A/N And here we have another AU... the worst AU possible, if you ask me.

Dear Lord Voldemort, if you are reading this, then please be aware that I was not the only one who did "that" to you.

Nerys and Serp not only beta-ed the chapter, but also gladly added more and more...things...to your description..So, Crucio them as well, please. I don't want to be alone...(Yeah, I know, I am a bitch, but I won't suffer alone! Bitches must join me..wide smile..where are my pills?)

And we finally find out who else Serpie decided to push into this story.

Here you are...Enjoy!

P.S Had to break sentences manually again...It suuucks!

Chapter 13

Drumming her polished fingernails against a huge yew tree, Death recalled the events that brought her into her current predicament.

Here she was, out of that insane realm after Insanity begged Voldemort on his knees to just leave. Pretty please. Fate and Death were bouncing in excitement, and Hermione was smiling happily at hearing this bit of pleasant news.

However, Voldemort was not going to leave like that. Empty-handed … pfft … he was not a Dark Lord for nothing. And since he had all the power in this situation, he was sure to use it to his advantage.

So, it took at least four hours of Voldemort's "diplomatic" skills to get what he wanted from Death before he actually agreed to leave. It frustrated Death, Fate and Hermione since they could not leave without him, and it frustrated Insanity because he wanted to be rid of them. Now! As in immediately without any further discussion!

Usually, all what was needed was a "Green Light" from the Master of the realm for the travelers to leave, but somehow, cursing the said Master had inadvertently affected this mechanism.

Voldemort had changed the power balance to such a degree that Insanity couldn't do a thing without his consent. Something that made Insanity even more adamant that they had to leave. And something that made Voldemort smirk at his most smugness.

Voldemort claimed that he didn't have enough "fun" torturing Insanity, so he had to get "bonus points" from Death before he would be willing to bring them to another realm. Even Death could not understand how that was possible. Insanity was already begging them to leave, something that would make the other gods and goddesses' mouths drop open. Usually, it was the other way around.

She was ...

At the thought, Death paused since she could not remember how old she was exactly. Still, with all the wisdom and knowledge she possessed, that bitch Voldemort managed to screw her over big time.

That fucker, who was supposed to be her toy, managed to get a vow from her that any other dimension where he, alongside with Granger, were thrown into would contain two things: Magic and no Potter in any form or shape.

Voldemort also tried to get her to agree to: "No Dumbledore, no fucking moronic creatures and closer to the exit."

As if she were crazy! That would take all the fun out of having him as her toy.

So, Death claimed she would rather stay with Insanity, or what was left of him after Voldemort provided him with his usual "Spa package. All included Plus."

Since that left Voldemort stuck with nothing left to bargain about, he had to accept. Magic and no Potter was all he got for dragging them all from that realm. Although if you witnessed his almighty, haughty attitude, you'd think he won the lottery.

Death smirked. Lottery, her arse. He had no idea whatsoever what she had in store for him.

Fate was gone. The old lady needed some rest after the "Weirdo" realm; she was off to Disneyland, riding the roller-coaster as she always liked to do to calm her nerves. This meant that, without the interfering busybody called Fate, Death had free rein over her two toys. No help for them in this new realm. And what a realm it was.

Smugly rubbing her hands, Death suddenly screamed as she felt a striking pain in her left ankle.

"Aren't we smug! And seem to be sane … how unfortunate, I expected more from Insanity."

The voice full of arrogance and amusement came closer when Death finally grabbed the damn snake that bit her seconds ago and tossed it away.

"Oh no. You," Death moaned in agony.

What was that Muggle saying? Death thought. Something about an apple and a tree, or something similar. Those two certainly were related.

"Me, me. Who else? Your stupidity is annoying, but you're fun to mess around with," an old man with a long beard smoothly said, now caressing the snake that was so rudely tossed aside by Death.

"You two will be the death of me," Death snapped at the old man and went quiet, understanding what she had said a moment too late.

"Death of Death. You are soooo smart. Did I mention that already?"

Now, the old man was making fun of her. As always. The bloody nerve of him and his equally smug and annoying pals.

Death hated him with all her being: He had escaped the House of the Rising Sun with his moronic friends, and after a millennium of doing whatever the hell he was doing, he came back, coming and going back and forth, from one world to another, all the while mocking her. Fucker.

