- FIRST -
First came the invitation.
It was hidden beneath the confines of a leery black cardboard box filled with black silk and a peculiar mask that looked as if it had been carved from a real human skull. The box appeared on the rug of Hermione's small flat's entrance hall.
At first she was curious on how the box had even fit through the small hole in the door for her mail, but when her eyes had focused on the writing across the box in bright red ink, she knew it was Magic-related. It was Tom Riddle's handwriting, and that left her wary of opening to see the box's contents.
For days, the box sat on her kitchen counter, staring at her, daring her to see what was inside of it. The curiosity it filled Hermione with left her without a moment to relax, even the nights filled with restless sleep until one day, early in the morning before the sun had even shown its face, Hermione had kicked the comforter and tangled sheets from her body with such a fatigued anger that she stomped out of her bedroom, down the hall and into her kitchen with her entire body tense with frustration.
She threw the cover of the damned box off, grumbling about something stupid about Tom Marvolo Riddle, and freezing at the sight of the black envelope and the mask.
Hermione Granger,
You are formally invited to the Semhain Festival where very few are selected to be invited. This invitation and mask will be your key inside, but be wary. You must do something before you can join the party.
The ride that will take you to the destination will arrive on October 31 at approximately 9 PM sharp. You are to wait at your destination for further instructions.
Be ready,
T.M.R.
- 5 -
In all honesty, Hermione had thought she had done good. The only real reason she had come to Tom's time was to keep an eye on him. Yes, she had lost touch with him after Hogwarts graduation years ago, but she thought she had done good. The two years at Hogwarts she spent beside Tom, she had remained anonymous to him. She never spoke out in class, always kept to herself, but still maintained her normal grades. Of course there had been times when Slughorn had announced to the class how Hermione and Tom were the two highest test grades every now and then, and Hermione hated that. Especially when it led her to being invited to the Slug Club. She was welcomed there of course, but no one – not even Tom – had ever been mean to her. She had gone through turning friendships down and forcing herself to be lonely just to make sure she remained invisible to the students and wouldn't even ruin the timeframe.
But this had confirmed she had done something wrong.
Had he noticed how she stared at him a lot? Got nervous and shaky whenever he spoke to her with light conversation at the Slug Club meetings and events? Merlin knows how he hadn't called her out on it sooner. Dumbledore told Hermione that he was easily suspicious. So why hadn't he acted like it?
And why was Tom Riddle inviting her to this odd event?
- SECOND -
Second came the odd feeling of being watched.
She must have spent an entire day walking up and down the rainy, dismal streets of London and Diagon Alley, looking for something she saw perfect enough for the damned Semhain festival. It wasn't until after she had eaten a warm meaty sandwich with a small glass of pumpkin ale on the side did she step into a store where she saw The Dress.
It was long, black, Victorian ballgown, costing more than she had hoped to spend, but she could tell that just from looking at it, it was meant for her. The woman who sold it to her acted strange, the way people who know something but refused to say anything acted. She stared at Hermione, was hesitant, and had that look in her eyes as if she were afraid for her.
First Hermione brushed it off as odd behavior being that she knew how the human mind worked, Muggle or non. The woman could have been mentally unstable. It wasn't until she had easily stumbled upon the rest of the things for her costume, the small veiled top hat she found in a Muggle hat store, the historical black Victorian boots she had found in an odd Muggle historical reenactment shop she had no idea existed, gloves from a strange assessories store in Diagon Alley, that she realized that the woman's odd behavior was too odd to be considered an act of an unclear mind. It left her confused and curious all at once as she hurried home as the cloudy sky turned darker and darker and the time on her cell phone told her it was too late for her to be out.
When she entered her apartment, she pressed her back to the closed front door, breathing heavily from the odd feeling that she had been watched on her journey back to her home. She had a magic ward around her apartment, so she knew she was safe and sound there.
But still.
She turned to the left window, one of two sets that sat on the wall on each side of the front door. She peaked through the soft white curtain and out into the empty, rainy street of London. There wasn't a single person in sight.
- THIRD -
Third came the destination.
The limousine came for her just as the invitation had instructed it would. The moment she opened her door at 9 PM sharp, the limousine sat on the curb, the driver with his pale skin, aged face, and crisp driver's outfit, waiting with his white-gloved hands folded before him in patience.
"Hermione Granger?" he called out to her when she closed the door behind her.
All she could think about was the wand in her handbag with a mild extendable charm placed on it. She had her invitation, the Time Turner, makeup for touching up if needed, her pocket mirror, her wand, and any vials of potions she could think of that she'd need. And what she couldn't stop thinking about the most was her appearance.
