She cannot believe it.

Still clutching the binding of the hideous diary in her left hand and the opening in her right, Hermione Granger braves a peek at her surroundings. She feels as though she has been lost at sea and the horcrux in her hand is her last hope. Her saviour. The one thing that will keep her afloat.

Oh, the irony.

Everything is... Is familiar. Normal. She is in the courtyard, and standing before her is the large, wooden entrance to Hogwarts. Her Hogwarts.

Only it is not her Hogwarts...

She is yet to believe it.

"Excuse me?"

Shoving the suspicious, broken horcrux in to her casual robes, Hermione turns to find the source of the voice that has just so obviously spoken out to her. When she sees just who the face-to-the-voice is she lets out a gasp. But not from fear... No... From shock. She has seen him in pictures, of course. Dumbledore ensured that she knew what he looked like before she did this...

But pictures did not prepare her for how... How lovely he looks.

Lovely? she scoffs at her choice of words. Mentally, of course.

But that is the only word that springs to mind. Yes, he may very well be acting – or he may not – but Tom Riddle does look lovely. Everything about him screams lovely. From the perfect black waves of his hair to his flawless complexion, his silvery eyes, his features, his figure... Even his school robes are warn to perfection, for crying out loud, and the only boy that Hermione has ever known to do that was Percy Weasley!

"Who are you, may I ask?" He asks, very politely. Hermione's cheeks turn pink under his inquisitive gaze. She does not know how to react to this lovely Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort had been so callous; uncaring, relentless. Cold and indifferent.

But Tom Riddle, from what she can see right now, is curious, and young, and she is not sure that it is just his looks that make him seem so... Human.

Lovely. Human.

Whatever next?

"Hermione," She replies quietly, finding her voice. "Hermione Granger."

He does not glare at her. He does not scream mudblood. He does not curse her, hex her or jinx her. She knows that he knows from her last name that she is a muggle born. No pure-blood families have the name Granger. He still looks at her in the exact same way. Hell, he even smiles.

Lord Voldemort smiling?

But this is not Lord Voldemort.

The realization knocks the breath from her lungs. She feels as though her past – or future, now – has been – will be – a lie. How could this boy – this lovely, humane boy – become such a monster?

"Are you lost?" He asks; the silvery depths of his eyes look... Worried? Is he? Is he worried about her? What?

But he is worried. And it causes some form of comfort to rise within her. Back in 1998 she would have never, ever felt anything like this... Like safety. Like he really is– well, maybe not the one thing that will keep her afloat, but possibly the one thing that will get her on her feet in this familiar-but-unfamiliar Hogwarts of 1944.

And that is almost the same thing, really, isn't it?

"Yes," She nods, "And tired, too. And hungry."

He seems to frown for a moment, and then he nods once.

"Come with me. I'll take you inside."

"Ok... Thank you."

Thanking him.

The Dark Lord.

Thanking him?

She feels as though she has gone mad. That big part of herself that has hated Voldemort for years is screaming at her, telling her to run now, to just Avada Kedavra him and get it over with...

But he is not Lord Voldemort. Not yet, anyway. And he is lovely, really. And he seems as though he prizes school just as much as she does... And that gives her hope.

Maybe – just maybe – she won't have to kill him after all.

~ϟ~

So, this was written purely because this pairing is such a guilty pleasure of mine, and I don't really have time for a full-on story for them just yet, so this (and the other) one shot(s) will have to suffice for now. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I'll enjoy writing them. :)

~ Laura