Authors Note:

Well hi there FF. net. It's been a million years it feels like. I've had this idea floating in my head for some time. Something about a dark Hermione makes me very happy so I decided to write this little bit, see what the response is and decide if I want to continue this story. I know, I have other works I haven't touch in a long time, but nothing has been forgotten, just put on the back burner until my muse for them decides to return. I'd appreciate your thoughts!

As a warning, Hermione is going to very AU! She will be transformed after this chapter, and so will Tom, so please keep that in mind! I rated this story M just to be on the safe side.

Sometimes, Hermione wasn't sure why she was in Gryffindor. Oh, she had courage and bravery, boldness and truth, but she also had her strong pride and cunning, her penchant for justice and revenge. The darker spots that glittered in her soul only got larger over the years. But especially after the year on the run, months of always being cold and hungry, months of rash words and flared emotions. It developed her in more ways than she had thought it would at the time. She licked her lips as she glanced around the shadowed library of Grimmauld Place. She knew Harry and Ron would disapprove of the dark text she held in her hands, but hearing the mad cackle of Bellatrix in the back of her mind had her shaking off her moment of doubt. Never again would she be tortured like she was. She shivered, remembering how her throat felt like flayed flesh from screaming herself hoarse, the uncomfortable wetness as she lost control of her bladder, how she had scratched herself til she bled as she was held under the Cruciatus Curse. Never again.

While they had collected more horcruxes, the war wasn't in the light side's favor. Voldemort had been so enraged from just missing them escape Malfoy Manor he had killed Narcissa Malfoy, had led a brutal attack on Hogsmeade, was able to sneak some of his Death Eaters into Hogwarts through the passage in Honeydukes, had basically destroyed the seventh floor of the school and had stolen any remaining children Death Eaters, or those who were children of his followers. The Order hadn't recovered since then. Harry had been attacked so viciously by Voldemort that he had to take Dreamless Sleep for a whole day, lost in the darkness of sleep to avoid the backlash from Voldemort's anger.

The book in her hands had a ritual that would help her expand her powers. It would break her magic off from her core and instead bind itself to her soul. There wasn't a sure chance she'd survive this and there was also the tricky bit about needing a partner of similar magic. It would balance out her magic but also allow them to draw on each other's magic. It was a ritual used in medieval times, when battles for land, food, women, were daily so that partners would be able to keep each other safe. Mostly Lords and Ladies, along with some knights would use this ritual. Her first thought had honestly been Harry. While she had, had a crush on Ron for a long while, it had faded after he had ditched them out in the woods. Yes, he had come back, but too little, too late. Harry was a very powerful wizard, but his hesitancy and upbringing held him back. There was a little section that detailed that if her partner was unavailable for the ritual, as kidnapping was fairly common back then, it would still work, it would still reach out to that partner and bind them, giving them a bond close to marriage, as it would also disengage their magic from their core to their soul. This is what was holding her back from completing the ritual. It was one thing to do a dark ritual to herself, but could she condemn another person to this? Would they even be on her side? Would they even be in her country?

So many questions, but time was running out. The Order was readying to make a large assault on Voldemort and his followers. They were hoping to engage Voldemort's forces hard and fast, hopefully wiping them out. Harry had been practicing, dueling and his Occlumency as much as he could. He was prepping to go against Voldemort.

Everyone had, had enough.

Hermione tugged on her wild hair, unsure if she really wanted to do this. That was also what made this spell so dark. You had to be one hundred percent sure, had to be fully willing to embrace the wildness the magic would bring to you, fully willing to become someone else for the betterment of your House, or so the text said. Glancing up to the doorway, she sighed lightly before rising to her short height of five feet, four inches. Her hair flowed behind her as she marched out the door, book tucked in the crook of her arm like a precious child. As soon as the front door clicked behind her, she was stepping out past the apparition wards, spinning on the balls of her feet to apparate away, a loud crack sounding as Sirius sat up, feeling the wards flex as someone left.

A quick run through the house revealed Hermione was the only one missing and a worried frown pulled at his face. She had been hiding in the library for a few weeks, a haunted look in her light brown eyes. He only hoped she wasn't doing anything too rash.

