Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and the movie is produced by Warner Brothers. I own my computer, my story, and that's it.
Lay Beside Me in the Dawn
Chapter II
"This is quite an unusual situation, Albus," Headmaster Dibbet muttered, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at the magical paintings on his wall as if to get confirmation from the painted people. His expression darkened at the scornful snort from Phineas Black, and he turned his attention back to Professor Dumbledore and Hermione who were seated on the other side of the Headmaster's desk. "Not to say that I would object. The wizarding world has to be willing for provide mutual support during such difficult times. Besides, I've always thought about establishing closer connections to both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang." He gave Hermione a bright smile. "And your grades were quite impressive, Miss Greenleaf. Eleven OWLs. Indeed, it would be a pleasure to have you as our transfer student, Miss Greenleaf."
Hermione blushed and looked away, ill at ease. Not that she was embarrassed by her OWL results, but she had a nagging feeling she was forgetting something vital in the arrangements. This, Hermione decided, wasn't supposed to happen. If it wasn't bad enough to stumble unexpectedly half a century into her own past, she had to appear in Dumbledore's home. She had no idea how that was possible, and what would follow from it. Dumbledore wasn't supposed to know anything about her before the 1990s. She glared at Dumbledore sideways, still uncomfortable at the sight of him alive. Not to mention that he looked a great deal younger too.
It was disturbing.
Hermione sighed. Had she had her say, she'd rather have figured out a way to return to her own time somewhere else. Like Diagon Alley, Dumbledore's home, or even that blasted island, Samos. But the wizard had said nothing about it.
Well, Hogwarts did use to have the most extensive library about ancient magic…
"Splendid!" Dumbledore beamed next to her, unaware, or uncaring, of Hermione's dark thoughts. "I'll do the obligatory paper work and see that Miss Greenleaf has all necessary study material for her final school year."
The headmaster nodded in approval and smiled at Hermione kindly. "I'm certain you'll have an interesting year here with us, Miss Greenleaf."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione answered, cringing inwardly. 'Interesting' wasn't the first on her list of possible descriptions. No. 'Bloody stupid', 'precarious', or even 'apocalyptic' matched her mood more.
They left the Headmaster's office, walking towards Dumbledore's study room in silence. The empty familiar corridors and intact, still standing walls and towers gave her the creeps. Last time she had seen Hogwarts, the castle had been in ruins. The term would start in a few days, and the students had yet to arrive at the castle. The thought of going to her old classes without her old classmates, not seeing Harry, Ron, Ginny, or even Draco, brought tears in her eyes. The sudden surge of loss nearly overwhelming her. She blinked to drive them away.
Finally, they reached Dumbledore's office. He closed the door and faced Hermione with a serious expression on his face, moving to his desk. "I hope that I can trust you to be able to keep your secret from the staff and the students, Miss Greenleaf."
"I'm not stupid, Professor." Hermione frowned, taking a seat as well. "I am quite aware of the Time Aversion Law and its consequences."
A tiny smile appeared on his lip. "I'm not doubting your intelligence, Miss Greenleaf. However, time is a very volatile subject, and even the wisest of witches and wizards knows not what follows when one meddles with time." He stroked his beard, thoughtfully. "I have sent some queries to my affiliates, concerning your delicate issue, and expect to receive an answer in few weeks."
"You haven't found anything from the Pythagoras' Device? Something that could be used to reverse my appearance here, sir?" Hermione asked quietly, but Dumbledore only shook his head to her utter dismay.
"Unfortunately, not yet." He glanced at her sharply. "If I may have your permission, Miss Greenleaf, I would like to keep your device for further examination, for the time being that is."
Hermione shrugged, muttering. "Sure. Not that it was mine in the first place, even." Then, something else occurred to her. "Where will I stay? In the students' dormitory?"
"No. You'll be staying at the guest wing until you're sorted to your proper house."
"But I'm already sorted to -!" Hermione started to protest but was silenced by the tired gesture of her previous – future Headmaster.
"Please, Miss Greenleaf, I'd rather not know this."
His words hurt Hermione but she obeyed, biting her lip, and looked down at her hands. She could hear Dumbledore sighing.
"Even if the information would appear insignificant, I prefer knowing as little as possible about your previous arrangements, since they also happen to be my future. And the less I know, the less I have to obliviate myself. And in any case, I cannot place you in whichever House you deem suitable. It has to be done officially," he explained in a kind tone, and Hermione's face flushed with embarrassment. Of course, he would think something like that.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she muttered, keeping her gaze firmly on her hands. "I'll try to keep that in mind."