Yeah, he was without a doubt the most annoying fucker of the four. Something she didn't share because he was bound to take it as a compliment. Fucking snake.

"You'll get kicked in that butt of yours for what you're trying to pull off in this realm." The old man kept talking in a hushed, mocking tone, as if he were talking to a mindless child instead of Death.

"Oh really?" she huffed in annoyance. When will he leave already with that damned snake of his?

She had a spectacle to watch, and she preferred to be left alone to have her laugh.

"Yes, really. You, oh-so-clever one, cannot even imagine how that realm you chose for them will bite you back in the arse. But it's for you to find out and feel, and for me to see and enjoy."
The old man finished his arrogant and mocking speech with a mocking laugh, told the snake to follow him, and left Death alone at last.

Finally, Death thought happily, ignoring the bugger's statement on how this realm would affect her. What the hell did he know anyway? Nothing.

Swiftly, she went to see how Mega-Bitch aka Voldemort would react to this realm.

No Potter and Magic.

That was just fine by her.

Enjoy, motherfucker, Death thought, and a maniacal laugh erupted from her lips.

xxxxxxx

Soft light illuminated the rooms of the current Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, who was now busy marking the essays his students had written on the topic: "Dark Magic and its origins."

It was clear some of them hadn't properly read the chapter about non-retaliation and negotiation in "Defensive Magical Theory" by Wilbert Slinkhart. Such a good book: very peaceful, as it
should be. As this night was. So beautiful. Nobody should fight or cast offensive spells on a night like this.

The Professor sighed and pushed the papers away. He was in no mood for grading papers now since the moon shone brightly, filling the said Professor with inspiration. Grabbing the nearest empty parchment, he started to write his new poem, titled: "Home."

"I always go to sleep in sadness,

My loneliness bordering on madness,

But I know, deep in my heart,

There is a place for purer part."

The Professor put the quill down and frowned, as he recalled his latest interaction with that old man.

He was evil, pure malice, and yet, he would always come to him, appear out of thin air and mock him for being a whiny bitch instead of a proper heir. As if he wanted to be what that old man called proper. Such a vile individual: mocking, dark, full of hatred and surrounded by a powerful dangerous aura … it made the DADA Professor sick to his stomach.

No, the professor knew right from wrong. And he lived by his morals, taught them to others, and wouldn't be swayed by his unworthy, vicious ancestors. He'd make his own choices, be his own man: an example to everything and everyone that was Light.

He'd shown the world one could overcome disadvantages and be a better person for it. He was better than that old man, no matter what he said. He was better than the evil wizard, even though he seemed incapable of vanquishing him.

Recently, the DADA Professor had tried to vanish what he deemed to be an evil spirit with the silver holy cross that he'd bought in Muggle London near his favorite candy shop. The spirit had only laughed and circled his index-finger around his head as if indicating that his heir - him - was off his rocker.

The Professor sighed heavily and thought of all those dark wizards and witches that tried to fight against all the wonderful, brave Muggle-borns and strove after blood purity. Such a ridiculous quest. His "ghost," as the Professor had started to call him (for he could not be alive), was once the leading force behind those horrible murders.

He shook his head in sadness at that, feeling his soft locks caress his soft cheek. Such horrors. He would never, ever be a part of such atrocities. He'd turn the other cheek and achieve a moral victory, which was exactly what he was teaching his wonderful, young, innocent students. Morality, being a good person, counted. Victory could be won in defeat. And love was the greatest power around. Magic was love: a bright shining white light of love that engulfed the world and made everything alright.

Kissing his silver cross and popping a lemon drop (his favorite candy) into his mouth, the professor sat straight and, with a determined hand, continued his poem.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle would never ever go against the Light!

For he, alone, was their shining Knight in the dark, dark Night!"

xxxxxxx

"Get your hands off of me, Granger," Lord Voldemort snapped at the Muggle-born witch, who still kept clinging to him as if her life depended on that act.

Frantically looking around and seeing Hogwarts just a few miles away, Hermione finally let go of Voldemort's robes, reassured that she was finally away from that ugly child called Insanity and in another realm.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked in a now slightly calmer voice. Hogwarts, magic, no Death in sight: perfect!

