Chapter Two
Once Hermione got home, she immediately ran to her room to begin her research. This Lord Voldemort person seemed interesting. Not in the “Oh, that’s so interesting Mr. Dark Lord, tell me more!” type of way. But more in the “Why do you believe that muggles and muggleborns are beneath you?” type of way. What was also peculiar was his name. “Vol” meaning “flight”, “de” meaning “of”, and “mort” meaning “death” in French. Truly he made it painfully obvious that his ultimate goal was immortality with a name like that. If Hermione’s theory was correct that he was just defeated and not killed, then perhaps he had achieved that.
The book touched on his beliefs and what he did to carry his plans to fruition, but never explained his personal reasons as to why. Hermione needed to know why. She pulled out her notes and began going over them again. His beliefs seemed closely related to Grindelwald’s beliefs, Voledmort just went about it a different way. Voldemort was also believed to be dead, while Grindelwald was imprisoned in some place called Azkaban.
“What is an Azkaban? Is it like hell but for magical people?” Hermione thought to herself. Somewhere deep down she knew that Voldemort wasn’t dead, there would have been a body, people don’t just cease to exist. Hermione began cross checking her information with other books on spirituality she had. She couldn’t find anything similar to what she learned from “History of Magic” except for that magic was gifted by the “Old Gods” as they were frequently referred to as. “Do they mean the Greek, Roman or Egyptian gods? Possibly Norse?” Hermione said out loud.
“What if they’re referring to gods that there’s no documentation for?” She thought to herself again. Hermione began to worry. How was she supposed to get to the bottom of this Lord Voldemort person and magic itself if there was no documentation she had access to? She began pacing around her room. It was tastefully decorated, sage green bedding, her beloved otter named Bubba laying on her pillows. Different Van Gogh prints were up on the walls along with different religious depictions from various artists.
“If he’s not dead, then theoretically he could receive mail.” She said to herself softly.
Hermione ran back over to her desk and began to pen a letter.
In a different part of England, a seemingly young man sat in a leather wingback chair sipping on a glass of firewhiskey. Alcohol that would make any non-magical person stand on a table and start belting Celine Dion. Tom Riddle was the mans name and he was unaware that his book had been bestowed to a young muggleborn girl with an insatiable curiosity. He sat there not knowing that his life was about to change. For better or for worse, that was to be determined.
A tapping sound came from the window to his left, he let in the raven black owl and took the post. The owl, named Nightshade, flew over to a desk in the corner containing a small dish full of treats. Tom began looking through his post, even though most of the wizarding world believed that he was dead he still received scathing letters from families he had affected with his crusade for purity and a better world. Most days he would’ve just thrown all the letters into the fireplace. Today however, he decided to look through his post.
There was one letter that stood out. Addressed to “Lord Voldemort, Address unknown.” The return stamp said “Hermione Granger, 225A Westbourne Terrace, Paddinton, UK.” Curious, the feared dark lord, opened the letter. It read:
“Dear Lord Voldemort,
My name is Hermione Granger. I recently came into possession of a book titled “History of Magic” where you are referenced frequently. While I’m not sure if you’ll receive this, let alone respond, I have a few questions I fear only you will be able to answer.
Why do you hate “muggles” and “muggleborns” so much? I understand the answer can be fairly complicated. I can assure you I’m very intelligent for my age and will do my best to comprehend your answer fully. From what I’ve read I understand that it is due to the loss of magical culture and the “old ways”, however wouldn’t it be easier to instruct muggleborns on the society of which they’re being thrust into? It’s the same for when you visit a different country. I visited Japan once, when I was younger than I am now, and fully immersed myself in their culture. I showed respect to my elders, eagerly learned what they taught me and showed my gratitude to those around me for being allowed to enter their beautiful country.
Why should it be different when entering the magical community? I am coming at this from an outside perspective so it may be different and those heritage classes may already be taught but I didn’t find any record of it. I did however find records of a “Muggle Studies” class, which I’m very curious about but we’ll get to that later.
My next question for you is, why does the world believe you are dead? I understand that you haven’t been active in many years since Lily and James Potter were killed, but that doesn’t mean you just burst into flames and died. That’s not how the human body works. No religion I have studied can account for this either, if it is some other worldly power that “defeated” you.
Finally, who are these “Old Gods” that are referenced everywhere? I’m thinking that they may be the Greek, Roman, Egyptian, or Norse gods. But I simply cannot find anything to back up this theory. I’ve begun to worry that there simply may be no documentation of these gods at all. I must know the answer.
If you do decide to answer I’d like to give you some incentive. I’ve told you my name is Hermione Granger, I’m eight years old and I believe I am a muggleborn. Sometimes things move without me touching them. Books will come flying to me when they’re up on a shelf too high for me to reach. When I’m unable to get the lid off of a jar of cookies, the lid will gently lift off and be placed beside me. There was also a rather embarrassing incident in school when a bigger kid pulled my hair and shoved me to the ground while calling me a freak. His shoes caught on fire as soon as I looked at him. While the fire could've been a random occurrence I just know that it was me. (The boy did heal, unfortunately, but he’s stayed away from me since then). All these things lead me to believe I am magic.
Unless I have a ghost haunting me, I doubt it though. They have no reason to, I haven’t killed anyone. Yet.
I just want to know more about the world I may be thrust into when I turn eleven. I’m hoping you can help. Please write back, maybe we could even be friends? That is if Lords have friends. I’m beginning to ramble.
In conclusion, I hope you are well and safe.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
(Possible Muggleborn)
P.S: I read that you can speak to snakes! That is an amazing gift! Parseltongue I believe it was called. While the book said that it was a “dark gift” I believe that it is just an exaggeration due to the negative opinions on Salazar Slytherin (the founders were covered in my book too.) But truly if I’d been around during his time, I wouldn’t want muggleborns like myself to know about the magical world either since the witch trials were so active at that time. I’d love to talk to any animal. Possibly spiders. Most definitely spiders.
Tom Riddle stared down at the letter in shock. A little muggleborn witch found a book about the magical world, and when she wasn’t given the answers she wanted, she just went straight to the source. This may have been the one time that the Dark Lord was truly dumbfounded. He cared not that she was muggleborn, her thirst for answers called to something inside of him.
With a smirk Lord Volemort walked to his desk and began penning a letter.