinguishing a life that should have gone out two years prior.

She knew that in truth – she should accept this mission – for she could change time by not accepting – resulting in a change in the time-line and creating a world that none of them knew not. They could have lost the First War without her help – that’s what she believed Albus Dumbledore was implying within his note. Yet she couldn’t possibly leave the Order, her friends and especially Harry in his time of need – could she?

Yet what good was she here?

If the device believed her place was needed here most of all, she would remain without travelling back in time.

Drawing a deep breath she shuffled to the edge of the bed, picking up her beaded back, opening it and placing the letter haphazardly within the depths before closing it and looping it around her jean’s belt loop at her side and standing on unease feet before turning around and picking up the unassuming package into her open hand.

She stood a ways off from anything, she didn’t want to drag any of the future within the room back in time with her, she gazed around the room lovingly one more time before bringing her attention back to the package within her hands, she pulled on the twine and he brown paper along with the twine came away, she grasped the gold medallion like pendant – absent of a chain – within one hand and discarded the packaging onto the floor without a second glance – the runes were archaic, there wasn’t any dials or miniature hourglass but a winding inscription on the inside ring of the larger runes glowed within the engraved depths – the script looked like winding snakes, dots and dashes that reminded her of Morse code and Arabic, the glowing script began to slither and morph into defined characters that she could understand- ancient Latin. The dark stone in the centre was unidentifiable in colour, its inflammable depths drawing all defining colour light into it to create an opaque onyx black within its translucent surface that sparkled.

“Semitam viam meam ad locum desit-“ she continued to turn the pendant around to continue reading the glowing latin.

“Ut, huius lux dirige viam mihi ad verum meum pertinentibus.” She finished, as the last syllable left her lips, a light began to glow within the dark jewel mirroring the glowering inscription before the growing strength of the light forced her to close her eyes, white spots danced along her black vision as extreme pressure tightened around her body like she was trapped in a vice between one place and another, both trying to push her to the other – both not wanting her before a the pressure popped her ears and the pressure vanished along with her body from Ginny Weasley’s room at The Burrow, England in the year 1997.

Translations:

‘Semitam viam meam ad locum desit’ – ‘Path my way to a place of wanting-’

‘Ut, huius lux dirige viam mihi ad verum meum pertinentibus.’ – ‘May this light guide my way to my true belonging.’

(English to Latin translator belonging to Google used for these translations)

A/N: An awaited chapter I must say – I hate beginning a story, I find I have to force myself through several points and arcs of a story to get to the bit I envisioned at the beginning. I hope this story stays true to canon with the Harry Potter world – I don’t want it to seem so fanciful that it would seem strange within the world of Harry Potter.
Some nags I’ve found within Time-Turner FanFictions:
Changing Time: Yes it can be done, but some fictions go overboard and even a little thing as a pin dropping can cause catastrophe – I’m over exaggerating that point – but the principle is there. I take my view of Time and changes within it from the principles of Doctor Who. This series seems believable even with the changing of Time within episodes – such as paradoxes – these always try and repair themselves to the original time-line and I believe – if time changes it always is a short-time fix until Time and Relativity tries to repair itself to the original time-line. Yet there are cases where minor things in time change that is unknown to the original time-line but were there in the beginning but as stated – unknown. This is the principle of this story. The whole Fawkes sending the package is the paradox, an event fixed in time that cannot be altered.

OOC-ness: Yes I’ve found this in some stories – yet I know there isn’t much known about Tom Riddle and his school days yet alone the period after graduation, his ten year absence or the First War, I respect that other authors show their take of Tom Riddle but it isn’t something I would portray my Tom Riddle as. He’s a manipulator – a true Slytherin, he’s a charmer, polite to the point of sheer cold indifference and I believe him to crack a wide smile would strain his veneer of mystery that attracts us to Tom Riddle and create a 3 dimensional character of a 2 dimensional villain of the Harry Potter series.

Tragic-Past at Wool’s Orphanage: Yes bullying was writhe within the 1940’s as anywhere else within the world at any time - I too was bullied but that didn’t make me into a mass murdering sociopath – no. There is speculation that some people are just born bad and born to kill, there has been many mass murderers and serial killers. THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWO. A mass murderer is labelled if one culprit killed four or more people within one event a set location at any given time- more often than not the murderer has a relationship to the victims. This is also known as a revenge killings or rampage killings that often result in the murderer killing oneself before getting apprehended by the law. A Serial Killer, often more than not doesn’t personally know their victims, a plan is set and one or more victims are most likely tortured before being killed. The murderer often waits before killing again, often known in the profession as a ‘cooling off period’, before hunting for a victim and pouncing again.

Tom Riddle/Voldemort is capable of mass murder aka ‘genocide’ but has the patience and the brain that would come with being a Serial Killer.

The Difference – as stated Mass Murders are known as revenge killings, thus insinuating that something of importance that wronged the would-be murderer drove them to that extreme while specialists believe that when ‘people are born bad’ they refer to Serial Killers, some have mental problems and in cases have tragic events that occurred that resorted them to this.

I would label Voldemort as a Serial Killer for the most part rather than a mass murderer but how would that explain the sheer number of Inferi in that mass of water in the cave?

I have a plan for this to be explained within this story (you thought I was going to tell you there – didn’t you? I was tempted.)

NOW IF YOU DON’T LIKE WHAT I HAVE INSTORE FOR MY PORTRAYAL OF TOM RIDDLE JR./LORD VOLDEMORT PLEASE LEAVE IF YOUR ONLY PURPOSE OF BEING HERE IS TO FLAME ME.

I want to write this story and share it with other Harry Potter fanfic writers and a reader because I believe this plot is somewhat original and would like to expand my skills and at the same time contribute to the fandom that shared my childhood all the way up into early adulthood.

POTTERverse SHALL LIVE ON THROUGH COUNTLESS GENERATIONS AND WRITINGS CREATED BY DEDICATED FANS
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The Lion and the Snake