However, Hermione Granger knew all too well that there was always something wrong with the realms under Death's jurisdiction as it had always been before.

"Somewhere," Voldemort answered, not really paying attention to the Mudblood. Sure, he was a genius and all-knowing, naturally, so he provided her with the answer that was correct everywhere. Stupid, little chit for asking such insipid questions. Perhaps another Crucio was in order?

However, Voldemort could see an old man standing not far away from them, and with a start, the Dark Lord realized whom it was. There was no way he was meeting that man eye to eye with his present company. He could just hear her go off on one of her right versus wrong lectures. Nope, she was NOT coming with him.

"Stay here," Voldemort ordered the still quiet Hermione and started walking towards the old man.

Naturally, since the Mudblood was always such a timid and complying witch, she obeyed him.

Not.

"No way. I am coming with you, or did you forget about our chance of becoming Dementors if we get split up? Now that may be an improvement when your looks are concerned, but for me ... I like to remain looking like a human being," Hermione sneered, trailing after Voldemort immediately.

Voldemort didn't need to know that he was a very handsome man even with those creepy red eyes of his, which actually fitted him in a way …
What was she thinking? Bad Hermione, she scolded herself before blaming the source responsible.

Who the hell did Voldemort think he was, giving her orders like that? As if she were one of his moronic Death Eaters? Not in a million years. Besides, she was curious about that bearded bloke over there, too. And they were supposed to stay together. Damn Death and her sick sense of humor.

The Dark Lord turned abruptly and asked in sweet voice, "Do we like our Crucios, Mudblood?"

Not particularly, Hermione thought, swallowing. She'd had enough for one day. Well, for the rest of her life to be exact. Not that she thought that was a likely wish to be granted. No matter that Hermione Jean Granger had always been the brightest witch of her age, she was not even close to what Voldemort was. She herself had witnessed how well the Dark Lord could command not only the enormous magical power he possessed, but also everyone around him: Insanity, Death and Fate included.

Deciding not to trigger what seemed to be an already agitated Dark Lord, she stepped aside and reluctantly agreed to wait as long as Voldemort and the old man remained in her sight.

"Worried you'll lose me?" the obnoxious Lord mocked. "I'm touched."

Before Hermione had a chance to give him a witty, sharp reply, Voldemort was already underway to their new company. Hermione really hoped the bloke was some other kind of deity, capable of sending that smug arse flying through the air. Alas, she clearly noticed how the old man smiled at Voldemort with … was that pride? Crap. Wasn't she ever going to get lucky?

Hermione decided right there and then that life was extremely unfair in Death's universes.

xxxxxxx

The old man smiled proudly as Voldemort halted in front of him. Finally, he had the chance to meet his true heir instead of that sick fuck who polluted the air in this realm. It felt gooood. He could even taste the Dark Magic, for it was an extremely powerful dark magical aura that swerved around his rightful heir.

Voldemort smiled. It must have been one of his very rare real smiles, especially since it was aimed at another and not meant for himself. Before him stood the only person he had ever admired. Well, again, besides himself that was.

"Salazar Slytherin, a pleasure," Voldemort said, greeting his ancestor with a reserved nod.

"My true heir," the extremely pleased Salazar Slytherin replied, "we meet at last."

"Care to tell me what are you doing in this place?" Voldemort inquired.

For all he knew, Salazar Slytherin along with the rest of the Founders were believed to be firmly dead. Now, he was looking at the proof of the opposite right in front of him, and considering how long ago his ancestor lived, Mr. Immortality Obsession just needed to know the secret.

He recalled from his History of Magic classes that the deaths of all the Founders were a huge mystery. There were no graves to be found anywhere; no data as to where, when and how they died; nothing. It seemed like they had just vanished into thin air. Most historians blamed this on the time period and the inadequacy of record-keeping in those days. But he - being smarter than everyone else - had always suspected something had happened, even though he had no idea what.

"I come and go as I please," always the sneaky one, Salazar answered innocently.

"How? Aren't you dea-?"

At the same time Voldemort was about to finish the sentence, he remembered what Death had told him in Insanity's realm.

"The group of four. Fate helped them."

