New Colors of Life

I am an established moron who is not only lazy but crazy as well, so...you have to thank Nerys who like a butcher choped-choped this chapter and made it a wonderfully readable one :)

Home Sweet Home

She was floating, her mind and body separated for a second. Her body, still wrapped in a damp cloth, was being carried to the prison, while her mind was far away: catching, snatching the images of memories that meant the world to her.

xxxx

"You are one funny creature, Mrs. Riddle," Tom murmured, looking at her wide eyes where a laughing twinkle was getting brighter and brighter.

Hermione could see that his dark blue eyes were full of amusement as well, but it was their game- who would give in first.

That day Hermione asked Tom to teach her Parseltongue, even thought she knew very well that it was a gift one was born with and could not be learnt fully. However, Tom could teach her a few words, so she could manage their two snakes a little bit easier. Non-stop smirking, Tom happily agreed and Hermione did not understand at that time why he had agreed so easily. After several hours she did understand.

"Shush, let me try again." Hermione tapped Tom's soft lips with her finger and turned to Nagini, as Butterfly was a lost cause according to Tom. She concentrated hard while looking directly into Nagini's eyes as she spoke. "Sssshashi ashhii shhhai."

Tom started coughing really, really hard, while holding his hand near his eyes, and Nagini's big yellow eyes got even bigger. And rounder.

"What?"

Not amused, Hermione turned to her still coughing husband, whose eyes now shone with tears of laughter – laughter that he tried to control, knowing that his wife would not appreciate him rolling on the floor roaring exuberantly at her attempt at Parseltongue. She'd nearly hexed him when he'd done so an hour ago.

"Sssshshhshshshsss," Hermione heard Nagini hiss at Tom. The snake's eyes were still enlarged and seemed wildly round.

At that point, Tom gave in and just started laughing, as apparently, this was too much to take.

"What did I say? Did I pronounce something wrong?"

Frantic and kind of angry, Hermione looked at Tom, but at the same time, she was unable to hide the smile that crept on her face at the image of her laughing, happy husband.

Hermione knew that the language of snakes was very complicated and one wrong "s" or "sh" made a huge difference that she could not distinguish between. So, she tried to just memorize the exact sounds without properly understanding the nuisances. And, Hermione guessed, that was the reason why her usually stoic husband was now roaring with laugher and Nagini had eyes that resembled Butterfly's, again. She'd just wanted to ask Nagini: "Would you like some food?"

Trying to steady himself, Tom reached for Hermione and kissed her hungrily.

"Life would be too boring without you, my darling," he said smirking. "You have just asked Nagini if she wanted to have her foot shoved into her mouth. And Nagini asked me to teach you some snakes' tongue on the moron Butterfly instead, because he would actually agree to that."

Not being able to stop herself, Hermione made an evil cackle that made even Tom laugh. Again.

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They were walking in the village, looking around and just breathing in some fresh air, after all their travelling was done.

Hermione would glare at the poor excuses of females that would drool at the sight of her husband. The said husband would only smirk at that, sending identical yet unnoticeable to Hermione glares towards male Muggles who dared to look at her.

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"Muggles and Muggle-borns are not scum, Tom!" Hermione stated again, already fuming with anger at her stubborn husband, who could not understand simple things.

"Yes, they are, Hermione. You are an exception," he interrupted her already starting rant. "But you know yourself that this is true. You know very well yourself that when you turned eleven your whole world was turned around. It is a shock, and many are not capable of overcoming it."

Well, Tom was partially right: it was a shock, and many Muggle-borns could not adapt to the wizarding world very well. However, his ideas were too radical.

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"Say it; scream it," he whispered his command against her parted lips.

Hermione did not give in for at least an hour, but then, it was too much.

"Yours, always and forever yours!" she screamed as he let her cum for the fifth time in a row.

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A slap on her cheek and a cold potion was all it took to take Hermione away from her pleasant memories and made her return to the much less desirable circumstances she was in now. Waking up, she found herself seated in a dirty chair in a cell, of what Hermione now knew, was Azkaban.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Riddle."

