THE EXPERIMENT - Epilogue

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September 19th, 2005

When Tom walked out of the gilded fireplace, he stepped aside for the next visitor to land and took a moment to dust off his pristine black robes. He swiftly combed his fingers through his hair, pushing back the curls falling on his forehead, and, while visitor after visitor arrived, he spent a few more seconds straightening the sleeves of his coat- when in truth he was just buying time to adjust to the presence of hundreds of people packed in one hall, and one underground at that.

The place was immense, but today visitors and employees occupied it at once - while on any other working day they would have found themselves in offices distributed throughout ten vast levels. Therefore the crowd was making him slightly nervous, as much as he hated that word.

Nervous. Tom Riddle wasn't nervous. Or anxious. Or weak. But, Salazar damn him, he was feeling like a fish out of water at the moment, making his way through the audience towards the other side of the Atrium.

During the traverse, flashes of cameras blinded him and elbows seemed to aim for his ribs, but in the end, reached the right wall near the front, he made it.

"You made it," a voice chuckled in his ear, accompanied by a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Tom didn't need to turn around to see Feodor grinning down at him, so he simply grunted something intelligible and shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting. And while he waited, he let his eyes roam over the Atrium.

From here the situation didn't look so bad. Actually, there wasn't even the hustle and bustle of the busiest mornings since most of the presents were gathered in front of a very official-looking stage, talking among themselves or taking photos. Indeed the journalists were now pointing at something on the left side of the massive room, where officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were lined- and there was a quite sombre air around them.

Tom followed the direction of the flashes and promptly rolled his eyes. Leave it to the photographers to catch the bored face of Auror Potter and ignore the Minister, who was just walking onto the stage, positively glowing.

"You're late."

Tom felt her presence at his side before even hearing her, but the flashes whirling from one side of the Atrium to the other immediately alerted every one of the appearance of Hermione Granger. He had to fist his hands not to draw out his wand and Vanish the blasted cameras when one particular flash made her jump.

"I'm never late," Tom said through his teeth, glaring in the photographers' general direction. Fortunately, the Minister chose that exact moment to invite the crowd to quiet down.

Tom quickly offered Hermione a smile before turning his attention on the stage.

"Good evening everyone," Fudge greeted the audience with his mellow voice. Quills began furiously scribbling and a couple of flashes went off again. "Good evening! Now, it seems we are making of these not-so-little gatherings an almost monthly occurrence, but given your lively participation- I believe our headquarters have never hosted so many people before! - you must know that, today!, we have a very important announcement to make-"

"Calm down, Granger," Tom told Hermione with a light nudge, "and leave your hair alone."

Caught with one hand patting her head, Hermione grimaced up at him. She whimpered softly, "It looks horrible."

"No, it doesn't, but it will if you keep torturing it."

She sighed.

"-a lot of work from our Research Department, after the introduction of the new laws regarding the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, our Ministry is ready to officially break those parameters that obscured, deprived of many rights, and at times even persecuted a minority of our society-"

Tom blinked at the Minister for Magic, wondering when the man had managed to put his prejudices aside to come up with such a progressive speech, and other wizards seemed to think the same if the way they were gaping at Fudge or muttering under their breaths was anything to go by. Rita Skeeter looked undoubtedly confused, with her mouth hanging open and her quill immobile over a piece of parchment- though she shook her head a second later and proceeded to write down what, Tom knew, would be the next front page of the Daily Prophet, so Ministry-approved rubbish.

He narrowed his eyes. This speech stank. Of course it did.

"I hope you didn't leave any trace, Granger," he murmured in Hermione's ear. "Was it an Imperio or a Memory Spell?"

Hermione shot him a dirty look but two red spots flushed her cheeks.

"I used neither," she said conspiratorially, her eyes glued on the stage, where the Minister was now walking up and down, animatedly gesticulating to the crowd. "I just happen to have the talent to make people see what's right and wrong for themselves, you know, help change their perspective-"

Hermione took a quick glance at Tom before hastily turning her eyes in front of her.

"That, and I had a vial of Felix Felicis on me this morning." She bit her lip. "I made him read my speech and he found it brilliant."

Tom laughed. "You clever, cunning witch."

"I didn't trick him or anything," she said indignantly. Tom had to keep himself from laughing harder at the face she was making. "I just- needed a bit of encouragement."

Tom smiled to the back of her head before his attention was dragged back on the Minister.

