Nothing ever went according to plan and it frustrated Hermione Granger to no end. Months of preparation for the Final Battle had gone to waste the moment Harry fell. The Boy Who Lived lay on the stone floor just outside of the demolished Great Hall of Hogwarts. His skin was pale, lips tinged with blue, spectacled eyes glassy. The loss caused members of the Order and fighters for the Light to freeze with looks of horrified disbelief on their faces. Their savior was gone.
Hermione bit back a sob as Clara came up behind her, jerking her behind a pillar. Hermione winced as her back slammed against the stone, her sister in arms face looming in front of her.
"Ron's dead! We need another plan!" she hissed. Hermione looked up and cringed at the sight of the American exchange student. Her black hair was stringy from blood that covered it, face covered in burn injuries from curses. Her dilated green eyes were bloodshot and her left arm hung limply at her side, could see a bit of bone protruding from her friend's elbow. Her wand, which was transfigured into a knife, dripped some unknown black goo onto the floor.
Clara Halliwell was unhinged.
"I've run out of ideas for an immediate solution!" snapped Hermione. Grief welled at the thought of Ron and Harry gone. She swallowed and gripped her wand tighter.
"The fuck are we gonna do then?" snarled Clara, looking around as Death Eaters began to cheer at the sight of the snake faced Dark Lord standing over Harry Potter's body with his arms spread wide, as if accepting new magic.
"My loyal followers! At last we can begin a new order of purity! The time for the Light has ended-," the Dark Lord's voice cried out. Hermione stiffened and looked at Clara; renewed hope flickering in the depths of her cinnamon eyes.
"We need time! Come on!" She said, grabbing Clara's hand and getting low to the ground. Everyone was so focused on Voldemort that they didn't see the muggleborn witch and the exchange student creeping over the rubble towards the exit of the Great Hall.
"Where are we going?" asked Clara, her voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd as they behind a pair of Death Eaters and out the door.
"The Headmaster's office. We need a time turner," said Hermione. Just as she said that, Voldemort's voice filtered down the hall.
"Find Potter's mudblood and finish her!"
Hermione's eyes went wide as saucers and she began to sprint down the corridor, Clara following close behind. The ecstatic shrieks and laughter of Bellatrix bouncing off the stone walls, only dampened by the tapestries that Hermione and Clara flung to the side in order to go through the many passages up to the Headmaster's Tower.
The gargoyle statue outside of the Headmaster's office loomed ahead. Hermione began casting to break down the wards surrounding the passage while Clara attempted to set up wards around herself and Hermione. Setting up wards had never been a strong point with Clara; taking them down however, was her forte. Only Hermione topped her in that regard. But Hermione excelled at everything.
Hermione stripped down the wards Professor Snape had left, each stroke of her wand and murmur from her lips leaving the invisible barrier weaker and weaker. With one last flourish of her wand, the staircase revealed itself.
"Shit!" said Clara, "Mione watch out!"
Violet light slammed into the edge of Hermione's shoulder, cutting her open to the bone. Hermione screamed and turned to see Bellatrix Lestrange behind her, cackling madly.
"Come here little mudblood. Let's play some more. Perhaps another decoration on your body? Ha!" Bellatrix cackled, striding forward with her wand raised.
Hermione turned and ran forward to the staircase, silently erecting a shield over her shoulder in time for another severing curse to slam into the golden light.
Clara took the opportunity to cast towards the Knight standing in the corridor next to Bellatrix causing the witch to cackle.
"You missed! Didn't that fool Dumbledore teach you better than that?", Bellatrix laughed, her lips pulled back to reveal rotted teeth from the time she spent in Azkaban. Clara cocked her head to the side, slowly backing away from the mad witch.
"I never miss, Lestrange." she said. Metal grating on metal sounded and the Knight lifted his mace up then swung it down at the Death Eater, slamming into her rib cage with a sickening crunch. "Ever."
Clara felt Hermione wrap a hand around her arm and tug. Part of her wanted to stay and watch the carnage but she knew that her friend would need her help. She turned, casting a slicing hex back at the witch before following Hermione up the stairs. The stone stairs ground shut as Clara ran into the room.
"Get to the case, the one on the right between the bookshelves and windows!" Said Hermione as she began warding the door. A loud boom echoed through the castle, followed by shouts below.
"They're going to break the door down!" cried Clara.
"Not if I can help it! Grab the Time Turner and bring it to me." Hermione said. Clara scrambled towards the case, tapping the glass with her wand. Immediately a crack formed, then splintered off until the entire case was a solid wall of broken glass. Gripping her wand in her teeth, Clara punched through the glass and grabbed the Time Turner only to scream as the protection curse imbedded into the cabinet activated, burning her hand.
