AN: Just a brief note that this story will be AU in a number of ways, but most importantly, a lot of the canonical events of the books will naturally change or be gone entirely. The reasons for this are related to the plot I have in mind, so hopefully they'll become clearer as we progress. Additionally, Harry will have a presence, and a big one, later on, but initially, as some of you have already noticed, he seems to be AWOL. Again, there is a reason that will become clearer in time. For now, I'll have to put on my half-moon spectacles and ask you to trust me without any real reason to do so at all ;) With that said, I hope you enjoy what is my first attempt at any form of fan fiction, and please do keep your suggestions and critique coming, it's always welcome!
Early 1940s, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Under the flickering light of a haphazard row of wall sconces, a small, broken body lay, barely visible. The faint illumination was sufficient only to see the small gasp of surprise frozen onto the bespectacled features of a lifeless girl, lying in a pool of water and congealed blood emanating from a small blow to the back of her head as her body had struck the tiles of the floor. An unnatural darkness blanketed around her lifeless form, pulsing with energy. Within that darkness, just above her, was a shadow of unimaginable blackness, that made the darkness around its' fallen victim seem as a torchlight compared to the sun.
The darkness shifted slightly, and then seemed to fumble. It was holding a wand, which now clattered to the wet tiles beneath it, rolling to a stop beside the face of its latest victim. The shadow should have been exultant; the ritual was successful, wasn't it? But instead, pure energy continued to pulse around the shadow angrily, until it seemed to rattle the glass of the mirrors above the washbasins lining the room.
"Damn, what...?"
The shadow stumbled and fell to the floor, panting heavily.
"I don't understand, this isn't right!" screamed the shadow, and the pulsing darkness around it raged into life, shattering stone, marble, tile and glass; a raging torrent of destruction engulfed it, stormed for a few moments and, just as suddenly, fell still and silent, before collapsing to the floor along with the shadow within it.
"That damned ritual took me years to discover, all for NOTHING!"
The pulsing darkness gave a final, enormous burst of energy, disintegrating almost everything around it, including the lifeless corpse of the sacrifice, before finally, it was gone. In its place, pale and exhausted, panted the seemingly innocuous form of Tom Riddle, and visible behind him, now that the dark energy had abated, was an enormous snake-like creature, whose form took up nearly the entire bathroom behind it. It flicked its' long tail in agitation at the destruction its master had just wrought, and how close it had come itself to being harmed by it, and began to hiss menacingly.
"You will be silent, beast, and return to the chamber. I need to be alone."
The snake stared at the back of the boy with a look of rage, before turning and beginning to slide itself back down the entrance of the chamber of secrets, leaving the boy behind, and unsure even now if it should be terrified of its master, or see him as the petulant child he now appeared to be.
The boy named Tom Riddle stood up and thoughtlessly vanished the dirt and destruction coating himself, and the room around him. Wandless magic was ever a talent he liked to practice, and he did so without even thinking these days. After a few moments, he moved to the washbasin to drink.
"What went wrong? I did it all perfectly. Should I have killed the girl myself?" he muttered to himself, staring at the distorted features in the mirror. Only then did he realise his face had...changed. Where once was a handsome young man, now stared back...well, something different. It was hard to place, but the handsome features now appeared more waxen, more falsified, as though they were a half hearted glamour gone wrong.
"My face...perhaps it worked after all? Physical distortion...wasn't that a possible side-effect? But then, where is my soul? Why is this ring empty!" Without thinking, Tom Riddle threw the ring into the basin, pointed his wand at it, and blasted it out of existence. That was proof enough, it could not have been banished if the ritual had worked, not with simple magic of that nature, no matter how powerful he was.
"What am I going to do now?!" Riddle raged out loud, before taking a steadying breath, and bringing his emotions back into check. It wouldn't do to catch the attention of a passing student or, worse yet, teacher, outside the bathroom. Clearly, he needed to think; Horcruxes, for all their promise, had failed. For what reason, he could not say, and if one of his genius could not see a reason, then none could. He would have to try something else if he hoped to survive.
Picking his wand back up, Tom Riddle surveyed the bathroom again, ensuring all appeared as it should, and turned, striding right back out of the bathroom for all the world as though he had not just committed an act of murder there. He didn't notice the silvery form that had begun to coalesce behind him, or the look of pure loathing it was now directing at his retreating back.
