Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling
Could it be a lie or truth? The answer still evades me. A wish can seem a simple thing, until it draws misfortune.
Hermione wished.
She wished for an end to the war, a way out of the hell that had been created.
A way out of the world that was no longer light, but dark, and full of horror.
Voldemort had destroyed everything she had once held dear.
Now she stood alone, unfeeling, uncaring. She used unforgivables like they were bus tickets.
She broke bones like she was snapping sticks. She had nothing left to lose.
In truth, it could be said that her sanity was slowly slipping. Harry had been killed by Voldemort, the monster had ripped him bone from bone, skin from skin, flesh from flesh, until there was nothing left but blood. It had happened in front of everyone. In the great hall when Harry had been trying to get 'Tom' to repent. The dark lord had just lunged at him, putting those long, cruel fingers to work. And in their horror everyone had just watched, transfixed, as all hell broke loose.
Ron had gone crazy, cursing everything in sight, until one of his own curses had rebounded, hitting him in the chest. It wasn't fatal, but the amount of blood he lost as he lay there in the ensuing battle was. It was Hermione who found him actually. She has been going mad with searching, desperate to find him, and when she finally did it had been too late. None of Madame Pomfrey's blood replenishing potion could save him now. He was gone. And so was she.
For the next month the battle wore on. There were always those who would come to the side of the Order, even if some of them had their own agenda, they were all soldiers, and no one discriminated now.
All was lost. Conscience had given way to fear. A heart-wrenching, gut clenching, all consuming fear that griped the entire nation. Voldemort was triumphant. Those who opposed him were squashed, remorselessly, under the feet of his newer, larger following. There was nothing the Order could do to stop him and they were suffering from more and more losses and desertions every day.
Hermione felt bitter. She felt wronged.
This was not how things were supposed to be. Harry should have won, Ron should have been there for her. She should not have had to turn to the darkness just to survive. But she did, and still they fought, and still they lost. And on and on and on, until the blood of his victims washed the whole world red and Hermione saw only death when she closed her eyes at night.
It took her almost a year to devise the plan.
She knew the key to everything. Voldemort's continued underestimation of the power of love. Dumbledore had referred to it constantly. It haunted her nightmares and kept her awake in between, she must have missed something. There must be another way.
The plan formed itself around her subconscious, slowly growing in its nature, in its depth, until she could see no way out but to follow. In a way it was almost as though the idea had been planted in her mind my an unknown foe. But that would be impossible, Hermione reasoned. She was a skilled ligilimens, they all were. More and more frequently Voldemort would wage mental battles, as though he knew those who had not yet been broken in body could be persuaded to break in their minds. Their spirit was long gone, Hermione could almost laugh, spirit and soul were luxuries she could not afford. She could only calculate, and avenge, and re-gain that which she had lost.
She could only seek to destroy.
Her plan unfolded one Summer day in July. It was cold outside. The breeding of Dementors had become unstoppable so the whole country was cold and damp and full of sorrow. Hermione wondered if the Dementor's were wholly to blame for that.
She allowed the time turner to slip from her hand into the grass, then with shaking fingers she unclasped the small beaded bag that she held at her side. From within she pulled the broken shards of the elder wand. It was unbeatable, and yet Harry had been its master and he had been beaten. Somehow, deep down, Voldemort must have known. That was why he had killed Harry in a brutally horrific version of a muggle monster. He had ripped him apart with his bare hands, no magic involved. And the elder wand had slid from Harry's grip, no longer belonging to anyone. Hermione had reached the broken shards first, after Harry's remains had crushed them. She had gathered them up, right under Voldemort's lacking nose, and had ran from the hall to put them somewhere safe. When she had returned it had been to hell. And no one involved would ever be the same again. The dark Lord had been busy killing as many as his wand could strike. It had been bloodthirsty and brutal but at least the end had been swift. And that was the only, small happiness she could grasp at.
With the shards in her hand she cast a quick reparo. Her own wand was infused with dark magic. She had learned it in the intervening months, when she had also learned that what the dark lord had once said had been true. There was no good and evil, there was only power. Hermione refused to be the weak one. She had seen what dark magic could do, it could win, it could conquer, it could kill. It was the only way to come close to winning, and the rest of the Order was a shambles, the originals were mostly dead or half deranged, there was no longer a light side. There was only those still living, and they were the ones she had to save.