"So," Fudge was saying, "I, as representative of the Ministry of Magic, announce the institution of the new Wolfsbane Potion in the list of freely accessible potions recorded at the Ministry, and the consequential distribution of said potion by St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and the major health institutes of Britain, to all the wizards affected by lycanthropy registered in the Werewolf Register – of our Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

A roar of applause broke out. There were whistles here and there, but they were for the major part positive. Standing next to Harry Potter, Nymphadora Lupin was cheering louder than everyone. Not so far from Tom, Lucius Malfoy was scowling, gripping the head of his infamous cane so hard his knuckles were whiter than his hair, and, like him, his wife Narcissa was staring down her aristocratic nose at everyone.

"Alright, alright!," Fudge chuckled, clearing his throat. It took a few more minutes for the excitement to die down, but the Minister didn't seem to mind. "I said my part, but since I'm sure you have many questions, I now invite the brilliant minds that have joined forces to improve the Wolfsbane Potion to come here – Professors Snape and Longbottom, Mr Lupin, and Miss Granger. Thank you!"

"Here I go." Hermione nodded to herself and inhaled deeply.

Gently squeezing her shoulder, Tom genuinely smiled, his nervousness gone. It had dissipated the moment he saw a familiar spark enter her eye.

And as he watched her go, back straight and chin high with confidence, in his chest hope started rising again.

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"Oh, Arthur, for Merlin's sake!"

"Just one moment, Molly!" His tongue trapped between his teeth, Mr Weasley kept hitting random buttons on the Muggle camera placed on the wobbly tripod. All the guests had been holding their breaths for minutes now.

"Maybe you should help him, Richard," Helena suggested, but Mr Weasley finally clapped his hands and emerged from his- whatever work he had been doing.

"All done!" he exclaimed, puffing his chest with pride, "now we just have to-"

"Arthur!"

"Mr Weasley!"

Tom mentally shook his head when the Weasley patriarch sprinted towards them to stand between his wife and his daughter.

The flash went off half a moment later. And, like an idiot, Tom missed it.

With the excuse of checking the photo, Tom was the first to stand and get away from the merry group. The high level of excitement was starting to bother him, but, like the perfect gentleman everyone thought he was, he just ignored it and let his smile widen with each passing hour.

"It turned out nice."

A full beer bottle in hand, Remus stepped closer, peering at the photo. "Unmoving. But nice."

Tom nodded and unscrewed the camera from the tripod. He zoomed in.

There they were, huddled together in the living room of the Grangers, smiling from ear to ear, looking at the camera but somehow still managing to keep their attention on the young woman sitting in the centre of the picture.

Hair arranged in a simple braid, stray curls framing her heart-shaped face, a green sweater paired with dark-blue jeans, Hermione was smiling the brightest. It was her first beautiful smile in months. It was contagious. So contagious that the black-haired young man sitting by her side on the couch had felt the warmth of that smile and turned his head to witness the real thing.

"Don't be embarrassed, I did the same in almost all my wedding photos," Remus told him.

I'm not embarrassed, Tom thought, sparing Remus a glance. And your wife's fourteen years younger than you, you were probably checking if she was still there.

The man just raised an eyebrow before looking back at the photo.

On Hermione's other side, Richard and Helena Granger smiled proudly, she with her hand on her daughter's lap, he with his arm around the two women.

Around the couch were their friends: the Weasleys, minus Charlie, Bill and Fleur, the Lupins, the Potters, the Notts, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Neville Longbottom, Rubeus Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, and, surprisingly, Severus Snape. The last was even showing off one of his rare tight-lipped smiles.

At Hermione's feet, sitting on the thick carpet with their legs outstretched, a sleepy Crookshanks between them, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were grinning.

The famous Trio, always together. Inseparable. Even after an internal crisis, things within their exclusive group were bound to righten themselves, always. The three of them would always be best friends. End of the discussion.

And they had discussed it, Tom remembered grimly. He had started it. Hermione had been inflexible: no matter how dim-witted and blind he could be, Ronald Weasley was her best friend.

That didn't mean Tom had to like it. In fact, he didn't.

Coincidentally, the morning after their 'discussion', all the jerseys of Potter and Weasley had vanished from Hermione's wardrobe. Coincidentally, a few had been saved and turned from red to emerald green.

Coincidentally, Tom's whole wardrobe had turned red that same evening. Gryffindors could be very vindictive.

