Hermione didn't know how long she'd been sitting on the wet grass. She'd arrived in the afternoon. It wasn't yet dawn. Silent tears trailed down her face while she fingered the chain around her neck constantly. She tipped back her head against the icy marble and allowed her eyes to unfocus.
"It could destroy everything, Harry," she whispered. "If it even works." She fisted one hand in the grass, beneath which lay whatever was left in this world of her best friend. In the two years since the war, her life had ceased to take on any meaning. She'd been told that it would get better. She'd been told that the scars on her soul would fade in time. She'd been told that she'd be happy again.
She'd been lied to.
Nothing was ever going to get better. Harry was dead. Ron was dead. Ginny was at St. Mungo's with Lockhardt and Frank and Alice Longbottom. Fred, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Luna, Dean, Snape, her parents… So many dead. It wasn't fair that she had lived. She should be with her friends. With her parents. Suicide had occurred to her, of course. Frequently. But she was too much a Gryffindor to take the coward's way out. Much as she wanted to.
So, instead of giving up, she'd spent the last two years making a plan. It was ready now. She just had to find the courage to go through with it. If she'd miscalculated by the smallest degree, she was most likely going to die. Painfully. Even if it worked… Merlin, the potential consequences were astronomical.
This was the most selfish thing she'd ever considered doing. Well, it wasn't only for her. The dead may not be suffering where they were – she hoped they weren't – but the living suffered. Everyone that she'd ever known yet suffered for the horrors of the war. She could fix it all.
"I have a feeling you'd be terribly disappointed in me if you knew what I was about to do, Harry," she whispered, her breath fogging the air. "I'm so sorry. I'm not as strong as you."
With that, before she could think about it anymore, she got to her feet, and twisted the little vial in her hands, watching the silver and gold potions swirl together. She took a deep breath, and smashed it down on the top of Harry's headstone.
The glass shattered and she felt the shards gouge into her palm. She groaned at the pain before a tidal wave of dizziness swept her up and stole her away.
-:-:-R.I.P-:-:-
Hermione woke to a pounding head, her entire body aching. She cracked her eyes open wearily to find that she was no longer in the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. She was in what looked very much like the Hogwart's infirmary.
Her breath caught. Had it worked then? She flinched as someone moved next to her bed and her eyes snapped down to lock on a pair of very blue eyes. Albus Dumbledore. With red hair. "What's the date?" she asked warily.
He looked curious in response to that question. "It is September 28th, my child," he responded thoughtfully.
Good. That meant that the students would be in the school. "And the year?" she asked despite the rather telling nature of the question.
His eyes narrowed at this. "1942."
A reflexive grin teased her lips. It was all she could do not to scream her triumph. It had worked! She, Hermione Jean Granger, had manufactured the means for traversing fifty-eight years of negative time.
"Where did you come from, child?" Dumbledore asked, his intelligent eyes sharp.
September 28th, 1942. The Chamber of Secrets would not be open yet. Myrtle would still be alive. And Tom Riddle would still be perfectly mortal. So far, everything had gone to plan. She'd even come through into Hogwarts, or near enough to end up in this infirmary. Now to move onto the second part of her plan.
She glanced around to make sure that they were alone, then addressed Dumbledore very earnestly. "I am from the future, sir," she said quietly.
Blue eyes widened.
"I am have come here to complete a very important task."
"And then you will return to your own time?" he asked with quiet intensity.
"I've not yet discovered the means of accelerated travel forward through time," she admitted, "but considering that I figured out how to go back, I'd wager that it's only a matter of time." Not that it would matter if she was locked in Azkaban.
"You discovered it?" he asked intently.
She nodded.
"Then you must be very intelligent," he reasoned.
"That's the general consensus," she agreed.
"What task have you come for?"
"I'm afraid I can't explain that at the moment, sir," she admitted, "but I promise that I will tell you everything relevant as soon as I am able."
"You know me in your time," he gathered.
