In which Hermione appears out of thin air and knocks over a 10-year-old Tom Riddle. "Watch where you step, Cumberworld." The little boy snarls at her. She takes a step back, perplexed. "Cumber-what?" She questions. He rolls his eyes. "It's no fun if I have to explain the insult to you."
Cumberworld: a worthless person or thing
Chapter 1: 1937
Hermione Granger's life had significantly settled down since the end of the war almost three years ago. Now fate, or someone else, was playing a very strange trick on her. That being said, she did not expect to be pulled through space when she made contact with the small trinket that had tumbled out of an envelope with only her name on it. In retrospect, she really shouldn't have opened a mystery package anyways…but it was much too late to ponder that decision now.
She felt the tug of portkey travel and was suddenly searching for her footing on an uneven surface. Her body slammed into another smaller one and she reached out to stabilize herself and another person. It turned out to be a young boy, lanky but still a few inches shorter than her, with dark and angry eyes.
"Watch where you step, Cumberworld." The little boy snarled at her. She took a step back, perplexed.
"Cumber-what?" she questioned. He rolled his eyes.
"It's no fun if I have to explain the insult to you." He says, matter of fact. He eyes her with trepidation now, glancing at the wand in her hand. She quickly tries to avert his attention and slip the wand into her back pocket.
"Sorry…um could you possibly tell me where I am? I've gotten a bit lost." She asks. His eyes narrow.
"State Ave. Why are you hiding a stick from me?" he asked casually and looks pointedly at the arm she has tucked behind her back. She chews her lip nervously.
"Um, it's not a stick…it's a…okay well it is a stick." She stalls. He waits patiently for her answer. "Um, also my name is Hermione, what's yours?" she tries to distract him again.
"Tom. Why is the stick so important to you then?" he persists. She resists the urge to hex the little, observant boy.
"It's not, it's just an old family trinket that's all. Where do you live Tom, shouldn't you be getting home soon?" she asks him and looks around at their surrounds for the first time. If she had to guess, she would say she was in London. A very old part of London. The streets are still uneven cobblestone and the buildings, although not in poor condition, have that old architecture look to them that gives them a hauntingly beautiful disposition.
"I live at the orphanage. But what makes it so important?" he asks her. She glances down at him and, for the first time, notices that he is dressed a little oddly.
"Are…are you wearing someone's old clothing?" she asks at the clean but old looking fashion that covers the boy's person. His eyebrows come together in clear anger.
"I wouldn't be making fun of what I'm wearing when you're wearing ill-fitting men's clothing." He bit back and crossed his arms. Hermione glanced down at herself in confusion. She had on blue jeans, a jumper, and some chucks.
"I'm not-" but her head snapped up at at thought: Old London, old looking clothing, men's clothing? She met the boy's eyes again.
"Do you have a newspaper?" she asked breathily. He looked at her like she was crazy.
"Does it look like I have a newspaper?" he replied snottily. She was too overcome with anxiety to respond to his rude behavior.
"Where can I get one?" she asks him, turning in a circle to glance around her.
"You can probably buy one around the corner at Dunn Circle-" he hadn't finished speaking when she interrupted him.
"Take me there." She ordered. He narrowed his eyes once more.
"No." he said pointedly.
"Fine, I'll find it myself." She said, too frantic to argue with the boy. He huffed and uncrossed his arms.
"Tell me about the stick, and I'll take you there." He told her.
"Deal." She said. He now crossed his hands behind his back and patiently waited for her to begin speaking. "The stick is a magical artifact that has been passed down for generations in my family. Apparently it is supposed to be good luck." She said. He raised an eye brow.
"That's it?" he asked. She nodded. He eyed her for a moment before walking a few steps to a mail box to his right and pulled a newspaper out of it. She glared at him and snatched it out of his hands.
"You little shite." She couldn't help but swear at the child. He grinned evilly but watched her face lose color as she glanced over the cover of the paper.
1937. That was the year on the front of the paper. Her hands shook and she had the sudden urge to vomit.
"What is it?" the boy's voice brought her back to reality. He seemed more curious than concerned.
"I…" she couldn't get anymore out than that.
"TOM!" a woman's voice shouted from down the street. He cringed and rolled his eyes.
"Coming, Ms. Cole!" He bellowed back. The mystery woman was still frozen in front of him, clutching the paper with white knuckles.
"I have to go back now." He told her. She met his eyes, slowly processing something.
"You said your name is Tom?" she said shakily. He glanced at her questioningly.
"Yes." He clarified.