Fate had helped the Founders! So ... that was where they disappeared to, Voldemort guessed. Back to where they came from: The House of the Rising Sun. His red eyes swept around the environment. Why on earth would anyone voluntarily come back to this Death-Invested shithole?

Well, come to think of it, he could think of a reason or two: one being to rub it into the bitch's face. Yeah, Lord Voldemort could definitely appreciate that reason. He'd have to get Salazar Slytherin to tell him his secret now that the Founder was here. Right in front of him. How truly wonderful!

"Before you start your interrogation, my true heir," Slytherin patted the Dark Lord on the shoulder, "I have some very important information to tell you before that bitch interrupts us."

"The Mudblood?" Voldemort asked in a somewhat astonished voice. Salazar was rushing because of Granger? Oh, please … Maybe this was some silly copy and not the real deal after all?

"No, my heir," Salazar said, shaking his bald head, "not the Mudblood, no matter how good she is."

"Good?"

Voldemort decided this could not be his great ancestor. Too bad for the bloke. Lord Voldemort would execute his judgment immediately.

Must be some shitty creature again, Voldemort thought, as he reached inside his robe for his wand.

"Oh, stop it! I have several millennia of magical experience over you. Now as much as I consider you to truly be a worthy heir, I'd still advise you to keep that wand in your pocket if you don't want to land in a compromising, embarrassing position in front of your Mudblood. After all, we have more important issues at hand than duel each other. And yes, that Mudblood of yours - "

Not appreciating this continued emphasis on the possessive form, Voldemort opened his mouth to proclaim that the Mudblood had nothing to do with him.

However, Salazar simply glared at the Dark Lord and continued relentlessly, " - is really quite extraordinary. You'll understand later. But I wasn't talking about her. I meant the whiny bitch that pretends to rule here."

"Death?" Voldemort asked with a raised eyebrow, considering he could always curse "Salazar" when he was done chatting. He'd always been patient and excellent at keeping score. One Crucio per insult. Yeah, that was the way to go.

"You seem to know her as well as I do." Salazar smirked and grabbed Voldemort's hand.

Seriously, is he gay or what? The Dark Lord considered, annoyed. Two Crucios per touch. He was no Dumbledore.

"Fate is away at the moment, so Death decided to let you know how unamused she was with your antics," Slytherin whispered to his increasingly irked heir.

Three Crucios for every unnecessary statement. He already knew Death was unamused with his actions; it was a major plus point in performing them.

"I am so pleased to see you," the ancestor continued unwisely intimate, "because I have seen the other you from this realm already. And, trust me, that sick fuck is beyond anyone's imagination. I warn you: Do not try to kill him straight away. The Mudblood may actually help you there if you play your cards right, and that will be extremely beneficial to your goals."

Hmmm... beneficial to his goals … that was more like it. Perhaps he could deduct one Crucio per useful statement? Lord Voldemort was a merciful man, after all.

So, the Salazar Slytherin was advising him to manipulate the Mudblood into killing the Lord Voldemort of this realm. Well, he could certainly do that. No problemo. The person he couldn't steer hadn't been born yet.

But what was the reason behind killing his other self? If he was so annoying, why didn't Slytherin do it himself? If Slytherin thought he could manipulate Lord Voldemort into doing his bidding, he had another one coming. He would act for one person and one person's benefit alone: Lord Voldemort's. And if Lord Voldemort decided it would be in his best interest to let the Mudblood kill the other him, then it would be so.

However, if Slytherin said the Mudblood had to kill him, then, he had to be himself, Lord Voldemort, in this realm, which didn't make sense, since Slytherin seemed happy and proud to meet him and he'd called the other him a 'sick fuck.'

Now, Lord Voldemort knew he was no "sick fuck." He was brilliant, a genius; eccentric is the correct word to use then. So, there was no way the Mudblood would kill him. Why would he feel inclined to have her kill him anyway? What the hell was he like? Voldemort mused.

"You are a DADA teacher," Salazar said blankly.

Voldemort grimaced. That was the job he'd wanted back home. Loooong time ago before he changed his mind and just took over the whole damn world. Otherwise, he'd be still teaching mindless little creeps on how to pronounce moronic spells.