Him.

In the past, she'd never thought it would be possible, but it was as Hermione steadied her gaze full of anger and hate on Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. She hated him – hated him with a vengeance. He'd taken Tom away from her. She knew it could've been no other since she'd been responsible for Harry's un-birthing. If Tom was dead, he had to be the one who'd killed him. Murdering, hypocritical, overbearing, insufferable, old coot! All his silly speeches about right and wrong, about morally just actions, it was just that: words. Albus Dumbledore had never followed his own words, his so-called high morals.

He must feel so above the rest of us, Hermione mused, thinking he's the exception – the one who doesn't have to live by his precious Light rulebook.

Why had she been so stupid to argue with Tom, to go against him, to just waste time when she could have supported Tom and enjoyed their time together? Maybe then, this would not have happened. He would still be alive, perhaps? Maybe that mist wouldn't have taken her back if she hadn't … Maybe if Tom'd been home … Maybe …

But, maybe he is not permanently dead? In the future, his Horcruxes …

"You should be thinking about yourself now, Hermione, and not about your deceased husband. You have traveled back into the future, and there are many things that need to be dealt with," Dumbledore said; his voice was cold and merciless.

Why should it even surprise me that Saint Dumbledore is using Legilimency on me, Hermione thought,I am the wife of the Dark Lord. I traveled in time, and also, helped my husband, for as far as he knows.

Not enough if Tom's dead, a second, guilty voice spoke up in her mind. I should have done more for him.

She broke out of her thoughts when Dumbledore's voice crashed in.

"You are accused of helping Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, in gathering an army that caused huge number of deaths upon Muggles and Muggle-borns. You are accused of being a time-traveler, meddling with the past, and therefore, changing the outcome of the future. You are accused of practicing the Dark Arts. You will be found guilty on all charges in case you do not cooperate with me." His tone of voice suddenly turned softer, more understanding and kind. "I know there is good in you, Hermione. Think of what you have done and what you could do to amend it. I can help you. You don't have to remain in this prison forever."

Hermione listened to Dumbledore's list of accusations and his offer. Yet, she could not find anything good in herself now that Tom was dead. He'd been the best thing that ever happened to her, and she hadn't realized it. She'd let it all slip away without knowing what she would lose. If there was one thing she wanted to amend, it was that mistake. She wanted nothing to do with this world; she belonged with Tom. She had to find him, and somehow, bring him back. It had to be possible. She'd to find some method, some way to feel happy – to be whole again instead of this broken shell she now was.

Why had she not realized sooner how much he meant to her? She knew – she'd known. The potion had told her, and she'd ignored it for the most part. She hadn't wanted to listen to it – didn't want to acknowledge that the most evil wizard of all time was her soul mate. And now he was gone and she was alone again. No husband, no friends, no family. Everyone was dead because of her.

"I will ask you a couple of questions, and depending upon your answer, your destiny will be decided," Dumbledore said. He sat himself opposite of Hermione so that their eyes met. "And so that you don't worry needlessly about Tom, I'll let you know in advance that all his Horcruxes were destroyed already. He is forever gone. You are to decide if you want to continue following a dead man or choose your own path and return to the Light and maybe have a chance to live normally at some point."

Hermione felt as if her heart stopped beating when Albus Dumbledore corroborated her fears. This should not be possible. Tom should not be able to die. But looking at Dumbledore's cheerful expression, she guessed it was. Her Tom was forever gone. Gone was the dreadful Lord Voldemort and his reign of terror. Yet, Hermione felt anything but happiness. She wanted it all to end. She wished she was dead, too. Then, at least they could be together again if there was no hope …

Was there really no hope?

Quickly, she lowered her eyes, thinking hard.