Not able to remove the Charm, much to his consternation, he had had to give up and use a nice, selected breakfast in bed, coupled with a bunch of flowers and apologies, to ask Hermione to reverse the spell. The bitch had let him simmer for a few days more before granting his request.

In short, now not only Tom had to endure the presence of Potter and Weasley, he also had to suffer through their weekly little gatherings- and the weekends, and the birthdays, and the weddings, because apparently there was always a Weasley marrying. And he had to do all of this with a smile plastered across his face. Even babysitting Lucya sounded better than that – sounded, because he had never done it, preferring to let Hermione handle the little screaming bundle.

Speaking about his goddaughter-

"Here," Feodor said, thrusting the little girl in Tom's arms. "Don't let her down. Hagrid is going to sing in moments, if you know what I mean."

Indeed the half-giant was in a corner of the room with Tonks and Ron and, by the way he was laughing and gabbling away, it seemed he had already had a few too many.

Tom sighed at the retreating back of Feodor, knowing his wife was somewhere in the house, possibly Hermione's old room, waiting. Lucky bastard.

"Someone's been neglected, it seems," Remus smirked, folding his arms over his chest.

Giggling, Lucya leaned over to catch a balloon floating nearby, but Tom sent it flying out of her reach with half a thought and, much to the child's dismay, he readjusted her on his hip. He had seen how the little creature loved dragging the few teeth she had on the latex and, even if he liked to see her happy face whenever she made those irritating sounds, he didn't like the idea of germs in her mouth at all.

"Hermione is busy these days," Tom said, turning around for Lucya to lose sight of the bloody balloons. The sight of Sirius Black barking at Teddy Lupin wasn't much better but it had to do.

"She's succeeded where many others failed," Remus commented, leaning on the back of the couch. "You must be proud of her."

"She has," Tom convened, taking a sip of water. Remus frowned, so he hastily added, "I'm proud of what she's doing at the Ministry-"

"Tom-"

"This is a good night, Remus," Tom cut him short, "so, please, don't."

Remus turned his head slightly to see Hermione there, standing on the other side of the room, talking with her parents. He spoke anyway. "She's not talking to me, not like- before. I can't read her, I don't want to. Just tell me she's fine."

Tom bit the inside of his cheek. Caving, he looked Remus in the eyes.

"She will be," he said. And just like that, all the bad thoughts he had banned from his mind returned at once. He returned to feel just like the day before. And the day before that. All the hope he had felt growing while at the Ministry- gone. A familiar weight settled on his chest.

Remus sensed the shift in the air. "I'm sorry," he said.

Tom wordlessly passed him Lucya, who was starting to nod off, and poured himself a glass of wine.

He knocked back the drink.

Honestly, he wasn't even angry. He was just tired.

So damn tired.

"You can't give up now."

It wasn't Remus. The werewolf and Lucya were now on the couch, the latter lying in Lily's lap, sleeping peacefully with her mouth ajar.

Exhaling, he looked up at his former Potions teacher. "Why?" he inquired.

Snape regarded him as if Tom were as stupid as he had just sounded. "Because I don't remember her giving up on you months ago."

So Snape knew.

"So it's true," Tom said. "You do have a soft spot for Gryffindors."

The other rolled his eyes. "Lupin told me."

"I thought you two weren't friends."

"Not that it's any of your business, but we are now."

"Good."

"Don't let that Gryffindorish hope of yours die, Riddle. She's doing better. I saw it."

"How do you know?"

"Not to belittle your pathetic role in your boring life as a couple, but I've known her longer than you. I taught her and worked with her. So do yourself a favour, pay heed to what I tell you."

"But I do, Professor," Tom faintly smiled, earning himself a glare.

"She's doing better," Severus said again, his obsidian eyes studying Hermione, who was now chatting with Minerva. "I know you saw it too, earlier at the Ministry."

He had. Of course he had.

Tom and Severus changed the subject then, broaching safer topics, like Hogwarts and a possible retirement for Dumbledore, and the tension around them faded.

And it happened again.

One moment she was distant, the other she was present. One moment she was laughing at a joke Sirius was telling, the other she was really laughing, doubling over and holding her sides, then throwing her head back and howling with Harry and Ginny, her arms thrown around their shoulders.

Tom didn't care if it was because of the company or the music. It had happened again.

It was like the first time he had seen her laugh for real. Her smile lit up all her face, warmed her eyes into molten chocolate, made her skin glow like a fairy in the darkness. The darker it was, the brighter she glowed.