"Fucking hell!" she cried around her wand, tears beginning to stream down her face. Her fingers wrapped around the chain and pulled, yanking it off the shelf. "Snape is a mean old bastard!"
"What'd you expect? Scented perfume drops?" Hermione snapped as she ran towards the Time Turner in Clara's good hand. She grabbed it and threw the chain around their necks.
Another boom echoed through the walls and then, "Come out to play little girls. We won't hurt you… badly. We might even make go easy on you before we kill you."
"The Carrows." Whispered Clara, looking at the doorway in fear. She'd spent enough time under their wand during the past year to know that they meant what they said. Easy for them would be an hour of the Cruciatus followed by tea for the twins while they watched their student violently shake on the floor.
"If they get in—"
"I need to concentrate." Hermione interrupted with a frustrated snarl before whispering, "five turns should do it." She held the Time Turner in front of her eyes while Clara fidgeted, pointing her wand at the door. More booms came and then the sound of rock crumbling and footsteps pounding up the stairs. Hermione and Clara both pointed their wands as the faces of Alecto and Amycus Carrow appeared in the door, ghoulish and grinning with their wands raised.
"Avada Kedavra!" shrieked Clara. She knew that Hermione would disapprove of the use of the spell. Clara didn't care anymore though. If anything, Hermione was just as bad as she with ten times more creativity. The spell hit Alecto squarely in the chest, making the witch fall down the stairs.
Amycus' eyes flashed as he raised his wand, lip curling into a snarl.
"You're going to pay you little bitch." He growled.
"Bombarda Maxima!" Hermione said, flinging her spell in time for it to slam into Amycus's crucio. The effect was instantaneous, sending everyone flying backwards and exploding the Time Turner in her grasp.
Both girls screamed as they broke through the window of the Headmaster's office and flew through the sky, over the castle of Hogwarts and towards the stained glass of the Great Hall's windows. Like being put on a spin cycle in the wash, the sky and the ground interchanged over and over, eventually becoming a blur before everything went black.
September 1, 1944
It was the usual affair in the Great Hall that evening. Professors and students chattered amicably with one another; discussing their summer holidays. Hufflepuffs laughed over a pygmy puff that bounced its way down the table, the Gryffindors argued over who would make a better Quidditch team that year; The Chudley Cannons had done surprisingly well in the previous season but Puddlemere United was giving everyone a run for their galleons in the pre-playoff games. The Ravenclaw table was quietly discussing the uses of Dragon's Blood. Recent research showed that there were more than five uses, contrary to popular belief.
At the Slytherin table, the discussion of connections, marriages, and achievements predominated the entire table.
Tom Riddle sat at the end, closest to the entrance of the Hall, surveying his housemates. They were a decent enough lot, serving a purpose to Tom despite their academic and mental shortcomings. Smirking, he turned his attention to the blonde next to him.
"It will only be a matter of time before the official contracts are drawn up. The wedding is set for the end of June." Abraxas said, swirling his pumpkin juice before taking a swig and setting the goblet down. Tom nodded, pleased with the match.
"Alicia Burke will be good for your house, Abraxas." He said before cutting into his steak.
Abraxas bowed his head in appreciation. He knew Tom would want to be appraised of the goings-on within his Knights. Especially if it ensured the continuation of the pureblood lines that they held sacred.
The young Burke girl in question sat down towards the far end, chatting with the other sixth year girls. She was a pretty thing, perfectly coiffed blonde hair and big grey eyes. She chanced a look at Abraxas and blushed when she saw both he and Tom staring at her.
"Yes, good indeed." Tom said, placing the steak into his mouth and chewing.
"How about you, Tom? Did you get up to any fun this Summer?" Antonin Dolohov asked as he turned away from Albert Mulciber. Tom cocked his head to the side, cooly regarding Dolohov. The boy was smart, good with a Cruciatus and had a mean streak to boot. But Tom didn't always appreciate inquiries to his whereabouts. None of his followers needed to know that he had created a Horcrux over the summer or murdered his bastard of a father to do so.
Dolohov faltered under Tom's gaze and furrowed his brow. A smile of false geniality split Tom's face as he scrutinized the not yet man.
"Nothing of interest." Tom replied, placing another bite of steak in his mouth, carefully chewing. He was about to take a sip from his pumpkin juice when the ancient rafters of the Great Hall violently shuddered. Students looked around while the professors at the head table stood up, trying to maintain calm and order.