Lying on his bed in the Slytherin dorm, Tom Riddle puzzled his options. It would not be long now before the girl was discovered missing. True, with how unpopular she was, he would have imagined it would be a good week before any real investigation began, but if Riddle had learned one thing, it was to never make assumptions. Especially not with that infuriating Transfiguration professor shadowing his footsteps.
He relaxed himself onto his sheets, and closed his eyes. It was time to commune with his magic. He liked to think of it as drawing inspiration from within, as a kind of simple self-reflection; in truth, it was more akin to seeking the answers to the immortality he desperately craved, from the only thing that might have any knowledge of it: the soul itself.
Almost immediately, he jumped back up to a sitting position, eyes wide.
"What was that!" he hissed, his entire body burning as though on fire. His meditation had never had that effect before, almost as though...but it surely couldn't...
He lay down again, and more cautiously, begun to probe his 'inner-self' again. When he found it, truly found it, Tom Riddle did something he had never before done in his entire life: he cried.
"What happened! What is this mutilated...thing!" he screamed out loud, thankful immediately he had silenced the area around him. He just couldn't grasp it. The thing that greeted him when he began to focus again, well, it just wasn't right. It was him, but it had mutated in a manner he never imagined. It was as though he were staring into the eyes of a black hole; full of nothing but emptiness itself. And yet...it felt almost...right. Like he was finally seeing what he was meant to see in himself.
Forcing himself to hold back his disgust, he began to commune with the shadow, seeking the advice he desperately craved, the alternate path to immortality he had to have.
Every moment of his meditation had been agony, but Tom Riddle, twenty hours later, for all the pain, the aches, and the enormous migraine splintering his brain, was smiling.
"I have the answer, the only question is, who is worthy?" he thought to himself. He thought of all the families of the so-called purebloods around him. They simply wouldn't do. For all his show of pureblood mania, Riddle never truly held any stock in it. He was, after all, the living embodiment of the falseness of that idiotic belief. Perhaps then, one like himself? Halfblood, perhaps even muggleborn!
He further considered his options, even including the other houses in the school, but none seemed suitable. Perhaps he would have to wait. This, after all, could wait and in fact, the answer he'd found would benefit if he waited, grew his power, expanded his knowledge. Yes, that would be a better idea. No need to act hastily again, especially after what happened in the bathroom last night.
"No need to act hastily at all; for now, the mask of Tom Riddle will suffice" he murmured to himself, and began to smile more broadly; it was, after he applied a glamour to 'correct' the changes of last night, a rather pleasant looking mask. He scarcely even noticed how much his smile had changed, and how truly terrifying his appearance had become when he wore it. The smile of the darkest kind, the smile of the shadow.
August 31, 1993, Banbury, Oxfordshire
For Hermione Jean Granger, August 31st had become in the last two years a date anticipated with a mixture of part-excitement, part-dread. Every year, it became even harder to discern which of the two was the most dominant in her heart.
When she had received her letter informing her she was a witch, she had been more than a little offended and suspicious at first; after all she was no fool, and was not willing to accept the claims of a simple letter without more proof to go on. She was equally unhappy, to put it mildly, to be referred to as a 'Witch', she got enough of that sort of thing at school. Needless to say, when Professor McGonagall had arrived soon after, transfigured her mum's favourite china set into a full singing and dancing performance of Nutcracker, then described in depth the world she was entering and the rules and expectations she was expected to observe, she had been suitably convinced (and more than a little desperate to learn how to do that 'transfiguration' herself, though she was not a particular fan of classics). Still, her predominant feelings on that day had been liberating: the joy of discovering she truly was different, though not in the way her bullying classmates had thought and more than that, the promise of a new start, possibly even a better life, had been an intoxicating combination. She could never remember a moment that had defined her so clearly as that, or that had brought her so much joy.
To think that now she was considering even abandoning the magical world altogether was a truly extraordinary turn of events. She knew in her heart she could never really do it; she was after all, determined to prove herself and to see the faces of Malfoy, Weasley, Chang et al stunned and infuriated by her successes in her exams was more than a little enjoyable as a prospect for the future. But more than that, she couldn't bear to leave one world behind, only to re-enter another that held even less promise for her future.