"I would appreciate that very much, Miss Greenleaf." Dumbledore's voice sounded weary. "Now, concerning your arrangements at Hogwarts, I will show you the guest wing after a while. The house elves have already transferred your luggage and will move it to your future house after the sorting has been done. I also prepared your curriculum based on the information you gave me. The final arrangement will be done, however, only after we know your house, since some classes are divided between houses."
"Of course, Professor," Hermione muttered, accepting the papers Dumbledore offered her. Glancing over the list, she felt some of the tension being lifted from her shoulders. Most of the requirements were the same as in the future, which meant she would be able to study for her N.E.W.T.s.
"I strongly suggest you familiarize yourself with the books and requirements, and do some of the schoolwork that was given to the students for the summer."
"Yes, Professor."
"Excellent! Just try to keep a low profile, Miss Greenleaf. I'm certain that we will get things sorted, and before you know, you'll be back in your own time."
For some reason, Hermione wasn't so sure about that.
(iii)
The great hall looked painfully familiar. The enchanted ceiling revealed the clear night sky and a bright moon sickle. The floating candles cast a soft glow around the room. Hermione fidgeted with her robe, repeating the lies she was about to share with her future classmates.
She dared to steal a glance at the students. They had yet to notice her, a lonely girl sitting at the end of the room. The house banners hung above the long tables: red-golden for Gryffindor, black-yellow for Hufflepuff, blue-brown for Ravenclaw, and silver-green for Slytherin. Her gaze lingered slightly longer on the Slytherin table before she tore it away. Everything was just as she remembered from her first year, starting from the appearance of the hall, ending with her apprehension.
Hermione realized Headmaster Dibbet had finished his speech, and was inviting Professor Dumbledore to bring forth the sorting hat. Faintly nauseous, she listened to Dumbledore call the new students.
Antonius Bowery…GRYFFINDOR!
Mercedes Robbson….RAVECLAW!
Marcus Yaxley…RAVENCLAW!
"Dear students and staff members," the Headmaster silenced the students. "I still have another announcement to make."
Hermione's hands clutched around the hem of her robe. She wasn't afraid, she assured herself. She'd done this already once. Besides, she'd faced a lot worse things in her life than sorting. If only her heart would believe that too.
"It is with pleasure that I announce we'll be having a transfer student from Beauxbatons joining us for this semester." She could hear curious murmurs of the students as they started to search for her from their seats. A few noticed her then, sitting near the main doors. They whispered, pointing at her. "She'll be attending the seventh year, and I dare say I'm pleased to have such an exceptional witch among us. Please, welcome Miss Jean Greenleaf."
The walk across the room felt like eternity and by the time she reached Dumbledore, Hermione was certain her face was burning bright red. She dared not look at the students, keeping her gaze fixed on Dumbledore and the shabby hat in his hands. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he smiled at her reassuringly as she took her place on the seat.
Oh, how curious. The hat's familiar voice filled her mind. Apparently, you've been sorted already one time…a Gryffindor? Why was the hat so surprised? Miss Granger- Oh, I see. You prefer being called Greenleaf this time. Hmm, you know, I've sorted quite a few Greenleafs during my time?
"Really?" Hermione feigned interest. Of course the hat would have done so. Greenleaf was one of the most common wizard names.
Boasting's not very nice, Miss Greenleaf. I merely commented on your choice of name. It shouldn't surprise me though. After all, she practically felt as the hat probed deeper in her mind, you're a very smart witch, Miss Greenleaf. And in addition, resourceful, ambitious and clever. Yes, indeed. The hat sounded way too smug for her liking.
"Just get on with it," Hermione thought darkly, annoyed at the hat's banter. "Please sort me back to my own house."
She could sense the hat chuckling. Oh no, Miss Greenleaf. Hermione Granger might've been a Gryffindor, but this is not the case with you. No. I think it wouldn't be a suitable house for Miss Greenleaf, not at all. Ah, you have no idea yourself? Trust me, I was created for this task; and I've decided that your house shall be SLYTHERIN!
No. This couldn't be right. She was a Gryffindor, goddamn it! Hermione stumbled up from the seat, barely hearing the cheers coming from the right-hand corner of the room. She glanced at Dumbledore desperately but he only smiled, ushering her gently away. Dazed, she took a seat next to the seventh years, scarcely able to meet their faces directly.
She, a Slytherin? This had to be a very bad joke.
