Disclaimer: Wait—don't even say it. It's not mine.

Author's Note: Okie dokie. Just so that everyone knows, I'm only starting another story because the one I've got started now is giving me writer's block. This one will be reasonably short, maybe 5-8 chapters or so, and it's a timeturner story concerning Tom Riddle and Hermione. If you don't like, don't read it.

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.

TO DECEIT AND LOVE THE ENEMY

Part i. Falling Backwards.

It was winter, and another cold blanket of snow was falling to silence the countryside. Dusk was approaching, releasing hues of blue and purple to bleed together into darkness of the sky, contrasting more and more against the crystal flakes showering from the heavens.

Hermione Granger was sitting by a window, staring out into the shadowed twilight, seeing only the vague outline of the forested mountains surrounding Hogwarts Castle and the lake, frozen over from the season's unusual temperatures.

The antique oil lamp beside her flickered, and she was reluctantly brought back to the present—which consisted only of the heavy book lying open before her. She sighed, attempting to continue her reading, but as her eyes skimmed over the same sentence several times over, she realized that her focus was lost and there would be no more studying for the night.

Jadedly, Hermione stood up, feeling her shoulders cramp from the uncomfortable position she had been in. Closing the book, she returned it to its original place on the dusty shelves of the library, and quietly walked out, not wanting to disturb Madam Pince. Her footsteps sounded eerily hollow as she stepped into the empty corridor.

She considered going up to the Gryffindor common room, and maybe talk to Harry and Ron for a while, but at the moment she really didn't have the strength. It was still reasonably early, and she finally decided to go outside for a short walk to clear her mind.

The doors of the Great Hall opened slowly, and Hermione winced as they creaked. Even if she was Head Girl, she didn't want to be confronted with any questions.

The cold air hit her painfully hard in the face, immediately finding its way through her thick cloak and boots to chill her to the bone. Absentmindedly, she transfigured a couple of buttons on her sweater into a hat and gloves, and made her way slowly through the deep snow and down to the lake.

There was a pristine silence that hung around her, broken only by the crunching of the snow beneath her feet. She let her mind wander, not wanting to suppress anything for the time being.

There was a small pier leading about a hundred feet into the lake, and Hermione walked down its length, relishing the beauty of the sparkling ice on the water's surface. She sat, leaning against one of the supporting posts, her feet hanging over the edge and barely skimming the surface.

The memory came back from her fourth year, when Viktor had brought her here after the Yule Ball and kissed her. So much had changed since then. That was the time when they had all lived in blissful ignorance, somehow believing that Voldemort was just a fairytale.

How wrong they had been. And now, it was too late. Now, Dumbledore had been killed, along with twenty-something other Order members. Sirius had died at the hands of his cousin, and Bill Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Neville Longbottom were murdered by a surprise Death Eater attack over the past summer. It seemed like the end had finally come.

Now, people lived in constant fear, driven to a selfish hysteria by the threat of the Dark Lord's followers killing them and their families. There were perhaps a little more than eighty students still attending Hogwarts, which was one of the safest fortifications in the country. All the remaining Order members were hidden there, too, trying to maintain at least some level of a battle plan. But still, as he grew stronger, they grew weaker.

Hope was quickly unraveling, and poor Harry was taking the brunt. He was consumed by guilt, convinced that everything that was happening was because he was too weak. His nightmares had returned, and now he spent his days alone with Ron, scarcely speaking to anyone but him as they tried to think of ways to overcome Voldemort's growing army.

Hermione was usually with them, too, but as the weeks rolled by, she could feel her sanity ebbing away with the tense dullness of their days, which were interrupted by Harry's occasional desperate outbursts. She understood how difficult it must be for him, and she admired how well he was able to cope, even though at times it seemed like too much. So now, she had taken to spending her hours in the library, skimming through books on all possible topics and spells that could help with their position in any way. It was soothing to be able to hide in a book's secrets and forget about reality for a while.

She forced herself to stop, and push the memories into the back of her mind. It did not do to dwell in the past…

Hermione smiled bitterly, realizing how ironic that thought was. She brought her hand to her neck, finding the thin, golden chain she always wore. The one with the timeturner she had had for four years. On so many occasions she had wondered what it would be like to twist it, and take herself away, to the past. Time when the name Lord Voldemort didn't connect to pain and suffering, didn't mean anything at all. Time when there was happiness and peace and love in the world.

But she couldn't. People depended on her here. Ron and Harry most of all. She couldn't leave them and just run away from her fears.

Hermione gazed at the timeturner, running her fingers almost reverently over the hourglass. If only…

She suddenly wished she could cry, and let go of some of the agonizing pain and emotion she constantly held inside her. But there were no tears left for her to cry.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head to stop such notions. The evening had grown ever darker, and now she couldn't even see the shadowy hills across the lake. Heavily, she decided that it was time to go back inside before Harry and Ron began to panic. The snow had finally stopped, and Hermione was grateful for at least that small comfort.