For all her talent, her skill and intelligence, Hermione's only real ambition was the simplest and easiest of all, but had proven by far the most impossible to achieve: real friendship and trust. Sure, she had her parents, and loved them dearly, but it wasn't the same as having someone you could talk to, really talk to, about all the small things in life that moved them as teenagers: gossip about other girls, chats about classes, cooing together in Care of Magical Creatures over Pygmy Puffs and handsome Hippogriffs, and yes, even perhaps the occasional chats about boys, though for Hermione there were none really to chat about. At least, none who didn't treat her in a way so wretched that the thought of fancying them was unthinkable.
For her now, isolated in her room at home, revisiting her trunk for the fiftieth time that half hour to check her homework and belongings were in order, she had more time than she cared for to mull over all these things. But, Hermione was determined as she had done before not to dwell on it. If she could just single-mindedly focus on her studies, that would be enough. For now.
September 1st, 1993, Platform 9 ¾, King's Cross, London
"Take care of yourself darling, and do try not to get yourself too upset again. Think positive! All those new first years you can make an impression on!"
Jess Granger was fussing over her daughter, giving her a deep and reassuring hug, doing her best to perk her up before they said goodbye again until Christmas. This moment of parting never failed to tear Jean up, but she always held it back to be strong for Hermione. She knew her little girl would hardly be feeling any better about the parting.
"Take it easy love, she's almost as ruffled as those owls near the carriage" mumbled the tall and broad-shouldered man beside them.
"Don't pretend you're not going to do the same thing the moment I let her go Dan!" Jean shot back playfully, wrapping her daughter tighter for a final moment, before releasing her. Sure enough, Dan Granger soon had his little girl wrapped in his arms too, and if anything, even more tightly.
"Daaad, that hurts!" muttered Hermione, though it was clear she didn't really mean it. She truly loved it when her parents hugged her like this, it was a simple expression of companionship and love she sorely missed when at Hogwarts, and she intended to savour it every time.
"Sorry Mione, but I have to get my fair share of hugging out of you too!" Dan said into her bushy mane, glad it was preventing him seeing the triumphant smirk he could almost feel his wife giving him.
After a few moments, Dan released his little girl, and gave her a wide smile, before moving back with his wife from the waiting train; their silent signal it was time their daughter boarded. Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of loss at this. She knew it was time to board, after all, the train was only a minute or so from departure, but she still felt the small, but real, feeling of terror that she might not see her parents again, that they might simply leave the country without her someday. In her heart, she knew this could never happen, but her mind, ever working, couldn't help but imagine it, when so many others in her past had abandoned her especially adults who were meant to help her, like her old teachers in muggle school.
After waving a few more moments, she gave a final, exaggerated wave to her smiling parents, before turning and boarding the Hogwarts Express, to begin the usual hunt for an empty compartment. Pulling her trunk behind her, she made her way down the corridors, scanning each compartment briefly, in an effort not to meet the eyes of anyone who might be inside. Tomorrow, she would be ready to deal with the taunts, insults and physical hurt, but today, she needed time to again adjust to the absence of her parents, of the only emotional support she had.
Finally, she located an empty compartment, and dropped into it with relief, loading her belongings onto the overhead rack, and settling in for the journey. She was just preparing to choose a book to bury herself in for the trip when the compartment door slid open following a brief knock, and in rushed a girl she recognised, but didn't know by name, with silvery hair, and a somewhat strange expression on her face. She looked both panicked and, strangely, as though she was a million miles away at the same time.
"Hi, do you mind if I sit in here? I'm being chased, but I don't think they'll follow me here" the silver-haired girl rushed out breathlessly, and without waiting for Hermione's reply, sat down opposite her, stacking her trunk and numerous copies of some form of newspaper in front of the windows to the compartment.
"Um, not that I mind exactly, but you do realise if someone was looking for you, seeing those papers stacked up to the ceiling against the windows would probably be a good clue; as far as I know, nobody in the school reads it!" Hermione muttered back, recognising the stacks to be 'The Quibbler', a paper she heard was more of a joke than a paper. She couldn't help but feel that she was about to be set up for yet another prank, and her gaze at the newcomer was as much suspicious as it was confused.