"So, you're from Beauxbatons." She heard someone addressing her and looked up, meeting a lanky faced and dark haired wizard. Though he had an air of arrogance about him, he didn't appear entirely hostile. "Are you from France then?"
"No. My father's from Australia and my mother's from Britain," she answered automatically, the lie leaving her before she even noticed.
"And what do they do?" A girl next to her asked. She had a very pretty, heart-shaped face, and a nice little nose. Come to think, she reminded Hermione of someone. The high cheekbones, Hermione noticed, were a dead giveaway. A member of the Black family, perhaps?
"They're archaeologists," Hermione answered, the words flowing out of her mouth, and let out a small frivolous laugh, more terrified really. "They're obsessed about their work, travelling constantly, usually in Southern Europe. I spent the last summer with them in the Mediterranean while they searched for Atlantis." That, at least, was partially true. And as far as Hermione knew, Pieter Schoenburg, a German wizard and keen explorer, would discover the ruins a few years from now. So, she wasn't very concerned about changing history either.
"That explains the tan." The girl's smile looked honest enough as she stretched out her hand. "I'm Cedrella Black," she introduced herself, confirming Hermione's speculations.
She blinked before accepting the outstretched hand. "Nice meeting you, Cedrella." She heard her own voice. It sounded annoyingly meek.
"So, why did you decide to come to Hogwarts, Jean?" the brown haired boy asked while piling food on his plate. His skinny appearance would be impossible to believe, based on his appetite. "I've heard Beauxbatons is a good school."
"What Alphard here's trying to say is that they don't yet accept mudbloods, unlike our beloved Hogwarts," a slim girl with her hair tied up in elusive rolls sneered, switching her place further from the table and sat next to the boy. She offered Hermione her hand with a tint of menace in her voice. "Rose Bulstrode."
The boy, Alphard, made a slight, resigned sound at the back of his throat while making some room for Rose. She snuggled closer to him.
"Delighted," Hermione muttered dryly, already starting to get sick at the introductions. "And, no, my parents thought it would be better if I moved away from the Continent for my last school year. They left for Mexico to do some excavation on the Mayan Empire and didn't want to worry because of me."
"You mean Grindelwald? That's new. I thought Beauxbatons was protected by Vlépontas charm so that no one would be able to find it," Cedrella commented slowly.
Hermione shrugged in a gesture she hoped carried indifference and arrogance, and scowled. If only Dumbledore had agreed with her about doing her research alone…
"I know. And it's not as if Beauxbatons would be the centre of his attention, but they didn't want to take any risks." She kept a small pause, smiling softly then. "However, Hogwarts has a good reputation, and I'm pleased to finish my N.E.W.T. here."
"Don't say you're one of those who actually enjoy studying?" Alphard groaned. The slight widening of his eyes, revealing his shock, and the choice of his words conveyed such a similarity with Ron that Hermione almost lost her self-control. She opened her mouth about to snap back at him her standard answer 'of course I do, don't be a moron' but swallowed down her words.
"Good grades secure a good job, I've heard," Hermione settled for muttering.
Rose smiled coolly, taking a sip of her drink and sniggered. "Our Head Boy might not be very pleased about that piece of information."
"Oh?" Hermione licked her lip, nervous, glancing at the Bulstrode girl, who was glued eel-like against Alphard.
"Don't listen to her, Jean," Cedrella snorted. "I doubt Riddle's interested in such trivial things as grades at this point in his life."
Riddle. Thankful that she didn't spill her drink, Hermione hastily lowered her goblet to the table. Hermione knew only one wizard called Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort. All colour drained from her face, the shock nearly choking her. I'm a moron. How could she forget that particular information? Frantic, she started counting years. Naturally, Tom Riddle, born in 1926, would now be on the seventh year. Just like her.
The future Lord Voldemort was the Slytherin Head Boy?
(iv)
"Miss Greenleaf."
It took time to remember it was supposed to be her name.
Unable to dismiss the tension in her shoulders that had adhered to her since the sorting ceremony started, Hermione blinked and stopped. From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Cedrella glancing over her shoulder with the faintest of frowns on her face as if she had swallowed something rotten. Anticipating the worst, Hermione turned around in an unhurried manner and faced a tall boy wearing a Slytherin uniform. Every detail of his clothes was crisp and clean like they were never used. He was accompanied by a group of other boys, each of them dressed in Slytherin colours - and mostly ignoring her.
Why wasn't she more surprised by their lack of enthusiasm, Hermione wryly thought before glancing at the boy again. He didn't look that bad as Cedrella's expression suggested.