"And you live in an orphanage." She said again. He nodded and took a step away from her, suddenly nervous. "And it's 1937." She whispered now. He took two more steps back. "What is your last name?" she asked, her eyes filled with terror. Tom was very nervous now, more nervous than he had been in a very long time.
"It's Riddle." He said. In an instant the woman's body jerked away from him and the stick was back in her hand. He also took a step in the opposite direction and the two stared at each other, breathing heavily.
"TOM!" The woman called to him again. He glanced behind him for a second, and then turned to face Hermione again only to find that she had vanished. He spun around on his heal, looking for any streak of movement.
She was gone as fast as she had appeared.
Hermione Granger was stuck in the wrong timeline and the first person she had come into contact with was a young Lord Voldemort.
She paced in an alley way, clawing at her own hair.
"Un-fucking believable!" she yelled to no one. She continued her pacing until she suddenly sank against one of the building walls and slid down to have a good cry. She let herself wallow for exactly two minutes before wiping the tears from her cheeks, putting her hair into a large ponytail, and brushing herself off. "Alright Hermione, you need a plan." She spoke aloud to herself.
Her first thought was to go directly to Dumbledore. She dashed that plan out when she remembered that at this point of his life, he was still in that gray area of wanting to be master of death. She didn't trust him not to use her as a tool, or try to get information out of her if he learned of her time-traveling status. Even if it was accidental time-traveling. That dashed Hogwarts out too.
She reached into her back right jean pocket and pulled out her beaded bag. She opened the top and glanced inside. She had plenty of money; wizarding and muggle. She needed somewhere to stay, and clothing that allowed her to fit in.
"Clothing first, Hermione." She told herself and tucked the beaded bag away. She cast a notice-me-not charm on herself to keep muggle's prying eyes away from her odd state of dress until she could find a shop. She walked the street next to the one with Wool's orphanage, and found the experience of walking around London in the 30's surreal. It was all so different. The clothing, the people, the buildings…hell the way they spoke. She didn't have to walk long to find a muggle shop that sold women's clothing. She picked out three simple dresses and paid with her muggle money before leaving the shop wearing a light brown and white dress that made her feel like she was in a costume.
Now, she had to find somewhere to stay. It was getting late, dinner time had just past and she didn't even know where to look in the city. The streets were clearing and she just wanted to settle against another building for yet another crying session. She had a startling idea that made her stop in her tracks.
What was that old saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? She shook her head and turned on her heal.
"Bad decision, Hermione." She said to herself. She paused again and blew out an angry breath. "Not that that's ever stopped me before." She stated in finality, and turned back towards the way she really didn't want to go. "Bad, bad decision." She still spoke to herself as she passed the street corner. "Terrible, mad really." She continued, passing the front of the house with the mailbox that little Voldemort had pulled the newspaper out of. "Bloody ridiculous." She swore and a woman glared at her in passing.
Hermione found herself at the bottom of three worn looking stone steps. The door was an ordinary looking thing. A little anti-climactic for the abode of Tom Riddle, really. "Absolutely moronic." She took the steps. "Of all the stupid things I've done." She raised her hand to knock. "Godric, I have a death wish." Her knuckles made contact with the door.
She waited, holding her breath for someone to answer. It took a minute, but finally the old heavy door opened. The small Tom Riddle glared up at her in surprise. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The staring contest ended abruptly when he slammed the door in her face. Hot rage made her impulsively slap the door.
"Hey! Tom, open the bloody door." She growled.
"Absolutely not." Came a reply from the other side. She pounded her fists on the door.
"Tom!" She screeched. He did not reply. She tried the door handle and found it locked.
"That little-" she started but paused when the door suddenly swung open again.
"Such poor manners Tom, I'm so sorry." A woman said as she opened the door to a fiercely mad looking Hermione. The woman was slightly round, with a motherly looking face. Hermione took a polite step away from the door and smoothed a hand down her skirt.
"Good evening Madam, I was wondering if I could speak with Ms. Cole?" she tried to calm her shaky voice. Tom glared at her from behind the woman. Hermione resisted the urge to stick her tongue out.
"Oh, I am Mrs. Cole! What can I do for you?" she asked, now eyeing Hermione curiously.
"I was hoping you were in need of a worker? I really-" but Mrs. Cole waved a hand at her and took a step back, nearly knocking into Tom who now swiveled his glare onto the back of her head.
"We don't need any help, sorry Miss." She made to close the door. Hermione leapt and put a hand on the wooden surface to keep if from closing.
"Wait! I really just need somewhere to stay. You don't have to pay me; I'll cook, clean, take care of the children. All I'm asking for is a bed and a meal or two a day." She tried, her voice sounded desperate and she realized she truly was. Mrs. Cole narrowed her eyes but didn't answer right away.