"Oh, I didn't think of that, but that shouldn't matter, I don't think they'll come this far down the train anyway" the silver-haired girl said, her voice dropping a little with each word, forcing Hermione to strain to hear her.
"Well, if you're sure..."
Hermione shrugged, and pulled out her favourite book on ancient runes, before promptly burying herself in it as planned. She inwardly muttered to herself that her one moment of peace before school had already been ruined, and gave herself a mental kick for choosing this compartment. Still, all she could do now was be as quiet and invisible as possible. If only that ever worked...
"You're Hermione Granger"
Hermione lowered the book slightly, eyebrows almost reaching her bushy fringe.
"Um, yeah, I know" she replied uncertainly, already connecting the dots and beginning to think that this strange girl might well be the 'Loony Lovegood' she heard so much about. The presence of the Quibbler simply confirmed her suspicions. "If the shoe fits" she thought to herself, before attempting to drop back into the book again, only to be once more interrupted.
"You know, if you want to hide, you could always borrow some of my Quibblers. They're good reading too, so you would be both hidden and having fun!"
Hermione seriously doubted that, and doubted even more that building a Hermione-shaped cocoon of Quibblers would help. If anything, it would just make her life worse if Malfoy walked in while she was in it. Wait, why was she even entertaining this idea anyway?!
"Thanks, but I'm fine" she muttered back, before settling back into her book, thankfully uninterrupted this time. It was going to be a very long train ride...
Mid-October 1993, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Hogwarts
The tears just wouldn't stop, and after slamming herself into a cubicle in one of the second floor girl's bathrooms for the fourth time that week, Hermione no longer cared to try to stop them anyway. Angry, frustrated sobs emerged between almost every other breath, as she tried desperately to calm herself down. She just couldn't keep going any longer, this was too much, far too much. It had been bad enough being ridiculed by Professor Snape for trying to answer his questions on the Wiggenwald Potion they had been preparing to brew, but being hexed in the back by Weasley as she left the class had been too much, and she couldn't hide her sadness any longer.
She was so upset, she didn't even notice the blue transparent head, bobbing over the top of the door of the cubicle to glare at her. It was therefore with a good deal of surprise and pain that she shrieked, jumped, and banged her arms into the toilet paper dispenser when the blue head snapped at her bitterly, "Hey, this is my bathroom, and the only one who has permission to moan and cry in here is me!"
Hermione swore and began rubbing her elbow where it had connected with the dispenser, blinked back fresh tears, this time of pain, while glaring up at the head over the cubicle door.
"Just what makes you in charge of this bathroom!" Hermione spat back, not bothering to hide the venom and irritation in her voice at being not only terrified out of her wits, but spied on during a moment of such vulnerability.
"Uh, well apart from this being Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and my being Myrtle, it should be obvious I'm in charge here! Just who are you, anyway?!" the ghost spat back with equal venom.
Hermione sighed and ran her hands over her face. Of course, it was only now she realised this was indeed Myrtle's bathroom...well, it wasn't hers as such, but she insisted on haunting it and being a real pain to anyone who used it, so...
"Look, I didn't realise that, I just wanted privacy, and this was the nearest place I could find, OK?" she said, weariness beginning to overtake the shock and anger as the adrenaline began to leave her system. At least it had stopped her crying, that was at least one positive outcome of this situation.
"Oh really? Well, unless you're camping outside the door, that can't be true. You've been in here almost every day this week so far! Hardly coincidence I think!" Myrtle glared at her, hands on her hips, and shimmering with irritation. Hermione had to admit that although she'd told the truth this time, she couldn't deny the previous 'visits' had been precisely because nobody else used the bathroom. Somehow, she'd hoped Myrtle wouldn't notice or care.
Myrtle continued to glare at her, but Hermione seemed to be unaffected by it, or at least too tired to care, and began to make her way over to the washbasins to splash herself with cool water and clear her head.
"What are you even moping about for anyway? It's not like you're the one who has to spend forever in this place!" Myrtle grumbled, seeming to be calming down herself. Hermione was, at least, thankful for that.
"It's nothing, I just...I needed a minute" Hermione muttered back, trying and failing to get the taps in the basin working. Figures they'd be broken, she didn't think even the house elves came in here, judging by the muck everywhere.
