DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Haggridd for his most excellent Beta skills and steadfast moral support.
CHILD'S PLAY
(Epilogue)
"Then I saw new heavens and a new earth..."
Revelation 21:1
As Draco Malfoy made his way into the deepest dungeons of the former Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he could hear a familiar voice echoing from the room where he and his fellow students had once studied potions.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making…"
The hellish screams of the other prisoners he could block out; the voice of his old Potions professor was another matter…
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic." The emaciated shaggy-haired figure shackled to the wall of his former classroom hardly resembled the former Potions Master, but the softly sinister voice of Professor Severus Snape was unmistakable as it continued to lecture to the empty seats. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you—"
"—how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death." Yeah, yeah, yeah…
"You're late, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, wagging a finger. "Ten points from Slytherin."
"Haven't you heard, Professor?" Malfoy dropped heavily into his old chair opposite the professor's desk. "Classes have been cancelled," he said flatly, "It's a school holiday."
"Oh dear," Snape said in mock sympathy. "Our little war going badly, is it?"
Malfoy's head jerked up.
"What makes you say that?" he said a bit too defensively.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon. I'm sure that you're skulking down here in the dungeons just because you miss your old Potions teacher. You've no idea how touched I am."
"Shut up, old man!" Malfoy snapped.
"It's all right, Draco. You can't help being the way you are. It runs in the family. Your father is a sniveling coward as well."
Draco leaped to his feet, fists clenched.
"Now, now, my boy!" Snape chided. "I just might be the only friend you have left. If you're very nice, I could be persuaded to tell our liberators that you're a fellow prisoner…I'm not promising anything, mind you!"
Draco wasn't really listening. He sank back into the chair with a sigh of resignation.
"I don't understand… Harry Potter is dead." Draco hissed. "The prophecies have been thwarted! The Dark Lord is all-powerful!" He walked over to talk directly to Snape. "What went wrong?"
"Arrogance, my boy, pure unmitigated arrogance. Voldemort became greedy. It's been the same with every would-be conqueror throughout history: Alexander, Genghis Khan, Martha Stewart… He couldn't be satisfied with what he had. It wasn't enough to rule the world of magic, he had to take on the Muggles as well."
"But how, with all our power, could they even have hoped to defeat us?"
"Have you never wondered, boy, why we never conquered them ages ago?"
"I'd always assumed it was bleeding hearts like Dumbledore holding us back."
"We flattered ourselves into believing that we could have conquered them at any time but we just didn't want to. The horrible truth is they have always had the advantage of numbers. While we spent our time honing our spells and our charms, perfecting our potions, they were very good at getting on with the business of being fruitful and multiplying. Now they number in the billions while we are still a relative handful—but there was one other advantage they had that we never anticipated. Old Dumbledore tried to warn us, but we refused to listen."
"What advantage?"
"You mean our 'Fearless Leader' never told you? Well, then allow me to enlighten you as to the true way of the world! Once upon a time, a powerful wizard fell in love and eventually took a Muggle for his wife—"
"Stupid fool! Polluting the bloodline—!"
"No comments from the 'Peanut Gallery'," Snape chided, "As happens all too often, her beauty faded and her sweet disposition changed into shrewish resentment. The woman's constant nagging vexed the wizard so that he could stand no more and finally resolved to be rid of her. He tried every magical method of murder he could conceive, and yet still she lived!"
"Even—?"
"Yes, my boy. Even the Death Curse had no effect on her. Poor bastard took poison himself in the end, for he had accidentally stumbled onto a terrifying truth—that a certain percentage of Muggles are born with a very peculiar form of natural defense. Though they cannot perform magic themselves, neither can they be harmed by it. They are, to all intents and purposes, totally immune."
"Immune…?" Draco gasped. "But this is unthinkable!"
"Old Dumbledore speculated that it was one of nature's little 'checks and balances' to ensure that neither side ever had too great an advantage over the other—but I fear our His Lorship may have inadvertently tipped the scales too far."
"The Muggles know…?" Draco looked like a cartoon character that had just walked off a cliff and only now realized that he was standing on thin air.
"They aren't the sharpest wands in the shop, but they do catch on eventually. Now they've taken to forming whole companies of "immunes". I heard one of the guards say that Lord Arathorn's stronghold fell to one only this morning."
"We're doomed," Draco moaned.