"You expect no payment Miss…?" She asked. Hermione nodded frantically.
"Granger. Hermione Granger. Just a bed and food. I'll work for it." Mrs. Cole paused again and Hermione held her breath.
"Alright, we'll see how you do. We need help with the cleaning and the children. How old are you anyway, you almost look like you could be in here yourself Miss Granger." Mrs. Cole said finally and opened the door more. Tom's mouth opened in complete shock. Hermione glanced at him but quickly refocused on the caretaker of the orphanage.
"I've just turned twenty." She answered, finding no reason to hide her real age. Mrs. Cole made a noise to confirm she had heard her as she swiftly turned and headed down the hallway. Tom still stood, glaring at Hermione. She raised an eye brow at him and his eyes narrowed further.
"Well? Come on then, both of you." Mrs. Cole said impatiently and continued down the hall. Hermione closed the door behind her and hurried after the woman, sensing rather than hearing Tom silently following behind.
"This is the kitchen and dining area here, the stairs we passed by the door will take you up to the children's rooms. That door leads out to a small courtyard area, in here we have the pantry and wash room for clothes and the likes. This one goes down the the cellar, not much down there except for the naughty room. I'm sure Tom could tell you about it." Mrs. Cole snipped and sent a look over her shoulder at Tom. His glare never lessened and he met Hermione's eyes briefly before mumbling something under his breath.
"This is another staircase up to the rooms, this hallway back here has my room, Mr. Porter's room, our main office, and a meeting room for prospective parents to meet with the children. It doesn't get used nearly enough." She grumbled out the last part and Hermione quickly catalogued as she hurried after the woman.
"Now, we don't have any available rooms in our hallway, so you'll have to do with a small room upstairs with the children. Might actually work out nicely, I won't have to climb the stairs if you're already up there to tuck them in and make sure all is quiet." Mrs. Cole finished her rapid tour by spinning around and looking at Tom once more.
"I believe there is a room across from yours that is unoccupied, Tom? Please show Miss Hermione up to it. We've already had dinner, so take the night to settle in and I'll introduce you to the children in the morning at breakfast." Mrs. Cole told her, and with a nod goodnight she has spun and disappeared down the hallway that lead to her own room.
Hermione and Tom stood in silence for a moment.
"Are you stalking me?" The little boy finally spoke. Hermione licked her dry lips, not knowing what to say.
"No, Tom. I just need a place to stay and this was the only thing I could think of." She settled for a partial truth. In reality, she was kind-of-stalking him. He continued to eye her, clearly not believing her. She sighed.
"Can we talk about this later? I'm very tired and I would love to sleep." She tried. He stood, arms crossed and glared up at her for another moment before his frown lifted slightly and he spun towards the stairs.
"Lucky for you, your room is right across from mine. Should make the stalking easier." He lead her up. She snorted out a laugh.
"I'm not stalking you." She rolled her eyes now.
"Are too," he argued back.
"Are not." She retorted.
"Are." He said.
"Am not." She insisted back again.
"Uh-huh." He said. She was about to reply again, but knew she would get no where with the ten-year-old Dark Lord. They had stopped in front of a dingy, scratched up white door. Instead of replying, she stuck her tongue out at him and was almost pleased when the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was repressing a smile.
"Was that a smile I saw, Tom?" she decided to goad him. He frowned and crossed his arms again.
"Definitely not." He told her. She smiled at him now; he was kind of cute when he was being stubborn and wasn't trying to kill anyone or take over the world.
"Sure, Tom." She said and spun to open the door. "Goodnight!" She called to him. He grumbled back and she quietly chuckled before closing the door and examining the small room. It really might as well have been a closet rather than a room. They were clearly using it for storage rather than a bedroom, and she figured she was lucky there were only a few items to move off the bed at all.
Next, she set to work with a few cleaning charms and manually moving some of the random objects stored in the room to make the space a little more maneuverable. After making sure the thin blankets of the bed had no surprises residing in them, she settled down and closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh.
She needed a plan. A plan that would successfully get her back to her own time, not alert Dumbledore of her presence, and not expose her magic to Tom. It was going to be hard. He was a smart, observant, little boy. A miniature version of Voldemort. Mini-mort, if you will. She resisted the urge to laugh at her stupid joke, and frankly, stupid situation. She was stranded in the wrong time with no help from anyone else, no knowledge of how she was transported here, and no access to the Hogwarts library. Easy really.
She was in some deep shite.
AN: Thank you for reading, reviews are much appreciated!