"You are a complete moron and you hate me," his ancestor added.

He grimaced even more. About the moron bit. The hatred part … well … he already felt conflicted towards Slytherin: To kill or not to kill, that's the question.

However, it seemed that Salazar decided to throw a whole bucket of shit on him in one go.

"You are lighter than Harry Potter has ever been; you just adore lemon drops; you caaaare; you despise the magnificence that is the Arts; your biggest ambition is to rid the world of all evil; you curl your hair; you write poems and you fucking sing," Slytherin deadpanned, enjoying the look of sincere horror on his heir's face before adding sweetly: "And the last time we've met, you - in all your brilliance - tried to vanquish me with a silver Muggle cross." Slytherin rolled his grey eyes at the memory.

Voldemort looked gobsmacked as he could not understand how - how he had managed to turn into something like that. That description had to be false, untrue … mistaken. No version of him could possibly like lemon drops. Such sacrilege.

"And, before we are interrupted, which is bound to happen really soon, one more advice: Make sure you and the Mudblood look like a couple. Do whatever it takes to make her agree to that, otherwise you will miss the whole fun," Salazar whispered before being interrupted, as he had previously guessed, by a loud female screech.

Salazar grimaced as he already had an enormous headache, all thanks to his wonderfully trustful heir.

Lord Voldemort shook his head, as if trying to process all the information. Without a second glance at his ancestor, he walked towards Granger who was now standing with an annoyed expression on her face. Well, considering who was standing near her, Voldemort couldn't really blame her.

Death had finally arrived, but a little too late as Voldemort already had managed to gain enough information as to what was awaiting them inside the castle: a Fuck-knows-who version of himself, no Potter, Salazar Slytherin instead of Fate (The Dark Lord was even glad that was the case, since Fate was as annoying as Death) and coupling with the Mudblood for "fun."

Hmmm, not bad at all, Voldemort decided as he came closer to Hermione.

After all, Salazar Slytherin had not lied to him, not even once. It wasn't that he inexplicitly trusted his ancestor -which he didn't by the way- it was that during their whole conversation Voldemort had been using Legilimency non-stop. Just to be sure he wasn't going to step into a trap.

xxxxxx

Death took her time before finally deciding to come and visit her toys. And it was something she regretted big time after seeing who else was here besides her two toys. That sneaky bitch had managed to tell something to his equally sneaky bitchy offspring, and that was not good. Not good at all, Death decided when she saw Voldemort approach them and grab Hermione by her waist.

"Uh?" Death voiced her astonishment. Since when were Voldemort and Hermione all lovely-dovey?

'I know where we are and what awaits us.'

Hermione heard a voice in her head. A familiar voice. Voldemort's. His steady hand on her back pressed her body even closer to his.

'I know you are a Gryffindork, but you must act properly, so that everyone will believe us to be a couple. I'll explain later, but I warn you beforehand: I will not hesitate in "reminding" you again and again of what I have told you to do should you ruin it.' The voice took a threatening note at the end of the sentence.

Hermione could not decide what to do. Sure, she had no doubts that Voldemort would keep his word and "remind" her, but she could not be so sure he'd keep his other word and explain it all later.

However, if her previous experiences were any indication (Hermione still vividly remembered how scared she was when Insanity 'got' Voldemort), then she could trust him in a way.

Glancing at Death who was biting her lip in worry, Hermione decided to go with the flow. Apparently, Death didn't appreciate what she saw. And whenever Death had been worried before, it had meant good news for them. Besides, it was better to have Voldemort by her side when playing games with Death.

He was a force to be reckoned with in any dimension, Hermione mused and suddenly hugged Voldemort back.

Hermione Granger smirked when she saw the worry increase on Death's face. She had been correct. Whatever game Death was playing, Voldemort was already at least one step ahead.

xxxxx

They saw a vague figure approach them from the side of the castle. Death barked in her annoying voice "Enjoy" and vanished.

Voldemort glanced at the spot where not long ago his ancestor had stood and recalled the last words spoken to him in Parseltongue: "Everything is already arranged."

We'll see, the Dark Lord thought, and with enormous willpower that only he possessed, he stopped himself from pulling his wand out and casting his favorite green light at the creep who was supposed to be him in this realm.