And that moment, that day, that memory, was overshadowed by joy. And even if it would come back, haunt her until she either snapped or confronted it, it was enough for him.

The memory was her darkness. She could glow and spell it all away – the memory, her nightmares, her silences...

They had never talked about it.

He had never asked.

Sometimes he heard her crying in her sleep and at times she woke up with a scream. At times he had to wake her up, when the ropes of her dreams were too tight for her mind to battle them alone.

But, even if they didn't talk about it, he would never ignore it. Every time she woke from a nightmare, he would always hold her, rock her through her sobs and talk softly through her silence. Every time she left the bed in the middle of the night to go sit in the kitchen, he would always follow her after a minute or two to make her tea.

It wasn't much, actually it was nothing compared to what she had done for him, but the little he could he did. He wished he could do so much more. Give her so much more. Answer her pleas, vanish her sin, bargain with the Gods, scatter her cries in the wind – but no, nowadays when she cried, she did it in the bathroom, locking the door the Muggle way and putting up formidable Wards and Silencing Charms, everything so he wouldn't hear or enter.

Because this was something he couldn't give her, forgiveness, and she knew, so she tried to hide from him. Because forgiveness wasn't his to give. He could only give her his love.

The only time they had almost broached the subject, he had asked if she regretted saving him. She had said she didn't.

He had never thanked her. But he had never told her she should have let him go either. Those were things she already knew.

"It gets better," he had said one night, after she had woken up from a nightmare once again. "I'm sorry."

And he was.

But a perverted part of him, one that still existed and would probably never die, admired what she had done to ensure that no curse could trap them in the forest. Somehow, she had known about the ancient tree.

Sometimes Tom asked himself what tormented Hermione the most, the sacrifice of a human or the murder of something sacred.

But then he looked at her and thought he didn't really want to know.

"Where's Feodor?"

Tom blinked groggily at Hermione. Fighting back a yawn, he sat up and scooted over to let her sit between him and a tipsy Black. The man had spent the last thirty minutes shovelling sweets down his throat and drinking beer while talking with Tom (or to Tom) about his favourite subject: women. At a certain point the discussion had taken an unexpected turn, seeing James and Peter joining in, and from women, the men had begun to talk about their women. There were things that even Tom didn't want to know, especially if the exchange of memories involved the mother of Harry Potter.

The woman was sitting in a chair now, Lucya in her arms, talking with Molly and the Grangers. He had never noticed how red her hair was. Darker than the flames dancing in the fireplace. It reminded him of another woman, walking in a cold, forgotten forest-

"He's still enjoying the party with Evelyn, isn't he?" Hermione said, taking the bottle of beer out of his hand.

"In your room." Tom took the bottle right back.

"No, I told Evelyn to take the guest room," she said, "and I'm not a child, you know."

"You can't drink."

Hermione made a face before lunging for the bottle again, but Tom held it away from her.

"Oh, come on!" Hermione protested, punching his arm. "I never get drunk. I haven't tasted a beer in, like, months!"

Tom mentally sighed. It wasn't that he feared she would get drunk, she never reached that state anyway, he simply didn't want her to assume alcohol. But he couldn't prevent her from drinking without a valid reason. And Tom knew she wasn't stupid and ignoring said reason on purpose because he believed she was truly oblivious to what was happening to her.

So he could do nothing without giving himself away, an option he had categorically rejected weeks ago, but do what he did best. He wandlessly Vanished the alcohol from the liquid and begrudgingly let Hermione have the bottle after she had punched and climbed over him some more.

"Spoilsport," she stuck her tongue out at him and drank.

They spent a few minutes in silence, half-heartedly listening to the conversations going on in the room and the soft music in background.

"I wanted to dance," Hermione murmured after a while. She rested her head on his shoulder and entwined their fingers.

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "You should have told me when I was still sober."

Hermione gave a slight laugh. "It's just... I shouldn't' deserve it, dancing- enjoying myself. And the party-"

"No," Tom shushed her, squeezing her fingers. The party had been his idea. "You deserve it. You've been working so hard I've barely seen you the past three months. And look where you are now. Look where he is now."

Both Tom and Hermione looked up and saw Remus talking with Minerva, a sleepy Teddy sitting on his father's knees.

As soon as the rumours about the improved Wolfsbane Potion had reached the ears of the people sitting high at the Hogwarts Board of Governors, taking into account the recent success of his bookshop in Diagon Alley, Remus Lupin had been invited to resume his position as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. The werewolf had accepted.