She thought back to the moment, not long before she left her flat, that she stood before her floor-length mirror, in awe at herself. She didn't look like herself at all.
Her long brown hair was up in a high bun, smooth and neat with the hat pinned just to the side of her head and small sections of curled hair loose to frame her face. The hat rested before the bun, so that the veil fell over half of her masked face. Her skin appeared paler than before, due to the dark, smokey eyeshadow, black eye liner, mascara, and crimson lip stick. She painted her nails black, and felt as if she had stepped even further back in time.
This wasn't her.
"Yes," Hermione murmured as she descended the small concrete steps, her shoes creating a loud clicking noise with each descent.
The man said nothing as he opened up the door for her and she gave him a soft, polite smile. She slid into the leather interior, conscientious of her skirt. When she was seated properly and comfortably, the man closed the door and Hermione, for one moment, was left to the dense, rapid beat of her heart that flooded her ears and made her feel as if her chest were vibrating and her oxygen was running out.
Outside it was as dreary as it was the evening she found her costume. Angry clouds cluttered the sky and made the atmosphere cold and sharp. Hermione found a thick, old black shawl hanging around in her closet from last year's Halloween party thankfully, to keep her warm from the night with an added on warmth charm.
The car began moving, and Hermione tried to breathe slowly and deeply, only to find herself wrapping her arms around herself, nervous and curious, even regretful. She was beginning to think that this was all one, big, fat bad idea. Foolish, even.
- FOURTH -
Fourth came the worry.
It was when she was beginning to seriously think that this was a bad idea, that maybe she should tell the driver to take her home, even apparate from the moving vehicle. She had done that once before, it wouldn't be too hard.
She was so worried and thoughtful that she hadn't been able to pay any mind to the scenery outside the black limo. She peered out of the window closest to her, landing her eyes on a large, empty, old parking lot full of cracks and faded overgrowth. Confused, she turned to the other window of the passenger side, scooting across the leather interior to look out that window in hopes of a different view. She wasn't disappointed.
A large gate, almost like a gigantic, plastered archway with faded cursive lettering at the top that were so faded that you couldn't be able to make out what it was saying. But Hermione didn't have to try and read the blurred letters. She knew what the place was the moment her eyes landed on the entrance.
She felt the color drain from her face at the realization of where exactly she was being dropped off at. Taking out her wand, she got out, keeping a lookout with a heavy breath that puffed out before her visibly as the driver entered back into the limo and immediately drove off without a single word or an offer to stick around in case she'd want to turn back.
The air was warm and thick here, but when the wind blew, the same chill she felt from London made a comeback. The sky, of course, was visibly cloudy despite the lack of light – a dark sapphire blue, starless, moonless sight. The only thing to light her way were two street lamps before the entrance gate.
The abandoned Amberville Amusement Park – the perfect setting for Halloween, especially a Semhain festival.
The park had opened up in the early 50s. It was a booming success the minute its gates opened, up until a string of murders and mysterious sightings made it close in the October of 1959. So many people swore the place was haunted or worse – cursed. And even though Hermione had her fair share of seeing ghosts, a part of her swore that this wasn't just "nothing".
The only serious part about all of this was that non-witch or wizard ghosts were different from a Muggle's ghost. They were incomprehensible, to say the least. You couldn't really see them, save for some cold spots, a mysterious light in the darkness, a touch on your shoulder that came from nothing, voices that one would think were just in their head...
She plucked up her lioness courage and entered through the gates, soon freezing at the sight of a large group gathered in the middle of the park's "Town Square" which was an opened brick pathway surrounded by collapsed, vandalized, and empty concession stands and game booths.
In the distance was the famous Hillsride Coaster, the largest wooden roller coaster in England in its time, and the mysterious center of all the murders. Hermione eyed the ride, followed its tracks with a chill running down her spine at the sight of dense fog shrouding the place.
- FIFTH -
Fifth came the number 5.
It was a small number, but also a big number that fated the rest of her night. She didn't know it, but Tom Riddle and the souls of the park did.
Avery had found her the minute he had looked towards the entrance for any more stragglers. So many people were later than expected, probably as scared as Hermione looked. He didn't blame them.
Hermione was recognizable by her walk, the color of her hair, her eyes, and the way her mouth curved. Avery was one of the few Slug Club members and Tom's followers that actually tried being friends with her. Of course Abraxas, Avery's best friend, had completely ignored Hermione out of the fact that he was just as quiet as her.
"You're just in time," he said with a small smile. Hermione recognized him from his short, spiky, and dark amber hair regardless of the lines that had appeared on each side of his smile, but he wore a similar mask as Hermione, as did the group behind him.