"Why? Let me guess: your boyfriend is ignoring you? No, wait, maybe your friends have all gone somewhere without you? How awful! At least you have friends, you don't have to spend all eternity haunting an empty room with no one else to keep you company but a bunch of cracked mirrors and toilets!" Myrtle had begun to work herself into one of her (many) tantrums, and Hermione was just about at the end of her tether.
"You know what? Just go away! You don't know anything about me, and as for friends and boyfriends, you probably have had more experience in that since you've been here than I ever have!" Hermione shouted back, really losing her temper now. She didn't even bother to register Myrtle literally beginning to swell with rage. "Do you think if I had anyone else I'd even be wasting my time shouting at a damned ghost!" Hermione was all but screaming now and, wrenching one of the long rusted and broken taps from the washbasin beside her, threw it straight at Myrtle, with of course, no effect whatsoever.
A dull clatter echoed through the bathroom as it hit the wall across the room and dropped to the floor. Strangely, Myrtle didn't say anything, just stared at her with an almost curious expression, her previous apparent inflation of her 'body' having now reverted back to her original shape and size.
"Forget it, I'm going!" Hermione muttered, before turning and marching to the door.
"Wait...just a minute"
Hermione stopped, unsure if she had really heard what she thought she heard. She'd been expecting more insults, not something that almost sounded like a plea. To her own surprise, she turned and stood, staring at Myrtle, awaiting her response.
"Well?" she grumbled, her arms crossed, "Hurry up and give me your best shot, or I'll just go."
Myrtle continued to gaze at her for a moment, before finally muttering "So you're like me, then?"
Hermione wasn't sure she heard that right, and asked Myrtle to repeat it.
"You're like me, aren't you? Or like I was, I guess still am but..." Myrtle's voice dropped to a whisper, and Hermione finally began to calm, curiosity replacing her earlier fury. She almost felt sorry for the pained expression the ghost girl was directing at the floor beneath them.
"What do you mean?" Hermione finally asked, after deciding Myrtle wasn't going to say anything more without a good prodding.
"I just...I haven't, I mean, well...look, if you're really hiding from horrible people, you can stay. I know all about that feeling, like you can't escape" Myrtle looked like a hint of contemplation had mixed with the near-permanent state of soulful sorrow that usually graced her transparent features. Hermione uncrossed her arms, and for the first time, asked a question that wasn't either bitter or angry.
"What do you mean, Myrtle?"
"I just know what it's like, OK? I mean, I don't want you to bother me too often, but if you have to come in here, I guess I don't mind" Myrtle replied, her voice a bit louder and more sure of herself this time, though still looking thoughtful.
"Well, thanks I guess. If you want, we could...?" Hermione began, before Myrtle cut her off.
"Talk about it? Not really, believe me, while I think I know a bit about what you're going through now, you don't know anything about me." Or why I'm here, she muttered virtually silently, such that Hermione couldn't hear her.
"Well, if you're sure, I mean, I won't bother you or anything, but...well, I don't exactly have anyone else to talk to, and if you want, I mean, we could try, it might help?" Hermione asked uncertainly, and trying not to hyperventilate as she realised she was offering almost the hand of friendship to a girl, no, ghost, who she had up until now never met or cared the slightest bit about. It was an unfamiliar thing to do, and shocked her almost as much as it did Myrtle.
Myrtle's eyes almost, almost, seemed to light up slightly at this, and she nodded slowly, before speaking one more time.
"It won't, but I guess I appreciate the offer...maybe I'll even take you up on it." Myrtle gave an almost imperceptible smile, before beginning to float away. She stopped one final time and said, more clearly this time, "but I warn you, there's a reason people don't talk to me, and if I told you even half of the things I've seen...that have happened to me..." Myrtle gave the first really open and honest emotional display to Hermione that she had so far, besides simple anger, and it made Hermione shudder.
As she left the bathroom to make her way back to the common room, amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions she was feeling from today, not least her shock at having almost had a conversation with someone, even if a ghost, that hadn't ended in more crying, Hermione could only focus on one thing: what could Myrtle have seen in her years here that had made her look so utterly terrified?
As much as it made Hermione shudder to think of the possibilities of what could scare a ghost, she shook it off. After all, she felt certain she'd need use of that bathroom again, and maybe, just maybe, for the first time at Hogwarts, she wouldn't be all alone when she did.