She stood up, stretching her back. The night was colder, though, and there was a sheen of frost covering everything. The wooden pier was slippery, and she cautiously began to make her way towards the dim silhouette of the castle.

She wondered if this was fate, and why it was so cruel. Bad couldn't prevail over good. It was against everything she had ever believed in. But now, Lord Voldemort seemed to have disproven that theory.

Hermione could feel the frustration welling up inside her. Angrily, she kicked a small pebble that was lying on the pier. But her foot slipped on the icy wood. Her weight shifted, and she could feel herself falling forward. Bracing herself, she reached out on instinct to break the impact, forgetting about the timeturner she still held in her hand.

Hermione felt the small instrument shatter against the frozen wood, forcing glass shards deep into her hand. Something cracked in her wrist, sending a splintering pain up her whole arm, and then, as her forehead collided with the pier, everything went black. The only sensation that was left was a feeling of dizziness as her head spun.

But maybe that was the world spinning around her.

Hermione could feel a heavy pounding in her head as she finally opened her eyes. Everything seemed to be blurry.

What happened?

A voice thoroughly startled her. "Oh, good, you're awake." She felt a warm hand place something cool on her forehead. Her vision cleared.

There was a woman standing above her, clad in a white nurse's robe. She seemed to be in her early fifties—plump, with graying hair.

"You had quite a fall, dear," she continued, now inspecting Hermione's battered hand. "We're lucky Tom found you by the lake last night while he was doing his rounds, otherwise who knows what state you'd be in."

Her voice seemed loud and obnoxious to Hermione's throbbing head, and she let it pass in one ear and out the other. Who was this woman? Painfully, she shifted her head slightly to the left to see some of her surroundings. Relief swept through her as she recognized the Hogwarts hospital wing. It looked slightly different, but it was the hospital nonetheless.

Then who was this woman?

Hermione swallowed, trying to find her voice. But before she could say anything, the nurse was talking again.

"I don't know how you managed to embed glass and sand all at once into your palm like this. What in Merlin's name were you trying to do?" she fussed, rubbing a stinging ointment on the injury.

Suddenly, a vague recollection of what had happened filled her mind. She was walking down the pier, back to Hogwarts, when she slipped and fell. But what explained the condition of her hand?

The timeturner.

It took a few moments for Hermione's analytical brain to process the information. She was now back at Hogwarts, but during the day. In the hospital wing, which seemed different. Different beds, different nurse. The timeturner. Which meant different time. Her mind reeled.

That's not possible.

"Dear?"

Numbly, Hermione's gaze shifted to the woman standing above her.

That was not possible!

"I asked for your name," the nurse repeated.

How could she have been so stupid?

Hermione closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to gather her wits for at least the time being. She was going to be okay. Everything would be fixed soon.

"Her-Hermione. Hermione…Granger," she managed.

"Very well, Miss Granger," the nurse said, raising her eyebrow slightly. "The headmaster will be here to speak to you in a moment."

Hermione didn't even bother ask what this woman was talking about. She cursed herself for her carelessness. Now what was she supposed to do? She had no idea what year she was stuck in, whether it was in the past or future of her own present, and how she was going to get back. Suddenly, the idea of escaping her problems to another time didn't seem so appealing.

Helplessly, Hermione stared about herself. No one else appeared to be in the room. She lifted her bandaged arm to see how much harm had been done. Wincing with the movement, she realized that her wrist was broken, and the deep cuts on her hand weren't pleasant to look at. She was grateful that the nurse had removed the glass splinters and cleaned the scrape while she was still unconscious.

Sighing, she dropped her arm back on the sheets, gritting her teeth at her own stupidity as another bolt of pain shot through her. Someone had changed her, too. Now she was wearing a muslin hospital gown, one that was much shabbier than the current ones at Hogwarts.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked to the entrance of the hospital wing, where someone had just come in. He looked old, his balding head still visible beneath the pointed, blue wizards hat and the white tufts of hair above his ears.

As he came nearer, Hermione greeted him politely, but didn't stop with her careful scrutiny. He looked familiar, as though she had seen him somewhere before. So maybe she hadn't gone too far back in time!

"I am Professor Armando Dippet, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." His voice was quiet, and he smiled amiably.

Suddenly, Hermione recognized him from one of the paintings in Dumbledore's—now Professor McGonagall's—office. He was the man who preceded Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts more than fifty years ago.

And that meant that Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts in this point in time!

Relief coursed through her. If Dumbledore was here, she would be alright. Harry had told her something concerning Dippet a while back, too, but she pushed that into the back of her mind as he began speaking to her.

"We have never had an occurrence such as this before, Miss Granger. An unfamiliar girl simply appearing from nowhere on Hogwarts grounds. It's truly inexplicable," Dippet said, standing at the foot of her bed.

"It is indeed," Hermione murmured with a smile, "because Hogwarts is protected with such complex charms that prevent deplorable access in any way. Apparition, portkeys, the floo network, or any other magical means of transportation are blocked, and the castle is charmed to keep muggles away. I know."