Hermione landed in one of the first clearings her and the boys had used to hide away and was quick, her wand flowing the air, murmurs leaving her chapped lips as she put up all the wards she knew. She wasn't completely stupid, she wouldn't dare to do this unprotected, even if she was alone. It didn't take long and then she was prepping her site. She cleared a perfect 6 foot circle of leaves and twigs and starting pulling her few ingredients she needed. A small cauldron, a silver knife, and an obsidian stone that was the size of a kiwi, placed carefully in the cauldron. She referenced the book once more, feeling tears gather in the corner of her eyes. They needed an edge over Voldemort, there was no other way to it. She only hoped whomever her magical was would forgive her, or at least not actively try to get revenge on her. From what she understood, even if there was a major distance between partners, they could still draw magic from each other. She really only needed this person's magic to help her if they were unwilling to fight against Voldemort's forces. She wouldn't force them. It would be convenient if it was someone firmly on the Light's side, but knowing her luck, she wasn't holding her breath. She grabbed the small blade and with a quick motion cut across her palm, the old Latin falling from her lips in strong intonations, her resolve hardening her tone. The obsidian stone seemed to soak up the blood that was splashing on it, any drops landing on the cauldron sliding over to be stone, seeping in like the stone was a sponge. She had to cut her hand twice more to get the right amount of blood into the stone. The book said it would glow a deep red when it had enough of her blood sacrifice. She didn't let herself focus on what she was doing, just what needed to be done next. Finally she held the stone in her hand. It was slippery and warm, almost beating like a heart in her hand and with a half second hesitation she whispered the last part of the spell, shoving the stone into her mouth.

She didn't feel the stone burst in her mouth, didn't feel the blood shoot down her throat and burn it's way to her stomach as it turned black, didn't feel her stomach instantly try to throw it back up. All she felt was a burning in her core, like a fire that was angry, whipping around her. Inside her little six foot circle, she didn't see herself get lifted into the air, arms spread like the Christian Jesus Christ, eyes blasting with pure energy, her fingertips shooting out sparkling waves of energy, didn't feel it when another being was summoned into her circle and thrown up into the air with her. Didn't see his pale white skin turn to a healthy pink then tan, didn't see the nose grow or the red glowing eyes fade to pale green, or the dark brown hair that grew.

After what felt like hours of being burned alive, she crashed to the forest floor, another person falling on top of her. They both groaned.

"Bloody hell," a man's smooth voice grumbled in her ear and her eyes snapped open. She had a very attractive, fit man laying on top of her.

"Can you get off?" she asked, not unkindly, she just needed to breathe. The man grunted and flipped to lay next to her. As the oxygen flooded her brain, she could feel body ache as if a thousand therstrals had decided she was a race track. Her ears were damp, and as she pulled her fingers away from them, she frowned at the blood on her fingertips.

"What happened?" the man besides her asked, and the guilt slammed into her again. She had done this to this man, had taken his freedom away. She was no better than Voldemort.

"Ritual," she managed to croak out as she rolled onto her stomach. She felt ready to pass out at any second and was summoning her handy tent from her purse before she could think about it. It flew out and almost hit her in the face as it unfolded in the air and landed perfectly made. She blinked at how easy it was before slowly crawling to it. "Sleep," she grunted to her now partner, the edges of her vision going dark. She managed to get into the tent and down the couple entry stairs before she lost her grip on reality on the floor.

The man she had summoned had watched her crawl with narrowed, tired eyes. What had this witch done to them and how had she summoned him from his own headquarters. A weak sneer crossed his face before he crawled after her, slowly rising to his feet. As the caster, she must have used more energy than he. He could feel his magic swirling around, it filled a good portion of the forest, and from the growing waves coming from the girl, she would be almost as powerful as him when her depleted stores filled. It made him curious. Curious enough to wandlessly, wordlessly, almost thoughtlessly float her from the floor to a bed before setting his own blood wards, noting how much stronger they were than his normal casting, which was already a strong thing. He wasn't modest, but he also knew that he had been the most powerful being on the planet, now he felt completely unbeatable. A disgustingly warm feeling in his core made him theorize he no longer had his horcurxes, that he was no longer immortal. He had pushed his body's changes to the back of his mind for now. He didn't want to focus on how much he looked like his disgusting muggle sperm donor, even if he knew that meant he was devastatingly handsome again. This young witch wasn't leaving until he had gotten the whole truth. He watched her sleep for a few minutes before going back out to grab the book he had noticed and then settled in the bed across from her to read and keep an eye on his newest prisoner.

No one summoned and practiced magic on him without his direct say so.

No one bothered him without his direct say so.

No one ruined his chance to be immortal.

Anger started to burn into fury in his stomach as his eyes slid closed, his own physical energy quite low.

Lord Voldemort vowed he would make the little chit pay for this violation.