The elder wand put itself back together under her spell but it was crooked, and the wood felt brittle, as though a simple spell could rip it apart once more. It did not matter though, she thought, it had but one task to perform. Directing the elder wand at the time turner she concentrated everything she had on her goal.
"I need to go back" she whispered. "I need to change what happens, I must do this, I must! it is everything. And I am nothing."
The elder wand did not visibly perform any magic, but she had not expected it to. It was the time turner she was watching. The merging of the ancient power of the elder wand with the relatively new magic of the time turner. The two had never before connected, and now she was forcing them to confront each other. Light and dark, old and new, what was really the difference? She asked this of herself as she pitched forward, leaving everything she knew behind.
Fifty years before, she awoke.
It was dark and cold and damp, and she felt as though she was deep underground. Not that she could see anything, but she could sense, and her senses were not often wrong. It was the hiss that startled her, she had not been expecting that, it came from the darkest spot, behind her, and it echoed along the damp stone walls.
And then she knew where she was.
She felt, rather than heard, the thump as its long, scaly body hit the floor. Her eyes were closed but she sent out all her remaining senses, trying to detect its direction. As she had known it was directed straight for her. She summoned courage she had not known she possessed and stood, rising to face her doom. For doom it would surely be, faced with the basilisk whose only job was to slaughter mudbloods, of which she was most definitely one.
Suddenly in the darkness there was a hiss, it slithered around her, overtaking her fear, uniting her with her body. Giving her control over which she thought she had lost.
She turned and sent a curse flying in the direction of that hiss, her back was to the basilisk at this point but she knew to tackle it would be foolish. She needed to advance upon its master. Sure enough a counter curse was whispered, with some surprise, from the darkness, and then the basilisk stood down.
"Who are you?" came the voice , the owner of the hiss. And it was a powerful voice, one that demanded answers. It was a shame it was such a complicated question.
"I am me" Hermione answered plainly. "Clearly a muggle born or your basilisk would not have tried to kill me, do you need much more than that?"
She knew she was playing with fire, goading him, igniting a rage that came with being so frequently unchallenged. And yet, there was no answering cry in the dark, no unforgivable hurled her way. For now, she felt she had triumphed.
"There is not much that goes on in this castle that I do not know about, and yet, you are here, in the chamber, and I know not how you got here. Explain!"
His voice echoed around the room, bouncing of the stone walls and shaking down her spine till she felt she must give in, she must explain, she must tell him everything. And yet she did not.
"I know who you are." she called into the darkness, "I know who you are and I know who you will become. Show yourself, and I will be merciful in your demise."
His laugh was loud, and more terrifying than any command that had previously fallen from his lips. It was high and cold, unlike anything she had ever heard before, because it came from the lips of a boy, who was not yet the monster he sought to be. He was just a boy.
The light that surrounded them was eerie, with a greenish tinge. Only illuminating their two bodies and the stonework closest to them. She had no idea which part of the chamber they stood in, or where the basilisk was now. So she discounted all that she could not control and focused only on him, and who he was.
He was beautiful. She had never seen anyone so pure, and perfect and smooth. It was as though all his flaws had been brushed away, from his sleek black hair to his chiselled jaw and to his dark, dark eyes. In looks, he was flawless. She found herself trying to mark the similarities with the creature from hell that she was more familiar with. And found that she could not.
He was ageless though, out of time. She knew he was a boy, a prefect at this school, but she was unsure. He had a command, an air of practiced control that engulfed her, and all she had to do was look at him, and everything seemed far away.
"Who are you?" he almost hissed. "And what are you doing here? This is not a place that you should be, mudblood that you are. You are lucky that I am not speaking to your rotting corpse!"
She reluctantly dragged her attention away from his features and tried to focus on his words. It had been a long time since she had seen anything that surprised her. She was not used to the emotion, she was not used to any in fact. It was... unsettling, that she should find one here, with him.