"What the bloody hell was that?" asked Victor Lestrange, his hand going for his wand.
"I haven't the foggiest," said Abraxas, slowly getting up from his seat and looking towards Alicia to reassure her. She nodded at him and began to stand.
The air reeked of Dark Magic. Tom inhaled the scent of metal and ozone, his eyes shutting to try and understand who in the school would cast such a powerful spell. He opened his eyes and looked at the head table. The interfering old coot, Dumbledore, eyed the Slytherin table; his mind already jumping to conclusions.
'Prejudice codger,' thought Tom, his face morphing into one of nervous wonder. Taking the role of Head Boy, Tom stood from his place and began the walk to the head table.
Then it happened. A loud whirring sound from the stained glass behind the Head Table, like a bomb getting ready to strike. Tom faltered in his step, his experience with the Blitz coming to the forefront of his mind.
"Get down!" He shouted to the professors, pulling his wand out just as the glass shattered above Professor Dippet. Instead of a large bomb coming through the window, the screaming shapes of two people, both surrounded by magic and covered in blood, followed by decimated books and trinkets.
The duo, both female, landed on the floor in a groaning heap before going silent. The professors and Head boy rushed forward to aid the girls. Papers from destroyed books fluttered about them, bits of glass and metal sticking into their skin and hair, their odd looking clothes ripped and covered in dirt and blood in some places. But what gave Tom pause as he knelt down to place his wand at one girl's wrist as Dippet began calling for Madam Perkins was the amount of curse scars these two had covering their bodies.
"They're still breathing, Professor." said Tom to Dippet, brushing the matted hair away from the girl with the curled hair.
Madam Perkins appeared in the hall, immediately checking the girls internal vitals with a wave of her wand. Her face furrowed in worry and with another wave of her wand stretchers appeared. She levitated her charges onto the stretchers and exited the Great Hall.
Students surrounded the scene, whispering to one another. Tom watched Professor Dumbledore leave the hall, concern etched onto his features.
"Tom, would you please go and see if Professor Dumbledore needs any help? I do believe that we will be able to handle the clean up here." Professor Dippet said, coming up behind Tom. Tom nodded to the self important balloon of a wizard and moved to stand.
The shredded parchment and glass moved to the side as Tom pushed himself off the ground. He froze when a decimated leather cover revealed itself underneath bits of parchment. Despite the worn leather, Tom was sure that it was his journal. Or at least part of it. With a deft hand Tom tucked the leather into his robe sleeve and stood, a mask of concern on his face.
"Right away, Professor." said Tom. Cold fury and unbounded curiosity flowed through him as he marched up to the Infirmary. Who were these chits that dared to desecrate his journal. His Horcrux. Tom didn't feel as if someone had destroyed part of his soul. But he'd check his room once he was done in the infirmary. Either way, these girls had his interests piqued.
If there was one thing Tom knew how to do, it was get answers.
The wooden ceiling beams came into sharp focus along with a splitting headache as Hermione regained consciousness. Eyes flicking back and forth to assess the situation. Why they were in the Infirmary instead of a graveyard was beyond her. Had going back five hours worked? She could barely recall what happened during the explosion except… the Time Turner was no more. Something had gone terribly wrong. Traveling through time had never resulted in this awful feeling. Hermione felt like brick of lead at the bottom of a river, heavy and immobile.
'Well, nearly immobile,' thought Hermione as she turned her head to the side to view her fellow patient.
Clara lay sprawled on her back, a very flustered mediwitch administering potions down the unconscious witch's throat. Clara had transferred to Hogwarts from Ilvermony back in fifth year. Her parents were Magizoologists that studied American magical creatures. Unfortunately before her fifth year, her Mum and Dad had a run in with a Gowrow and never lived to tell the tale. Clara packed her bags up and transferred to Hogwarts, not believing in the growing rumors that Voldemort had returned. As the last of the Halliwell line; Clara had the name and the money to back her decisions.
Sadly, fortune did not favor the bold. Clara had been tortured at the Department of Mysteries incident before the Death Eaters fled at the arrival of the Aurors. The broken pieces of the girl were picked up and reassembled into a person with no qualms about throwing back what she'd been served. So much for being a Hufflepuff.
"Clara," Hermione croaked out, her throat raw and vocal cords dry from the screaming they had done while blasting through the Headmaster's windows.
"She'll be fine dear. She just needs rest and a potion regimen. Please stay still so I can assess your injuries after I'm finished with her." the nurse said, her dulcet voice rushed.