In all honesty, Hermione was surprised to see Avery. She wasn't even certain that this would be his kind of thing, but when she reminded herself that he was a follower of Tom, a soon-to-be or already Death Eater, it was no longer a surprise. She hadn't seen him since graduation, and there had been no surprise that Tom was at his heels.
She'd recognize Tom no matter what he wore – mask or not. It was his smooth, slender body, bright green eyes, pale complexion, and his perfect lips. He seemed to have grown since she last saw him, seeing him as taller and fuller. He simply look handsome in a midnight black suit, no tie, and a cream oxford with the top three buttons undone to show the beginning of his muscular chest. He wore no top hat, like most of the men in sight, showing off his dark brown wavy hair being combed back just as he used to comb it back during Hogwarts.
"Miss Granger," he greeted rather casually. He bowed his head towards her a bit, as if it were a new custom, or just the custom of whatever this Semhain Festival was.
Hermione felt the color return to her face all at once, too quickly. She nodded her head in Tom's direction. "Riddle," she responded.
"Do you have your invitation with you?" Avery asked excitedly. Hermione watched his breath ghost before him as he pulled out his own invitation from the inside of his black topcoat's pocket.
Hermione pulled hers out from her handbag, curious of what importance it held.
"At the bottom is a number. Tell me what it is," Avery looked at the bottom of his. "Everyone seems to have different numbers."
Hermione looked at the bottom of her invitation and saw the number. "Five."
Avery suddenly wore an unsettled, disappointed expression. "I have two. What number do you have, Tom?" Avery turned his head towards Tom with a smaller smile.
"I'm not giving that away just yet," Tom murmured to him calmly.
- SIXTH -
Sixth came the strange instructions.
They were precise and came with a heart full of worry for Hermione.
"Can I have your attention please!" A young voice yelled from the other side of the gathered group.
Everyone all wore black and similar masks, their invitations in hand. Hermione followed Tom and Avery over to the group where up front, a mysterious woman with white skin and artificial long, black hair held up her invitation.
"Everone will be split up into eight groups. Look at the bottom of your invitations." Everyone did as instructed and Hermione held the number 5 in mind. "Now, those with the number 1 will go over here," she instructed as she pointed to the space to the right of her. Two people walked over there, looking at each other with confused expressions. Hermione didn't even recognize them. "Those with the number 2," and continued on until everyone was in a circle of groups of two. Worried and feeling completely uncomfortable, Hermione looked beside her and up at Tom Marvolo Riddle.
"Now that everyone has their partners..." The woman stood in the fourth group, putting her invitation away in the top of her black boot. "Each one of you guys will go on a search. This abandoned amusement park is big and has its secrets like we all do. Somewhere in this park? Is the actual party. It's exclusive, completely secret. If you find that place by midnight, well." She let out a menacing chuckle. "Let's all hope you find it."
"Is magic allowed?" asked someone from the second group.
"Of course. That's your own freedom," said the woman.
"What happens if we don't find the party?" asked a man from the seventh group.
"Then you find your way out and go home. Easy as that. In an hour, all of your rides will be waiting outside that gate. They will only stay there for two hours. Be careful."
Confused, everyone turned to their partners, confused with a few looking worried, few looking excitedly challenged, and others looking completely horrified.
Hermione felt all three of those emotions, but held a straight face despite her rapidly rising and falling chest, her breasts pressing against the corset of the dress uncomfortably. She technically had to go through a maze to reach the middle.
But why is this party so secretive? Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, completely forgetful of her lipstick. She thought of millions of reasons why this place was so secretive.
Maybe it was just for fun – to scare people, maybe it was because it was for the elite only, or maybe it was because there was something illegal involved – maybe they weren't supposed to be here... Those were only the first things that came to mind.
"Well, Hermione Granger. Are you ready to go on a search?" Tom murmured to her.
She looked up at him and saw the menace in his eyes. Her lips formed a thin line as her jaw tightened, her breathing becoming shaky. She watched him hold out a bent elbow towards her and hesitantly, she took it.
- SEVENTH -
Seventh came the whispers.
It came out of nowhere in the dead of the haunting night. It was the one thing that made Hermione want to leave the park and head straight home. It left her so worried that it made her begin to doubt that her magic would be of help.
"What was that?" Hermione nearly screamed, jumped out of her skin, but only tightened her hold on Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddle. Of all people to be stuck with in a place like this.
She had never once trusted him, which was why she slung her purse across her torso with an attached thin rope so that one hand could keep a hold of Tom Riddle and the other could keep a death grip on her wand.