"We are in the chamber of secrets" she mused. "I wonder why I came here?"
They stared at each other for only a moment before his wand suddenly twitched in his palm. It was a small gesture but she recognised its intention. He was tired of games, and he wanted her gone.
"Tom." she whispered. "I came here for you, don't you recognise me?"
He looked visibly surprised, but only for a moment, and then he schooled his features back into their usual look of menacing indifference.
"How do you know me? You are not from this school and I have never met you before. I think I would remember." He said the last part with a sneer and raked his eyes down her body. It was only at that point that Hermione remembered that it was the 1940's, and she was not dressed with appropriate modesty. During the journey her black jeans had been ripped to show a good chunk of her thigh and her black t-shirt was low cut and tight for the standards that were acceptable in this time.
She glowered at him. Trust her to time travel through the fabric of this very earth itself, only to be flouted at the first hurdle by a randy, teenage Tom Riddle and too tight trousers. She almost laughed for a split second before reigning herself in, but then she thought, why should she bother reigning in at all? She had gone back in time far longer than anyone had ever been able to accomplish. She was alive, she was in the chamber of secrets. And Tom Riddle was eying her up. There didn't seem to be an occasion where it was more appropriate to laugh so she let rip. It churned within her, deep in her gut, tumbling out of her in short, whooping breaths and turning, slowly, into deep, dark chuckles that wracked her whole body and sent tears down her cheeks. She couldn't remember the last time she had given way to any sort of feeling. She didn't know when she had last let herself go, and here she was letting over a year's worth of repression tumble uncontrollably out of her in the presence of a baby dark lord.
It only made her laugh harder.
Tom stood and watched her. This strange woman had descended here, right in the middle of the chamber whilst he was instructing his basilisk, and all she could do was laugh? Tom felt a flicker of anger, this was not supposed to happen, he was supposed to always be in control, nothing should shock him. And yet, she had managed it, she had triumphed over him. It was a small feat, and yet it was something, something that ignited his rage.
"Shut up!" he shouted, pointing his wand at her. She barely acknowledged it, no fear flickered in her eyes, she was calm and collected as her laughter quieted. It only made Tom even angrier. He smirked at her, letting nothing else slip in his demeanour. "Glad to see you have finally come to your senses."
"Oh Tom" she wheezed out weekly, still overcome by the effects of her mirth. "You really are exactly how I imagined you. Full of power but with no outlet? That must be hard, you should really try and control your emotions, someone might get hurt!" Hermione grinned at him, she could see she was goading him but that was why she was here, She needed to ignite all his emotions, his feeling must rise to the surface, only then would she be able to see what she was dealing with. Only then would she be able to control him.
Tom shook his head slightly, the smirk still in place. "You, my dear, are the only one who will get hurt. Now, tell me, what brings you to this place?!" He shouted the last few words, his cold, hard voice echoing of the damp walls and engulfing Hermione in his anger. She shivered slightly and she could see his smirk widen at her display of perceived cowardice. She decided to go with that for a bit.
"Oh Tom if you only knew!" She gasped, batting her eyelashes at him. "I travelled through time and space just to save you, your life is in danger Tom, and in the future, I- I felt something for you, something deep- I couldn't just let you die!"
She gasped out the last bit, only just managing to stop real tears from falling down her cheeks. Everything she said was a lie, and yet it was not. His life was in danger, from her own wand. She did feel something for him, a burning rage that fuelled her desire to see his throat ripped from his neck. It was something deep, something dark, and she triumphed in it, she had never felt so in control before. And Tom Riddle was to thank for that.
"You came through time? from the future? Is that even possible?" Tom was full of questions. He found her explanation plausible , if not slightly nauseating. If time travel had been perfected in the future it seemed only right that one of his fan girls would want to save him. Although in the future he would be older, he wondered why this girl was so young. He shook off his doubts and looked her in the eye. It was time to sort this out, once and for all. "Ligilimens!" He roared, not even bothering to use a non-verbal, she seemed without power anyway.
Hermione stood before him as his spell rushed towards her, a small smile playing on her lips. She had prepared for this, for the invasion, and she did not plan to stop it.