Hermione remembered Tom's last Horcrux. That one he hadn't created in her old time-line: his wedding ring. Dumbledore said they were all destroyed, but which Horcruxes in which time-frame was he considering? The Horcrux wedding ring had been the one not fitting the rest of Tom's "Founders' collection". It had been an additional eight one. If Dumbledore had looked for seven of them, as Horace Slughorn would've advised him, he'd be in for a huge surprise.

If Tom's wedding ring wasn't destroyed, then she could still bring him back. For that she needed to escape Azkaban and start searching for it. Would they have buried him with the ring? Or would he have hidden it after she vanished? But wherever that damn thing was, she'd find it. It didn't matter how much time it would take, she would still do it. Come hell or high water, she was going to get her husband back.

Perhaps she could use her own ring to help locate his?

Suddenly, Hermione understood just how corrupted by him she had become. She was planning on resurrecting the Dark Lord, no matter the consequences. She was lost to the Light. And what was even worse, she didn't care about that anymore.

Having reached her decision, she raised her head and checked her surroundings. There was no one in the cell besides them; the guards were outside, and Dementors were floating around the prison, not really entering it. Hermione's mind registered it quickly, as she had to fight now. She had to somehow weasel Albus Dumbledore out of the information which Horcruxes had been destroyed without raising suspicion. So, she met his eyes blankly. She wasn't going to lie about her true allegiances, so none of it mattered.

"Did you know that Tom was a Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

She didn't have to take a truth serum, which was weird, but she guessed he felt comfortable enough with his Legilimency skills. Arrogant, old coot.

"Did you support his ideas?"

No, not really, but she would not back down now. She would stay by Tom's side; there was nothing left for her, no reason to live as the "old" Hermione. She realized now that she herself had made that choice all that time ago in her room when she'd first made love to Tom. Then, she'd already decided her fate, her destiny. Tom or Voldemort: He was a part of her soul and she would not abandon him, not even in the afterlife, if he was truly dead. And she would make damn sure Dumbledore got that message.

"Yes."

"You do understand, Hermione, that your answers could very well land you in Azkaban forever?" Dumbledore asked her in hushed tone.

"Why aren't you in one of these cells for killing my husband?" she hissed venomously.

"Your husband killed himself when he mangled his soul."

She huffed humorlessly. "I suppose you tell yourself those were 'things' you destroyed instead of someone's living soul?"

"He had to be stopped."

"And that makes everything just okay? How did you do it anyway? They're not so easy to destroy and I know Tom hid them well."

As she listened expressionlessly to Dumbledore's explanation and his feeble excuses for his actions, her heart began to beat faster. And she lowered her eyes briefly in excitement. He didn't mention the ring. He didn't mention Tom's wedding ring!

"But we should not be focusing on your late husband," Dumbledore continued quietly. "This is about your possible future. You do understand that, don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione raised her head and met his cool eyes, thinking about spending the rest of her life in Azkaban, so he'd get nothing on the ring from her.

"Of course," she replied blankly. She could do it, she would do it.

"All right, tell me: Where is the Slytherin Manor located?"

So, Dumbledore did not know it. Odd, since he had visited them there. Maybe Tom had relocated the house? Still, it would be easy for her to find and Dumbledore would know that. It was obvious to her that Dumbledore wanted this information for all the artifacts and precious books Tom had gathered.

Good luck finding the house, Hermione thought sarcastically, smirking at him. She knew she was the last person connected to the Slytherin line and she was not going to tell. "I have no idea," she snarled.

Dumbledore just stared at her, but there was an almost joyful twinkle in his eyes – that stupid, irritating, everlasting, ridiculous, superior, triumphant twinkle of his, which annoyed her to no end. He'd not won yet, and she'd not given him the location of the house. She'd never tell him.

What the hell? Hermione thought when his twinkle grew worse. Maybe his fight with Tom had completely damaged the Headmaster.

She was pretty sure he'd gotten nothing from her mind that he could use. Nothing. Not from any time-line. The thought reminded her of the fact that she had no idea at what time-frame she was now.

"What year is it?" she asked bluntly.

"I will let you know when we are finished with our conversation, Mrs. Riddle," he replied seriously.