"Probably just the wind." Tom didn't sound so sure. She could read the thought in his voice, how it was more of a question than an assumption.
She didn't know where they were now. A scene of typical horror and bad signs sat before them. Rotted wooden benches that collapsed, a broken down swan boat ride with old swan boats covered in years of dirt, dust, and weather wear. And even for a second, Hermione thought blood was running down from their eyes only to focus harder to see it was just dirt.
Beside the Swan Ride was what looked to be an old garden full of overgrowth and dead flowers. Rotted wooden benches strangled in vines of weeds could be seen beside faded brick paving and broken street lights. It was a haunting sight, aside from the fog that still hung around in the distance.
Hermione had her face towards the swan ride, having sworn she had seen a figure in the darkness of the tunnel apart of the ride.
"Let's keep moving," Tom murmured.
You don't belong here, came a small, forced, hushed voice out of nowhere. Hermione let out a gasp, her wand pointing to the air as she turned around and made Tom stop.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hermione," he started but she actually had the boldness to cut him off with a wide-eyed glare. She was fearful, he noticed.
"After all these years you haven't change." He said it as if it were a bad thing. "You always worry too much."
He didn't know her. How could he say such a think like that? Like she cared.
"You're just hearing things, now come on." Tom tried to drag her away but she made him stop as she turned to face him, looking up at him with just inches between his calm form and her shaking body. She never let him go, her hand firmly placed upon his so that their fingers had no choice but intertwine.
"'You don't belong here' that's what the voice said." Hermione looked behind Tom, watching out for anything out of the ordinary.
A woman out of her time. Came the same voice again. Get out, get out! You don't belong here! Darkness is coming!
"M-maybe this was a bad idea."
Tom's jaw was visibly tightened but his calm expression never wavered. Merlin, he was still such the good actor.
"Come one," was all he told her. He pulled her with him, allowing her to keep her fingers interlocked with his no matter how he despised being in this form of contact with a Mudblood. Even her.
The hand that held her wand shook, her Lumos fading with her wavered magic. She was losing all form of concentration on the magic within her as it flickered on and off like an exclamation point, telling her as if it were a sixth sense that something wasn't right.
She walked quickly, her boots clicking off the uneven brick path and echoing off the abandoned buildings surrounding them. She wore fear like a cloak and she wasn't even able to make sense of any of it.
Tom had to keep up with her, as he was still connected to her. "L-let's try that building," Hermione murmured as she pointed towards a large carnival Fun House. The worse scene, but she somehow felt she'd be safe once they found the party.
- EIGHTH -
Eighth came the blackness.
It hit Hermione like a brick wall, coming out of nowhere almost like fate. Was fate even real? Hermione didn't want to believe in such rubbish, never had, nor the thought that any of this was real.
Someone could have easily put those thoughts into her mind, make her think that it was a ghost talking to her. But who would know that she honestly didn't belong here – that this wasn't her time? Who.
No one. That's who. And that was what caused Hermione to visibly begin to shake as the entered the Fun House.
But the minute the whispers started up again and her magic warned her did her body begin to react negatively. In seconds she fell unconscious, Tom having to pick her up bridal-style from the shock and horror the entire park was giving Hermione's magic and body.
The time of the haunted dead was interfering with the fact that Hermione didn't belong here.
And she didn't even get to piece that together. Why else had this place make her feel so weak and afraid? Her mind wasn't thinking, but her body was reacting.
Everything was black for what seemed like a moment, but was really two long hours of Tom cursing the blasted witch and the night ahead of them. Two extremely smart magic users – they could have easily found the place had Hermione remained conscious. But luckily, Tom managed.
- NINTH -
Ninth came the kiss.
It came out of nowhere faster than the darkness that hit her earlier. It was that one thing that hit you so randomly that it left you so shocked you weren't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. It was like jumping off of a cliff, unsure if there was something at the end of the fall to give you a safe landing.
Hermione's eyes managed to open and focus on the dimmed red lighting of the room they were in.
"What happened?" Her voice was scratchy and she honestly felt completely drained. She could barely move.
"You were so fucking freaked out you went unconscious," came Tom's voice from across the room.
Hermione was laying in a Victorian red sofa. The room had dark purple walls, red fire burning from black candlesticks held by clear sconces around the room evenly among the walls. The room consisted of just a sofa and a closed door from which leaked loud music.
They had made it, they were here. Finally.
Her magic had returned to normal and only then did she feel safe. She sighed as she slowly got up, forcing back a groan as she looked over at Tom.