His black hair shone in the torchlight, framing the pale and even face, soft and slightly curly, tips touching his ears. Unfair long and dark eyelashes contrasted against silvery grey eyes. They flashed, briefly revealing an underlying darkness behind them before his gaze turned hooded. Somewhat flustered, she lowered her gaze to his chest. The Head Boy star pinned on his robes caught her eye, and an acid taste diffused through her desiccated mouth as if she hadn't been drinking for days.
Of course.
Just her luck.
"Yes?" she squeaked in the tiniest voice. Riddle quirked his brow and gave her a long look down his nose. The tension that radiated from her recent table companion impaired Hermione's already panic-reduced mental capacity as she gulped, repeating, with more gusto this time. "Yes?"
"Professor Slughorn asked me to make sure you'll be comfortable with your new house," he finally said, a ghost of a self-satisfied smile tugging his lips.
"That's very…nice of him," Hermione mumbled, her mind screaming at her in terror. No. Certainly not nice! Scheming. Sly. Cunning. Anything but nice. Her hand clutched around her wand, hidden in her robes, just in case Riddle started hurling curses at her. Instead, he offered her his hand.
His nails were polished and well tended, his fingers lean and delicate, Hermione noted vaguely. Perfect hands for weaving dark spells and breeding poisonous potions. Perfect hands for killing muggleborn witches – like her. Blushing, she realized she had been staring, her fingers tightly curled around the wand in her pocket. Cautious, she slowly released her grip and shook his hand, surprised of how warm and smooth his skin felt. Flinching as if the mere thought burned her, she jerked her hand back and retreated, resisting the urge to wipe it in her robes.
He dismissed her reaction and continued, his voice soft and smooth like a lubricant, dark and slithery and all possible things Hermione didn't want to recognize. "I would be Tom Riddle, the Head Boy."
"I can see the star." Hermione nearly bit her tongue as a flash of irritation flashed across his face. "I mean, I was told you were the Head Boy. It's rather impossible not to notice the badge." She took a deep breath, forcing her blathering mind to shut up.
"Truly?" He arched his brow, the look in his silvery eyes flat, his face empty of innuendos. But even the simple gesture conveyed enough to reveal his sudden suspicion.
"Oh, yes," Hermione choked out a nervous laugh, willing herself to stay in her place. "Heard you're Hogwarts' own celebrity. Best student in years."
"Right…" His gaze narrowed as he scrutinized her, and she gritted her teeth, sensing the silent condescension just beneath the seemingly friendly appearance.
"It's been a pleasure, Riddle. I'll surely remember to ask you if I have questions." She gave herself a metal kick for being reducing to blabbering again but was unable to control her hysteria. The icy silver in his eyes chilled her to the bone. "See you around." Someone could have said that the way she grabbed Cedrella's arm and left, pale as a ghost, resembled escaping. But she didn't care.
Only one thought burned her mind as she raced through the corridor. She couldn't tell if it applied to Tom Marvolo Riddle but Voldemort had been a master legilimens, and she had just stared straight into his eyes.
(v)
Tom watched after the two Black family members and Alphard's bony girlfriend, pondering lazily what would the latter of the Blacks say if he had a small chat with him concerning his pretty little cousin. He felt a mild ticking of curiosity. Alphard had always been a little unpredictable, unlike the rest of the Black family. Tom stole a glance at his companions before returning his gaze to the figure of the fourth member in the small group.
The surprising arrival of the new witch, Jean Greenleaf, intrigued him. Not the girl, mind you. Plain as plank, bushy haired and tense as a mouse, she was nothing special and, no doubt, wouldn't last in the Slytherin house for long. Tom smirked before his face turned expressionless.
No.
There was something else… The brief flash of terror that he detected on her face before she gained control of herself, her apparent caution, and the way she had clutched her wand, hidden in her robes, didn't strike him as the usual Slytherin distrust. He was certain that Miss Greenleaf knew something, had seen something, or was very perceptive. And that disturbed him. A very great deal.
Casually, he shrugged off the feeling. The girl was insignificant with no connections or familiarity with Hogwarts. He would keep an eye on her, and if she proved to be a troublesome lot... Well, Tom had his own methods to get troublesome lots out of his way.
Decision made, he turned back to his followers, gaze seeking the ashen coloured Abraxas from the rest. Malfoy's face was pensive, the colourless eyes more lucid than usual. No doubt, similar thoughts had crossed his mind too.
"Let's go," Tom simply said, nodding. New witches could wait. After summer, he and his gang had a lot of catching up to do. After all, this was their final school year together and Tom had very ambitious plans for the future.