Said creep casually strolled towards them and halted right in front of them with an open and honest welcoming expression.

Hermione Granger, still embraced by Lord Voldemort, could not believe her eyes. There, just a few feet away from her, stood Tom Marvolo Riddle - a completely sane and normal person in opposition to his almost identical clone whom she was still hugging. This Tom was younger, no more than twenty-five maybe, with pure and crystal clear grey eyes shining warmly on his handsome face.

Hermione looked up at Lord Voldemort only to get the surprise of her life. His eyes were not red anymore. They were deep grey in color with red specks in them. His gentle smile made Hermione wonder if she was still in the Insanity's realm. A grey-eyed Voldemort with a smile on his face, what was the world coming to?

You have got to be kidding me, Hermione thought, still in a state of shock.

"My dear Lord and Lady," Tom Marvolo Riddle made a small bow towards Hermione, "we have been expecting your arrival with eager anticipation."

Hermione noticed that this Tom had a much softer voice that didn't have the usual "Voldemortish" tone to it. Plus, as she took a closer look, she noticed that this Tom had much longer, curled hair and was wearing red with golden robes that represented the House of Gryffindor.

It was Voldemort's death grip on her waist that made Hermione swallow the mocking snort that was about to erupt from her upon seeing Voldemort as a Gryffindor. Several puns ran through her mind - all too dangerous to voice out loud.

Voldemort nodded, actually afraid to open his mouth and accidentally Avada the crystal clear-eyed motherfucker impersonating him. Bouncing curls and Gryffindorkish robes … no wonder Salazar called him a sick fuck.

"Please," the motherfucker bowed again, making Voldemort harden his grip on Hermione and Hermione swallow another snort, "allow me to show you the way to Hogwarts."

Hermione smiled, thinking that maybe this Voldemort, who did not seem like Voldemort at all, wouldn't be as bad as his other self.

xxxxxxxxx

Supposedly, they were important guests from Durmstrang whose purpose of visiting was to make themselves familiar with the educational system of Hogwarts.

Neither Voldemort nor Hermione could guess what the reason was, and they'd tried to ask but couldn't get a word in. Everyone seemed to be a chatterbox in this realm. Dumbledorish
clones, all around, and one had an appearance that resembled Lord Voldemort's. The Dark Lord considered this to be the biggest sacrilege of all.

After a quick meeting with the Headmistress, who was none other than Moaning Myrtle herself, a shocked Hermione and a pissed-beyond-belief Voldemort were led to their room by Professor Tom Riddle who didn't shut his trap once the whole way. Voldemort couldn't stop wondering where the hell his Basilisk had been. So many targets, so little time.

The real Voldemort was silent all the time and Hermione really didn't want to know what curses were flying towards Tom Riddle in Voldemort's head. They were bound to be incredibly creative.

Just before they stopped near the door that led to their rooms, Voldemort snapped at his companions that he had urgent matters to attend to and would be back when he wished, and quickly left Hermione to deal with his moronic version.

He had to make sure his precious pet was alright, after all.

Hermione made a guess that her partner was off to check on his precious Chamber of Secrets. She just hoped that he would retain enough of his sanity - if he had any left - to keep his pet inside the Chamber instead of letting it out for a "walk."

Now, she was all alone with another version of Voldemort, who was looking at her as if she were the sun.

Not wanting to look rude, Hermione invited Tom Riddle inside.

xxxxxx

After looking around the room that had only one huge bed, one small sofa and two armchairs, Hermione offered some tea to her still chatting companion.

"Lady Hermione, let me express my ultimate gratitude for letting me stay in your gracious presence," Tom bowed again and smiled at Hermione who kept staring at him in wonder.

"Emm. No problem. The pleasure is all mine," always the polite one, Hermione replied when tea appeared on the small round table.

"How are you today?" Tom asked sincerely.

Like always when I have Death and Voldemort playing games behind my back, she thought.

"Wonderful, thank you for asking. And you?" Hermione replied instead of vocalizing her thoughts.

"Thank you, Lady Hermione," Tom was starting to annoy her with his constant Lady, please and bows, but Hermione decided that it was all Voldemort's fault anyway.