He had his topcoat off, his oxford sleeves folded up to the elbows, his mask off. He looked even more handsome than the last time she had seen her face and it nearly made her pass out once more.
But nonetheless, she was left alone with the Dark Lord.
She got to her feet, struggled for balance for only a moment, and forced herself to walk over to the door only for Tom to block her path.
"What-"
"You had me bloody worried, you know. I had thought you to be a fucking Gryffindor." He sounded stressed and aggravate.
Hermione stared up at him with an open mouth, only then eying her mask piled on top of his on one of the two small decorative tables in the room at opposite corners.
"First off, I didn't ask for this. And second off, you don't know me. But regardless, I. Am. A Gryffindor." She hated when people doubted her like that in the least, making her feel small. She'd be damned if they'd succeed. Especially damned Tom Riddle.
"I don't even bloody know why I was invited to this...whatever it is." She raised her gloved hands and motioned to the area with them.
And in a blink of an eye, Tom Riddle was kissing Hermione Granger, her face trapped in his hands and his lips, a bruising force to be reckoned with.
- TENTH -
Tenth came the confession.
It was horrible and infuriating all at once that Hermione wanted to pull out her Time Turner from her handbag and travel back to her time now.
Tom had her wrapped in his arms. He was rough and gentle all at once, regardless of how impossible that seemed. She kissed him back not only because it felt right, but because it was as true as it seemed that she had indeed held a small, tiny crush on him that hadn't risen back up until the moment she saw him without his mask on.
When her lipstick was faded and her lips were swollen, he let her go, opening the door to the party and letting her out first without a single word so he could keep to her heels, careful of her so that she didn't pass out again.
The party was a large basement under an old food court. It had cobweb-covered boxes of rotten food and aged dinnerware stacked up in the corners, the middle of the basement lit by a large classic chandelier. The floor was of tile black and old with cracks and gaps of missing tiles. Every wall held two doors. One wall had two opened doors with a woman's and men's bathroom sign on them, a small and old bathroom in each room in sight. The place smelled dingy and stale – unpleasent.
The wall left of that one held a room for storage for the party – crates of Merlot wine, champagne, prepared food, and what not. The other door remained closed with an 'EXIT' sign split down the middle almost completely. That must have been where the came in. Other doors viewed new-looking signs reading 'PRIVATE' which had been one of the rooms she had woken up and got kissed by the Dark Lord in.
Tom nearly forced Hermione to take in some food and champagne before she truly began feeling her strength come back to her. He led her out to the dance floor, dancing with her close to him for what felt like hours before she needed to sit down. He took her back to their Private room and she panicked.
Tom stood before Hermione, who sat on the couch again. She looked up at him, trying desperately to read his expression. But he held his unreadable one as he always did. He had his hands in the pockets of his trousers. It was almost as if he were just staring.
"Hermione," he finally began after Hermione fidgeted in her uncomfortable gown. "I know your secret."
Hermione snickered. She had only two secrets. It was evident he knew the one that was less important, since she kissed him back, after all.
"Look, I tried to keep it quiet. But then you kissed me. What else was I supposed to do besides let myself kiss you b-"
"That's not what I'm talking about, Hermione Granger."
Hermione mouth closed and her jaw tightened.
"I know you're from the future."
The color drained from her face and she was left speechless.
"And let me tell you," he began as he stepped close to her and bent down so that he could whisper in her ear. "I will have fun with your knowledge."
Hermione's body went rigid, images of her being tortured for her knowledge to be pried from her flashing within her troubled mind. Too many things were happening this night. Too many. She was left incomprehensible of it all.
Tom stood back and straightened up, letting out a dark chuckle. "Well, Hermione speechless? I do enjoy that." His eyes were darkening with a witted, wry evilness that Hermione had hoped to have dodged.
"When did you find out?" She murmured, unable to look at him. Her eyes fell to the door behind them, trying to think up an escape, but finding herself feeling too stressed to even think up of something.
"Seventh year, Christmas Vacation. I walked in on you looking down at your Time Turner and pieced together your random appearance at Hogwarts and how hard you tried to be invisible. I left before you could even notice."
"You brought me here, didn't you," she whispered with shock.
"I did. I wanted to confront you once and for all being that I now have use for you. I assume, from your previous behavior in Hogwarts, that you know me in the future."
She held her tongue, her eyes finally reaching his.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'. So we'll do this the easy way. Or we can do it the hard way. Easy way is painless. You become my mistress, tell me what I ask of you, honestly, or..." He roughly grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him again when her gaze faltered. "You can suffer while I extract the information from you. The future is mine, Hermione. And so is this world."