"Why do you think I switched sides—because I liked the smell of Dumbledore's eâu de cologne? Once I understood the truth I knew that Voldemort's plan was a non-starter from the beginning! I had no great love for Dumbledore or Hogwarts or Harry Potter! I was simply trying to prevent that over-reaching fool upstairs from getting us all exterminated!"
"What can we do?"
"If you don't already have a religion, I'd suggest that you pick one and start praying for a miracle."
******
The Dark Lord sat on his golden jewel-encrusted throne in what was once the Great Hall of Hogwarts, brooding over the journal he had discovered clutched in the lifeless hands of his old enemy. The death of Albus Dumbledore had been cause for celebration throughout Lord Voldemort's kingdom. (All had been ordered to make merry on pain of death.) But this news was troubling. He understood only now that his own hubris had started a chain reaction that could end with the extermination of all Wizard-kind. He knew that he must act quickly or his great genius would be lost forever. There had to be a way to escape. He read the page again.
"There may yet be a way for our kind to survive," the old wizard had written. "I have discovered a method of traversing the barriers between dimensions. I now know that the theories are correct, that our universe is one of many, each existing on a different dimensional plane. It is sometimes amusing to observe our counterparts and the various romantic entanglements in which they find themselves."
Voldemort skipped a long passage about the divers and sundry romantic couplings that Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco made up in the various realities. He was much more interested in the passage about a particular dimension that had piqued Dumbledore's interest.
"Hogwarts does not exist there. However, there is ample evidence that many of the inhabitants have latent magical abilities. They simply lack a basic education in how to use them. I am convinced that Miss Granger is the best available candidate for the journey. She is young and healthy, and could survive the ordeal of inter-dimensional travel. Also, the two Muggles who would have been her parents in this reality were killed in an accident before they could produce a child. Life would be much easier for her without having to cope with a doppelganger. Perhaps most importantly, in this particular dimension, her beloved Harry Potter is alive and well, and sorely in need of the kind of affection and encouragement that only Miss Granger could provide him. (Why we had the bad luck to lose our Harry when he apparently survives and thrives in so many other realities is a mystery that I may never fully comprehend.) I am convinced that all it would take for a new crop of wizards to be sown in this fertile field is the planting of a single seed."
"Yes," hissed the Dark Lord, "The seed shall indeed be planted—but it shall be I who reaps the harvest!"
Even as the armies of the Muggle world advanced on their position, Lord Voldemort shut himself in his laboratory and carefully followed Dumbledore's notes in order to open a portal between the worlds. The Dark Lord chuckled at the irony. Dumbledore's own conceit in not burning this book would now provide the means for Lord Voldemort's survival.
"Find young Draco Malfoy!" he ordered the Captain of the Guards, "He shall be the one to plant my seeds in the virgin soil of this brave new word!"
An artillery shell exploded against the outer wall of the castle. Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew scurried through the corridors shrieking like a banshee. "THE MUGGLES ARE COMING! THE MUGGLES ARE COMING! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
"Fool!" snorted the Dark Lord, "I really should turn him back into a rat. I think I shall."
So he did.
Voldemort could hear the cries of his "loyal subjects" in the rest of the castle as they began to panic. No doubt they would surrender in droves, promising to be "good" wizards and use their magic only to help their new Muggle masters. Spineless cowards!
The Dark Lord marveled at his own genius! Hovering before him in a halo of light was the portal that would transport his protégé into this new world.
"Master", came Draco Malfoy's voice from the doorway.
"Excellent, young Malfoy! I have a very important task for you to perform! I—"
There was a sickening thud.
Draco Malfoy was lying face down in a pool of his own blood, his body riddled with bullets. In the distance, Voldemort could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps running up the corridor. The enemy was here!
He had no choice. Voldemort knew that his ravaged body might not withstand the journey, but there was no alternative. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he leapt through the portal.
*********
"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Potter," the policeman apologized. I can't believe I'm saying this. They'll never believe this back at the precinct. "I know how upset you must be, but could you just answer a few questions to help us with our inquiries?"
"Of course, constable," Hermione said while she dried her tears. She had finally managed to stop shaking. "I know you and your men are doing all you can."
"Could you tell us what happened?"
"As I told the other policeman… We heard a noise outside. Harry went out to investigate and…"
The constable laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I know this is hard, Mrs. Potter, but I can assure you, he didn't suffer. It happened very quickly."