"Do you know where you are, miss?" A kind voice asked Hermione. Her golden eyes flicked backed to a man that she thought she'd never see again.
"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, turning her head, mouth agape.
A much younger Albus Dumbledore regarded Hermione for a moment, his normally twinkling eyes filled with suspicion.
They had definitely done something wrong. Hermione felt bile rise in her throat, and ignoring the pain in her ribs, she bent over the bed and evacuated the contents of her stomach onto the floor.
"Pleasant." another voice said. Hermione looked up and saw that a young man had joined Professor Dumbledore and was looking on the scene in a mask of indifference. Dumbledore vanished the mess on the floor and then poured a glass of water for Hermione.
"Tom," said Dumbledore as he lifted the glass to shocked witches mouth,"if you wouldn't mind getting some Dragon's Blood? I do believe Madam Perkins has her hands full with young Miss Clara, over there."
"Right away, sir." said Tom said, making for the supply cupboard.
"Now tell me miss, what is your name and how do you know mine?" Dumbledore asked, setting the cup down.
"My name is Hermione… Billings. I've heard of you," she said, choosing to stick as close to the truth as possible by using her mother's maiden name.
"And can you tell me, Miss Billings, how you came to the Great Hall in such a dramatic style?" asked Dumbledore.
Hermione furrowed her brow, lies racing through her head. She didn't dare look the man in the eye for fear of him using Legilimency. What could she say to him that wouldn't arouse suspicions even more?
"Portkey gone horribly wrong." Clara suddenly said, ignoring the frustrations of Madam Perkins to keep her down on the bed. Hermione turned her head to Dumbledore and nodded.
"Someone sent a spell at us just at the Portkey was activated. It upset the enchantment and here we are." Hermione said as the young man, Tom, placed the Dragon's blood and a phial of Essence of Dittany at her bedstand.
Hermione looked at the boy, his badge on his school robe indicating that he was the Headboy. A terrible sense of dread filled her stomach as her mind put things together. She looked back to Dumbledore.
"Professor, I've… lost track of time. What is the… date?" she asked.
"Why Miss Billings, it is the first of September."
Hermione gulped, wishing that Tom and the nurse would leave. Gripping the cotton sheets in her hands she took a deep breath.
"And the year, Professor?"
If Dumbledore started to put the puzzle together, he gave no indication.
"The full date is September first, nineteen forty-four. Miss Billings, are you quite alright?" Dumbledore asked as Hermione went limp with shock.
"She'll be fine. We've been through worse scrapes than this." Clara said as Madam Perkins bustled over to Hermione's side, gently moving Tom out of the way. "Trying to escape Grindlewald is never easy."
Dumbledore and Tom snapped their heads up to stare at Clara. The tears leaked from Hermione's eyes as Clara began to spin a cover story.
"We're cousins. Through our fathers. After my parents died last year I came to stay with Hermione. We ended up on the front lines after her parents were caught in an ambush." Clara looked to Hermione, her eyes watering. "The Portkey was hit with a Cruciatus Curse aimed at me."
Clara was a good actress. Hermione had seen it in action with Umbridge in fifth year. The girl fed information from the Inquisitorial Squad to the DA.
"Oh dear," said Dumbledore. The doors of the Infirmary opened, revealing Headmaster Dippet.
"Armando, these two have just come from the frontlines of the war with Grindlewald, said Dumbledore.
Dippet paused in shock then nodded in understanding.
"Poor girls. How can Hogwarts be of service to you? Anything you ask of us, we can provide." The man puffed up his chest and pulled up a chair, adjusting his robes and sitting down.
Clara was still trying to sort through the cover story that she had provided, looking for loopholes to pick through. Hermione glanced between her and Dippet.
They had no options. While of age in the magical world, the best place to find answers on how to get home would lie within the walls of Hogwarts, not in the magical community at large. Basing her assessment on the way that Tom kept looking at her, and she knew in her gut that this was the Tom that would become Lord Voldemort, staying here would be dangerous.
"We were home schooled by our parents… and we have the money to attend Hogwarts. We'd like to finish our seventh year here, sir. That was our original intention before the Portkey fiasco." Hermione said.
The choking noise that Clara made would have been hilarious if it weren't for the awful situation they were in.
The professors and headboy ignored the pale faced girl while Madam Perkins, who had been quiet while the professors interviewed her charges, turned and began to reassess her patients vitals.
"That would be splendid!" cried Dippet, "Mr. Riddle here can escort you both around the castle when Madam Perkins deems you suitable for classes."