Hermione's annoyance rose. Dumbledore did not look that much older than when she left, but still … that didn't give her enough information on how much time had passed. Not that it mattered much.

"Our conversation is pointless. I have nothing to say to you, so consider it finished. And before you let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, give me a bloody straightforward answer for once in your life," she said rudely.

To her surprise, Albus Dumbledore was now smiling broadly, like a cat who'd cornered a canary and was about to eat it whole. She realized she'd just given him enough to put her away for the rest of her life, but she just didn't care. She planned to escape, somehow. If Malfoys and Blacks could do it, so could she. She wasn't the smartest witch of her age for nothing.

"Do you love your husband that much, Hermione? Is he so much more important than your own life?"

Hermione did not even hesitate with the answer. She had asked herself that question many times before, but then, Tom was there, always aggravating and annoying her with his smugness. And she so felt he didn't need any more ego boosts. Now, however, he wasn't around.

"Yes."

At her answer, Albus Dumbledore waved his wand, and a newspaper appeared in his hand. He moved closer to her, so close that Hermione was considering it. Her eyes flickered between the newspaper and his wand, as she took the paper in her hand and yanked at it to get him off balance. But he was just a split-second too fast for her, and she felt the wood slip past her fingers. A frustrated growl left her lips when all she came away with was the stupid paper. His twinkling blue eyes stared at her with such pleasure at her failure to disarm him that she wanted to shove the damn paper down his throat and hope he'd choke on it.

"Take a look at the date," he said, still gloating.

Hermione unfolded the newspaper and stared at the date.

Daily Prophet

6th December 1951.

With startled eyes Hermione looked at Dumbledore. She traveled only five years into the future? Why? How? That was unexpected. She shook her head. Impossible. She glared at the paper again. No. How on earth had Dumbledore destroyed Tom in just five years' time?

"You are one funny creature, Mrs. Riddle."

Hermione froze. There was only one person who loved to say that sentence. Slowly, she raised her head and watched how Dumbledore's twinkling light-blue eyes turned much, much darker. When those eyes turned red in color, Hermione's vision blurred with fury. She flew to her feet. Her arm swung back, and her fist collided with the already shortened nose of the person sitting opposite of her with a harsh crack.

"You, monster!" Hermione screamed furiously, while he clutched to his bleeding nose with both hands. "How could you!"

She looked around frantically for an appropriate weapon to use and decided on the chair she'd sat on. Grabbing and swinging said weapon around, she hit her husband with all the might she could muster.

"I thought you were dead!" she yelled, as he smashed to the floor. "I am going to make you wish you were!" she adding, shrieking hysterically.

xxxxxx

She's done it again, Lord Voldemort thought, attempting to heal his nose, while Hermione slammed the chair against his now normal, un-Polyjuiced frame again.

The chair hitting was becoming a pattern, it seemed, and Lord Voldemort did not really like it. So, the next time it swung down at his body, he rolled out of its path, causing it to smash to pieces on the floor due to the amount of forces his lovely wife was swinging it with. Such violence. Such temper. She was so beautiful when she was like that.

"Ow!" he grunted when she kicked him in his side.

She obviously planned to kick him again, since her leg was swinging back now, so he targeted the leg she stood on, and forcefully, tackled her with a kick of his own, making her land on her bottom with a pain-filled cry. But he had enough of her hysterics. He grabbed her leg and yanked her to him. She was underneath his tall frame in matter of seconds, but her tiny fists were already pounding away at his body. He flicked his wrist and her arms flung above her head, shackling themselves to the concrete floor. Knowing he had her trapped now, he grounded his body into hers victoriously before meeting her eyes. The most triumphant, smug smirk she'd ever seen was on his face.

"I win," he quietly spoke, and then, captured her lips in a bruising kiss.

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A/N 2 Serpie is crazy, lazy and well...WEIRD, but she ain't stoooopid, no-uh! No Voldie-killing when he's standing behind your shoulder! ME SO SMART!