"Thank you, constable." She took a minute to compose herself. "Do you know anything about the man who did it?"
"His National Health card says his name is Tom Riddle—a transient as far as we can tell. No fixed abode. Been in and out of mental wards since his teens." The constable tapped his head. "Voices. The doctors diagnosed him as schizophrenic."
"What will they do to him?"
"He was already on probation for attacking his social worker. This was his last chance. He'll be locked up for good this time."
**********
Lord Voldemort sat alone in the semi-darkness, struggling to concentrate as the powerful psychotropic drugs he had been given began to take effect. He had a long, scraggly beard, his clothes were ragged, and his teeth and fingertips were stained a dark yellow with nicotine. He was in a padded cell in the psychiatric wing of Bethlehem Hospital in London. His arms were held securely by a straightjacket.
The Dark Lord had been weakened even more than he had expected by the journey between worlds, but that shock was nothing compared to the one he had received when he had discovered himself—his counterpart in this universe—to be little more than a homeless vagrant. With his last remaining energies, Voldemort had taken possession of his counterpart's body, but something was definitely wrong. Strange voices continually echoed through his head, and he could feel the effects of alcohol combined with Merlin knows what other kinds of chemicals, making it difficult for him to concentrate.
"I am the Dark Lord!" He bellowed through the static inside his head. "I am 'He Who Must Not Be Named'! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!"
"Just keep telling yourself that." came a woman's voice from the shadows.
"Who's there?"
" I doubt if you'd remember me."
"Order them to release me at once!"
"Let's see… You destroyed Hogwarts, subverted the Wizarding world and murdered practically everyone I ever cared about. Now I'm supposed to release you, because…?"
"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!"
"Of course! Silly me." She looked around at the padded cell. "So you finally decided to follow me. You really must've really made a mess of things."
"What?"
"You went after the Muggles, didn't you?"
"How did you know…?"
"Old Dumbledore was right," she chuckled. "You're as predictable as the sunrise. The only possible reason that you could have had to follow me here, would be because you'd made a total cock-up of things back home."
"What did you say your name was?"
"It used to be Granger. Hermione Granger."
"Potter's girlfriend…" Voldemort whispered.
"Wife," she corrected. "Ron Weasley's friend, and Chris and Ivy Granger's[1] daughter, Albus Dumbledores's student… Shall I go on?"
"Are you going to kill me?"
"Don't think I haven't thought about it. Killing you wouldn't be like killing another human being in cold blood. It would be like killing a rat—or some other form of vermin. I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it. But, to tell the truth, I'm beginning to think it would be much more appropriate to leave you the way you are."
"No! You can't leave me like this! I really will go mad!"
"And I suppose you were perfectly sane when you slaughtered all those people?"
"'The needs of the many', my dear," he shrugged as if the point were perfectly obvious. "Even the healthiest tree must be pruned occasionally in order to survive."
"I suppose that included 'pruning' my family, my friends, me…?"
"I might have been a little hasty in your case," the Dark Lord admitted. "Despite your background, I'd heard some very flattering reports about you. They did say you were one of the most talented witches of your generation."
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.
"It's ironic that after all the suffering you caused—all the deaths, all the misery—that you were finally brought down," she stepped forward into the dim light, revealing the tiny blanket wrapped bundle she cradled in the crook of her arm, "by a simple act of love."
You hurt my Daddy, the voice echoed inside Riddle's head, through the haze of medications. You're a bad man.
"That voice…! As I was struggling with Potter, there was a blinding light… excruciating pain… and that voice… a baby?"
"Harry Potter's son. Our love made flesh." Hermione looked down and smiled as the baby wrapped its tiny hand around her index finger. "Don't worry, Darling. He won't hurt anyone ever again."
"Great Merlin!" The Dark Lord gasped. "He's but a babe in arms, yet he's sapped all my powers!"
"A 'chip off the old block', wouldn't you say?"
Voldemort's mind was racing. "You must give him to me! I'm the only one who could possibly bring out his full potential!"
"So you can do what you did back home? We both know how well that worked out."
"I admit I made mistakes—"
"Mistakes? You managed to destroy a magical civilization that had existed since the dawn of time." She sighed, shaking her head sadly. "Perhaps some day we'll find a way to go back. Who knows? It might even be possible for our children or our grandchildren to rebuild what's been lost."