Dippet stared at her for a moment, obviously impressed with her knowledge of Hogwarts' safety enchantments. He decided to take a different approach.

"Judging by your familiarity with the inner workings of this school, I am led to believe that you have connections here. You appear to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age, so perhaps you are an upper class student, which is confirmed by the Head Girl badge on your robes. However, Hogwarts already has a Head Boy and Girl, and we have no record of a Miss Hermione Granger ever attending here, so I am quite baffled about how and from where you arrived." He smiled, a smirk lightly tugging on the corners of his lips.

Hermione was surprised, and for a moment acutely reminded of Dumbledore's flawless logic. Realizing that this man might help her get transported back into her own time, she decided to be blunt. "I came from the future."

Dippet raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "It was an accident." And she told him of her misfortune with the timeturner.

"That is all very well," Dippet said when she finished, "except for one small problem. What in Merlin's name is a timeturner?"

It was then when Hermione once again realized she had been too hasty. Why hadn't she remembered that the timeturner wasn't invented until sixteen years after the birth of Voldemort? She cursed herself again. Now, Dippet obviously thought that her accident had somehow affected her brain, too. He wouldn't be much help.

Damn.

She would need to find Dumbledore and talk to him. He would be the only one to get her out of this mess.

"Nevermind," Hermione said resignedly, in reply to his question.

"That is a most creative story, Miss Granger," the Professor continued. "But since I see no solution to your…ah, dilemma…just yet, I suggest that you continue your tuition here as well as you would have at the previous academy you attended."

Hermione almost snorted at Dippet's ignorance. Did he really think that a student from a another wizarding school had simply dropped in for a visit?

"I shall ask our Head Boy to be your mentor for as long as you need assistance. You will be assigned to the same classes, and I believe it would be for the best if the two of you shared a joint dormitory so that he may keep an eye on you."

Hermione wanted to cry, 'I am not disabled! I don't need assistance! And I'm not a criminal who has to be kept watch over!'

But of course, she said no such thing. For now, she would have to stick it out, until she managed to speak privately with Dumbledore.

"Thank you, sir," she said coolly instead. "And when do I get to meet my mentor?"

"I told him to stop by the hospital wing around this time to introduce you. In fact, he was rather eager to see if you were doing alright. After all, Tom was the one who found you by the lake in the first place."

Hermione nodded, thinking she detected a hint of pride in the old Professor's voice.

"Oh, and speak of the devil, here he is!" Dippet exclaimed, gesturing across the hospital wing to where the door had opened.

Out of curiosity, Hermione sat a little straighter to see the Head Boy, someone who apparently ranked in her standards. He walked through the aisle between the beds—or rather strutted—before stopping at a respectful distance beside Dippet.

Hermione appraised him, taking in the mysterious, but slightly familiar, façade of the boy before her. In fact, he shouldn't have even been called a boy. He was tall, over six feet, with a wiry, muscular frame. The dark hair contrasted with the pale skin, and Hermione had to consciously stop herself from staring into his eyes. They were cold, but she sensed there was something hiding behind them. Or maybe that conclusion came from the way he was smirking at her. She glanced at his robes, disdain filling her own features as she realized he was a Slytherin.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dippet announced. "This is our famous Head Boy—" here he heartily clapped him on the shoulder "—who will be your mentor for the next few weeks. Meet Tom Riddle."

And Hermione felt her blood freeze. Numbly, she stared at the boy across from her. The boy who would become the world's most feared evil. Helplessly, she watched as he smiled coldly at her and extended his hand to shake. To Hermione, it almost looked as though it was a smile from the predator to the prey.

Suddenly, the smile on his lips transformed into a look of worry as she faltered and blood drained from her face.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Dippet asked, his voice increasing a notch.

"N-No…" Hermione gasped, her throat constricting. This couldn't be happening. "Please…don't…hurt me…" White nothingness ate at the corners of her vision, but didn't block it enough. She could still see Tom rushing to her side as she went into shock.

Her body was frozen. Her mind screamed for help from this murderer, but her throat couldn't vocalize it. And as her head began to throb from her earlier concussion and the added anxiety attack of the moment, Hermione once more fell unconscious—this time to the ice cold touch of Voldemort's hands supporting her head and back, his face mere inches from hers.

Only one thought echoed through her mind as she slipped out cold to the voice of the nurse's shrill fussing.

Save me from him.

From him.

Author's Note: So! What did you think? Please, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW! I don't want to beg, but if you liked this, then please let me know. Otherwise, it'll be pointless to update.

Anyways…I think that's it for now. (I hope I didn't make Hermione's reaction seem too exaggerated. But imagine being in a hospital after a pretty serious accident, and all of a sudden a serial killer would march in, pretending to be your friend, after attempting to kill you on multiple occasions beforehand. I think I'd panic, too. Lol.)

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.