As for the shop, it remained propriety of Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger. The latter had surprised everyone when she had announced she intended to keep working at Flourish and Blotts and resign from her short-lived employment at the Ministry.

"I've obtained what I wanted," she had said.

So now, thanks to her position as consultant for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and as brain of the Golden Trio (and best friend of dear Harry Potter), Hermione Granger had the liberty of coming in and out of the Ministry whenever she wanted - usually not more than twice a week – and to present any idea that could better the rights of magical creatures and potentially be turned into a law or amendment.

And as she answered every time someone asked why she had chosen to give up on a full career into politics, she was a bookworm through and through.

Next to him, Hermione soundly deflated her chest.

Keeping her gaze on her family, she asked, "What happens now?"

Tom felt his body going rigid. He waited one second, two, before managing to joke, "We wait for Feodor and Evelyn to get their arses down here and then we go home?"

"You know what I mean." Of course he knew. She said again, "What now?"

Tom had a very clear idea of exactly what was going to happen now, but he remained silent until he felt her questioning eyes on him. He pulled his lips into a grimace of a smile that would have fooled no one, but fortunately Hermione was too drowsy to notice.

"I feel like there's nothing else to do," she said morosely.

Now you say that, he wanted to tell her. Wait a few months and you'll miss these moments of blissful idling.

She removed her hand from his and sank further in the cushions, tucking her knees up against her chest. "We have nothing to work on. Nothing to experiment."

"We'll find something," Tom reassured her.

On Hermione's other side, Sirius hiccuped and fell off the couch.

While everyone paused to laugh at the pathetic sight, Tom and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"An improved version of the Sober up Potion, maybe?" he suggested, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione threw back her head and laughed, making various eyes turn their way.

Severus raised his glass of wine in mock salute, smiling at him.

"Oh Merlin," Hermione wheezed, drying her tears with her sleeve. "Sirius needs one right now."

"No, love," James interjected, helping his friend back on the couch, "he didn't pass out, he's just tired. Busy day and all."

"Busy doing what?"

"You don't want to know, Hermione," Peter said, winking at her.

Hermione made a disgusted face.

One hour later saw them standing in the corridor, about to go home, with Tom looking at his reflection in the mirror while Hermione put on her jacket. He passed his hand through his curls and smirked at the perfect man staring back at him.

"It looks nice, my hair," he said, tilting his head one way and the other.

"You sound like Malfoy," Hermione snorted, checking her handbag to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything.

"I mean, it's back to normal."

"Lucky you."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her in the mirror. "What's the matter with you?"

Hermione stomped her foot. "You know hair is a sensitive subject for me."

"What?" Tom exclaimed disbelievingly. "No way, Granger-"

"It is, Tom." Remus nodded at him on his way out, followed by his family and a cheerful Sirius.

"Yep," Ron offered, following them.

Tom made to retort, but Lily and James passed too, smiling at him. The redhead offered him wise words, "In a couple, only one can be the narcissist and that's the woman. Not the man. Never the man."

Trailing behind them, Minerva and Severus nodded solemnly.

Then it was the Weasleys' turn. Arthur and Molly only bid them goodnight, smiling apologetically at Hermione.

"If you want to live," Harry Potter said to him when the last of the redheads had stepped out of the house, "don't mention her hair. And her teeth. And, um, cat hair."

Harry halted before the door, squinting dramatically at the ceiling. When he looked back at Tom, he shrugged, "Yes, that's about all. Goodnight kids."

When there was no one in the corridor but them, Tom leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. When he reopened them, sure enough Hermione was in front of the mirror, patting down her hair.

"Leave it alone," Tom said tiredly. "We're going home anyway."

"It looks horrible," Hermione muttered, but stepped away from the mirror. Bending over the umbrella stand, she glanced over her shoulder at him, "You thought the same the first time we met."

"I didn't," he lied, adding a bah to convince her of how ridiculous the idea was.

"Can you swear it?" Hermione dared him, preceding him out of the door. Tom followed her and closed the door behind them.

"I swear I love your hair," Tom stated.

Stopping on the step, she turned to appraise his eyes, how much sincerity they held. It screamed from his expression. There was nothing of hers that he didn't love.

Under the dim light coming out of her parents' house, Tom let Hermione take her time to study him, the planes of his face, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her, baring it all for her to read and take.

Come on Hermione, it's me. Let me save you this time.

Hermione bit her lip.

She smiled then, thankful and sweet and real.