Voldemort smiled.
"Give me the child and I'll tell you how to get back."
Hermione turned and started to walk away.
"Please!" The Dark Lord was almost begging. "Your son is no ordinary wizard! He must be taught how to use his powers!"
"He'll be taught," she assured him. "He'll be taught the difference between right and wrong. He'll be taught compassion and understanding. He'll be taught that his powers are a gift that he can use to make the world a better place for all mankind."
"Don't be absurd! You can't possibly straightjacket such an extraordinary child with your simple-minded, middle class morality!" he said, entirely missing the unintentional humor of the statement.
Hermione shrugged. "It worked for Clark Kent." She backed away into the shadows and disappeared.
"No! Wait! Come back!"
"Good-Bye, Mr. Riddle. Give my regards to Nurse Ratchett." Her mocking laughter echoed eerily across the room.
She materialized in the corridor outside wearing glasses and a doctor's lab coat. The orderly was too busy checking the patient's chart to pay much attention to her. He raised an eyebrow at the doctor's recommendation.
"It's a little extreme," Hermione noted as she took the chart from him and initialed it, "but we have no choice. He's an exceptionally violent and dangerous case. Notify the operating room and prep the patient for immediate surgery."
"But a pre-frontal lobotomy?"
"'The needs of the many…'" she said as his eyes locked with hers.
******
"Look, I'm sorry about the cat, darling." Harry said with his trademark self-effacing grin. His forehead was bandaged and the lump on the back of his head felt as though it were the size of a golf ball, but all that seemed inconsequential next to the sight of his loving family waiting for him in the Casualty Ward lobby.
"Forget about the wretched cat, Harry! As long it wasn't you!" Hermione gently laid little James in his pram then threw her arms around "Daddy's" neck. "Don't you even think about leaving me to raise this baby all by myself!" she scolded.
"It'll take a lot more than some scruffy old beggar to get rid of Harry Potter!" He wiped a tear from his wife's eye. "Better get used to it, kiddo. You're stuck with me." He knelt down to beside the perambulator to speak to his son. "Especially when I've got so many people looking out for me." A grin spread across James Potter's tiny face at the sight of his Daddy. He cooed and gurgled with delight. "Now I don't want you to get the idea that saving your Old Man's life is going to make one bit of difference in the way you're disciplined. I'm still going to expect you to do your homework, wash behind your ears—and no going out with girls until you've eaten all your vegetables!" Hermione was doing her best not to laugh out loud in the hospital lobby. "Of course," he said, pretending to whisper, "if there's anything special you'd like for Christmas or your birthday, you just let me know."
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw the constable who had interviewed her walking out with another policeman.
"'I'm very sorry for your loss'?" the second officer chuckled. "For a cat?"
"It was out of my mouth before I realized it," the constable said, embarrassed. "The lady was upset! What was I supposed to say? Some people really love their cats! They're never going to let me hear the end of this down at the precinct, are they?"
"At least he didn't suffer."
"Oh, shut up!"
As Harry stood up again, Hermione threw her arms around him once more.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be better when we're all back home." she sighed as she nuzzled against his shoulder. We just finished with the Malfoys and Voldemort showed up! What next! In her heart, Hermione knew that this wasn't the end of the story. No doubt there would be other enemies they would have to face in this brave new world. There was still much work to do if they were to rebuild Hogwarts, but for now she could relax and allow herself a peaceful night's sleep in her husband's arms.
"About the cat…" Harry began, "Why don't we go down to the pet shop tomorrow…?"
"You don't have to pretend for my sake, Harry. I know you and Crookshanks II never really got on that well. You're just not a 'cat person'. Maybe this time we could get a dog? What do you think of the name 'Padfoot'?"
"Whatever you say, darling." Harry raised an eyebrow. "By the way, did they ever figure out who the old fellow was—why he tried to break in to our place?"
"He was just a crazy old man, darling." Hermione assured him. "No one you need to worry about."
THE END
OF
"CHILD'S PLAY"
[1] A tip 'o the wizard's hat to Circe713 as I steal her names for Hermione's parents out of all the thousands they've been given by other authors. If for no other reason than I like the way she wrote them in her stories, "Summer", "Paris", etc. Check them out! http://www.astronomytower.org/authorLinks/Circe713/