"Yes, sir. You'll be headmaster in my time."
He looked intrigued by that idea. "Well, what do you propose that I do with you now?"
"I need to speak with Tom Riddle," she admitted. "He's a fifth year now, I believe."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "You know him in your time as well?"
"Yes, sir," she agreed openly. "He's… He's not well, sir. Even now. I know how to help him. Please, trust me." She'd rehearsed this speech many, many times.
Understanding came to his eyes and they softened slightly. "Siggy," he said quietly.
A house elf appeared with a crack and Dumbledore quietly asked him to find Tom Riddle and instruct him to the hospital wing.
Hermione very carefully kept her eyes away from her wand where it rested on the nightstand while they waited. Dumbledore didn't speak. At a guess, she figured he was cataloguing his questions for later use after he'd seen what she had to say to Tom Riddle. She tried hard not to think about anything. She couldn't risk Dumbledore seeing something in her eyes that would tip him off.
"You called for me, Professor Dumbledore?" a pleasant male voice inquired.
Hermione turned her head and opened her eyes to see that they had been joined by a very handsome boy of fifteen. His raven hair was combed perfectly into place, his uniform spotless, his expression as pleasant as his voice.
This boy would commit murder for the first time in less than a year. He would create his first horcrux in less than a year. He would then proceed to destroy everything in the world that had ever mattered to her.
"Tom, thank you for coming," Dumbledore smiled. "Please, join us."
Hermione looked at Dumbledore, forcing her mind to focus on mundane things, such as the way that the light shone in through the windows. She couldn't think about Riddle. Dumbledore would know that something was wrong. "Could you excuse us for a moment, sir?" she asked politely.
Dumbledore eyed her for a moment as though he sensed that something was amiss, but he finally nodded, drawing the curtains around her bed before leaving her alone with Tom Riddle, who was sitting down and watching her warily.
Hermione picked up her wand and cast a nonverbal muffliato before focusing on satan's favorite disciple.
"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" Riddle asked, the picture of manners right down to the shiny prefect badge on his uniform.
"Not yet," she said quietly, fighting the urge to monologue like some comic book villain. Oh, how she wanted him to know why she was here. How she wanted him to know how much she loathed him. How she wanted to discover every facet of the Unforgiveables' most horrific applications. But she'd promised herself that she wouldn't. She could not make any mistakes. This was too important.
She snapped her wand at him and propelled nine years of fear and utter hatred through her wand with a snarled, "Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of horrible green light, and Tom Riddle fell from his chair into a graceless heap on the floor. Lord Voldemort was dead.
Something very much like euphoria enveloped Hermione in ecstasy as she looked into those vacant eyes. "Burn in hell, mother FUCKER!" she hissed at his corpse.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" she heard a furious shout and looked up to find Albus Dumbledore in a rage, his wand trained on her.
She smiled triumphantly. "I've just killed the most powerful dark wizard of all time," she declared.
Wide eyes snapped down to Riddle's body before meeting hers again. "You said that you could help him," he said angrily.
"I have," she assured him quite earnestly. "He has died with his soul in one piece, not yet fractured by the murder of thousands."
Dumbledore was still for a moment. Considering.
"Please make certain he is dead," Hermione groaned.
He watched her for a moment longer, then stooped at Riddle's side and cast a diagnostic.
Hermione didn't need him to say anything. She could read it as well as he. It was rather easy to tell the difference between life and death. Tom Riddle was dead.
She breathed a profound sigh of relief before focusing on Dumbledore again. "If you wish to send for aurors now, sir, I will not resist," she said hollowly.
"Why have you done this?" Albus breathed.
"He destroyed everything that ever mattered to me, sir," she said quietly, her eyes falling to his body again. "He's now been repaid in full."
Okay, so I've read a lot of Tomione fics where she goes back and meets his younger self and considers just killing him immediately. I just wanted her to actually do it for once. Let me know what you think!