Tom couldn't describe how it felt, that weight on his chest that had threatened to suffocate him while taking her away from him, one moment it was there, the other it was gone. One moment he was alive, the other he was living again.

Walking down the deserted suburban street, Hermione snuggled closer to Tom and clung to his arm.

"Rowena is a nice name," she said casually.

As she walked beside him in the chilly air of the night, the moon glowing high in the black sky, Tom smiled. In relief. And joy.

"Or Remus," he said, "it's a very nice name."

He paused.

"Let's hope he doesn't have your hair, though."

Laughing, Hermione gave him a peck on the cheek. And Tom grinned like an idiot, feeling like howling at the moon, because, for the first time in his life, he knew what happiness was.

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A/N: Someone should have told me this was going to hurt. Finishing a long story. Damn, it hurts. But it had to end.

I'm sorry, I know I promised I would update yesterday, but I added another paragraph.

Again, I won't say anything about this epilogue. What matters is what you think. The good and the bad. Did you like it?

As always, I thank everyone for the reviews. My heart grows warm every time I read one.

And thank you, thank you for giving The Experiment a chance! Without you, this story would be meaningless.

Now, about the future: I'm editing Dark Games from chapter 1 and it won't take me long. After a long break, I'll return to update it regularly in a few days (every Thursday, as usual). For the old readers, I hope you'll appreciate the news. For the new readers, if you have time and would like to read something different, consider reading Dark Games, my other story. Only thing I should tell you, the chapters are super long, no kidding.

And, I'm working on another story for an AO3 challenge! At best, I'll post it after finishing Dark Games, at worst, I'll chain myself to the chair, keep OpenOffice open 24/7, and post both stories at the same time. Yay, I can't wait! (But I love this hobby so I would do it all with a big smile on my face!)

The title of this last, upcoming venture? Human Touch. Please, Bruce, don't sue me.

Dark, probably darker than anything I've written so far, but more on the psychological side, this story will be told from Hermione's POV, possibly Tom's later on. It's the first time I'm letting Hermione, or a female character in general, be the main character. I love writing from the male point of view, but it's time to step out of the comfort zone.

The plan is to keep it short. By short I mean longer than The Experiment but definitely shorter than Dark Games (considering ch 14 as the limit since DG goes on.) Guys, if you want in, hop on and stay tuned!

Everyone, thank you again! See you on the other side (:

EDIT: A few people are asking what exactly happened in the forest and if the creation of other horcruxes is involved.

I actually didn't explain that part on purpose, but I don't mind clearing this up - even if I prefer to not dwell on endings.

So, if you prefer to finish the story with your own interpretation, close the tab. I won't judge your choice. I love open endings too. But sometimes even a short elucidation on something confusing can make the difference in our perception of a story. But, again, if you don't want to know, DON'T READ THE REST OF THIS NOTE.

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No, no more Horcruxes. Hermione sacrifices a person to save Tom's soul. Tom's ritual healed his soul, but like repaired pottery, it has cracks, so it's not enough and Hermione knows, or guesses. The sacrifice of another human fills those cracks and helps Tom have the choice of either going back or go on. As for the repairing process, think of kintsugi, but a much darker version of it.

Of course the soul of that other person is sacrificed as well. That's why Hermione won't sleep at night. She uses dark magic that not even Tom used to make his horcruxes (those sacrifices didn't involve the souls of the victims, as we witness through Myrtle's ghost).

I actually wrote Hermione's pov for the sacrifice scene, just so I could have a clear idea of what was happening, but I didn't add it in part 7 for one reason: this story isn't about Hermione. Tom is the main character.

When Tom sees the body, he sees the person, but he doesn't name them. It's not important, because now his soul is whole and, despite having to repent for his sins for the rest of his life, he knows he can receive forgiveness, in this life or in a future one. It's cruel on my part, but yes, for Tom that sacrifice doesn't matter any more. That weight is not for him to carry, but for Hermione. "It didn't matter any more" he says.

And Hermione's soul? It's intact. Loaded with sins, but intact. Not only she killed a person, but she also killed a sacred deity.

Why? To break the curse, so the tree couldn't chain her soul, and Tom's, to the forest, like it did with the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron. This means the Bloody Baron is free. The Grey Lady? I don't know. It's her choice, if you know what I mean.

Is Tom going to live for ever? No. But you know what they say about old habits- nah, just kidding. They gave him another chance and he'll live this life to the fullest. Or so I hope.