"I'd be delighted Headmaster. Of course the girls must rest up first." said Tom, eyeing the cut in Hermione's shoulder
"The dears won't be able to leave until Monday morning at the earliest. It's best they stay on bedrest, Headmaster. Multiple contusions, cuts, curses, dark magic, broken ribs and an arm that will need to regrow some bone will keep them here until then." said Madam Perkins as she unstopped the Dragon's blood, placed some on a cotton ball and dabbed the bruise on Hermione's head.
"Of course not! I'd be a fool to let a couple witches go about in such a state!" said Dippet.
Tom chose not to comment, but looked at the Headmaster.
"They would have to take placement exams, of course?" He asked. Dippet nodded.
"Yes! Placement exams! Though if you've survived Grindlewald, then you must have quite the knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts. You know, Hogwarts is the foremost school in tutelage of the subject!" said Dippet, standing up from his chair and nodding to Madam Perkins.
"You'll sit the placement on Monday, then we can decide what classes you will be taking and have you sorted in front of the school." Dippet said before bidding the girls and their watchers a goodnight.
"I too must take my leave, but I shall be back on the morrow to see how you both fare," said Professor Dumbledore before adding, "Tom, would you mind accompanying me back to the Great Hall, unless you wish to remain with the Miss Billings?"
"I shall stay here for a moment longer Professor Dumbledore, and welcome the ladies to Hogwarts." said Tom, taking the seat recently evacuated by Dippet.
Hermione's blood ran cold as she faced the young Dark Lord. If he was suspicious then they were completely screwed. Hermione looked at Clara, who was poking at her arm.
"That skelegrow stuff works wonders, I tell you. I can't feel a thing."
"That's the pain potion, dear." said Madam Perkins before bustling off to find a bone setting potion for Hermione's ribs.
The smile that Tom flashed was the grin of a cat that had gotten the canary. Hermione began praying to Merlin that this wouldn't be her last day on Earth. Destiny would be cruel if they had traveled so far and fought so hard against the Dark Lord only to be murdered by his younger self.
"What part of the war did you come from?" He asked, crossing his leg and reclining slightly in the chair, at ease with the interrogation.
"I— we came from Normandy. We were getting ready to travel with my parents. They're… they were resistance fighters. Grindlewald's men killed them before we could get away." Hermione muttered, looking at the bed covers.
"You both seem awfully calm for having escaped near death." said Tom.
"War does strange stuff to a person," said Clara in a whisper, "it can change your reactions for better or worst. Sometimes you're never the same."
"Indeed," said Tom. He moved to stand. "Well ladies, I must bid you a goodnight. If you need anything please send for me."
Tom nodded his head and briskly walked out of the Infirmary.
"He seems nice," said Clara, "easy on the eyes too." She scooted into her blankets, careful to not jar her arm.
"He's the future Dark Lord Voldemort and the root cause we're in the infirmary." muttered Hermione.
Clara's head snapped up.
"Well then we're completely fucked, aren't we?"
Hermione nodded, looking at the double wooden doors that Tom Riddle had just exited through.
"Completely," she agreed.
In the dungeons of Hogwarts, submerged beneath the Black Lake, is the home of Slytherin House. Centuries of pure and distinguished breeding created a house of cunning, high-achieving students.
Tom Riddle, despite his unfortunate parentage, was no different; and he was currently frustrated.
His diary was in pristine condition, like new with the essence of Dark Magic soaked into the pages. The destroyed replica in his hands, was obviously not.
Whatever the two bints up in the infirmary were up to, it could not be good for him. How they had gotten a hold of something so precious, so special, so dark and desecrated it was beyond him. He would have to tread carefully to find his answers. Make the girls comfortable and easy feeling before he interrogated them completely.
A knock sounded at his door, causing Tom to shove both diaries into the desk and ward the drawer.
"Enter," he said.
Victor Lestrange opened the door. A broad shouldered young man with heavy muscles and a vicious streak for torture. Tom appreciated his abilities to be discreet with information that Tom informed his Knights. Yes, Nicholas was one of his favored followers.
"My Lord, we have cleared the common room for the night." Lestrange said, his head bowed before his leader.
"Excellent, I shall be down in a moment," said Tom. He looked back at the desk as the drawer shut. Yes, better to lure flies in with honey rather than vinegar.
Hi everyone! It's been a very long time since I've written any fanfiction. I've contemplated going back to some of my other work but life is super busy. I don't know when I'll have time to update this story. As it stands now, I'm going to outline the rest of Run You Through so I'm not diving in blind. Much Love, Chaco.