"Today, I started my lessons with the first years, explaining to them the value of morality and nobleness. You surely understand how important it must be in our world to value such things."

At that Hermione nodded, pleased with the current version of Voldemort.

"As I understand, you are the Defence of the Dark Arts teacher?"

Voldemort-the-nice, as Hermione referred to him in her head, beamed with pride and nodded.

"Well, um, yes. Your humble servant was graced with the honor of teaching the young minds about the Defence against those horrible, monstrous Arts."

Now Hermione liked him even more. Voldemort and no dark magic? Perfect.

Then, Hermione made the monumental mistake of asking Tom what exactly he taught his students in his classes.

Two minutes later, Hermione Granger understood that she was actually talking to a clone of Umbridge, who believed in Ministry and Ministry only.

Ten minutes later, Hermione wished Tom would just shut up, but he kept going and going on. None of the books that were used in his class were useful, and Hermione knew that from her own experience. Her good manners nearly flew out the window when he started praising the Ministry and talking about how those idiots there knew better.

He even considered normal spells to be dangerous magic and claimed that not only students but the whole magical community should refrain from using them.

Where is Voldemort? Hermione mused, from time to time nodding her head in agreement to whatever this version of definitely-not-Voldemort was babbling about, as she stopped listening to his crap maybe half and hour ago..

What time is it anyway and where the hell is my Voldemort? Hermione closed her eyes in agony. She could not bear to be in the same room with that creep who now was talking about fashion. Better give me the normal Dark Lord than this shithead, Hermione pleaded with all her might.

If, at first, Hermione actually liked the guy, the upgraded version of Voldemort as she'd started to call him, then, at second glance … she was not so sure anymore. Now she just wanted her normal Voldemort back.

Before, Hermione believed Tom to be perfect. He didn't make silly, ten-year-old anagrams of his name. And he was good. Moral. She could just see herself with someone as fine as this.

After all, Voldemort was handsome, a genius and really witty. If you removed his "Voldemortish" evil side, he'd be the perfect man any woman could dream of having.

However, now it seemed that all the pluses came with a bonus point called "The Voldemort. Ultimate Edition." Without his "bad" side, he was a moron. Hermione came to the conclusion after spending some quality one-on-one time with the bootleg copy.

Hermione braced herself and decided that she was ruined anyway and prepared to cast the curse when the doors flew open and a smirking face of none other than Lord Voldemort the Original appeared.

"Did you enjoy yourself, my darling?" Voldemort asked in his mocking, all-mighty Voldemortish tone which made Hermione all giggly with happinness before she got extremely angry.

So, he knew already what kind of moron his clone was, Hermione thought angrily. And he must have simply forgotten to share the information with her.

Judging by his mocking smirk, Hermione decided she was correct in her assumption that Voldemort went away not only to check on his darling Basilisk, but to simply leave her to suffer alone. Asshole.

xxxxx

They were finally alone (Voldemort just said "Leave" and the clone was gone in a second), and Hermione was prepared to question the Dark Lord when she heard some noise behind their door.

Voldemort had his head pressed into the pillow and was shaking with silent laughter while Hermione had to sit and listen in embarrassment and anger what that other creep was singing from behind the closed door.

"When I was young, a child with broken heart,

I trusted and believed in only dark.

As time has passed, I knew no love,

There was no pure in me, my heart.

But then some light came through the door-

My heart, my very soul were all at war.

The shadows vanished and escaped,

They left my broken soul alive, reshaped.

Now, I can tell you all of this,

As I have reached the heaven's bliss."

Voldemort was really glad he had listened to his ancestor- it was too much fun to miss, he decided when he heard the Mudblood throw a vase at the door and shout at the creep.

Still shaking with silent laughter, Voldemort was rudely hit by the Mudblood, who now sat on the bed across Voldemort and just glared at him.

Never to miss the opportunity, as they were supposed to be a couple in this world, Voldemort grabbed Granger by her wild hair and smashed his lips to hers.

Let the fucker sing, I have better things to do, the Dark Lord Voldemort decided when the Mudblood's now naked body eagerly responded to his ministrations.

A/N Aaand to be continued...yes, with a lemon that you have to wait for...Yay for me!...Crucio! Oooopsii...