Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Author's Note: Damnation
Chapter One
September 1st, 1944
The day broke over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as normally as it could within a magic filled boarding school. Minerva McGonagall wiped her eyes and stretched, reveling in the feel of her well deserved Head Girl bed. Though she had spent the past few days of retreat in proximity to a certain unpleasant Slytherin, Minerva knew she would finally be able to regain normalcy by the Opening Feast later that evening, and could therefore stand his presence only a few hours more.
She stood, smiling at her ever-warm floor. If there was something she hated more than the Head Boy, it was a cold stone floor. Just another reason being Head Girl would be even more enjoyable. This was the last morning she would have time to take a full bath before class, and she sure as Hell would be making use of it.
After her normal routine of bathing, brushing her teeth, and gathering any supplies she may need throughout the day in her book-bag, Minerva set off down the stairs, quickly finding herself in the Gryffindor common room, and smiled. The past six years had been hard work, but obviously well-worth the effort. She had studied endlessly, spent countless hours in the library, never once letting her goal vanish from sight.
This year would be different, though, she promised herself. After the events of her previous year, a quiet, simple term would be just fine, thank you very much. It was hardly a bonus that for once the high and mighty Head Boy seemed to be lacking without the presence of his other half. Some days, Minerva had wondered if the girl attached to his hip even did anything other than trail after Tom Riddle.
She nodded to several portraits as she reached the stairs, laughing inwardly at the thought. She knew full well the brunette lived an active life. In fact, she missed the intelligent witch who had overlooked set prejudices between the houses and befriended Minerva as well. Though, they were not on the best of terms currently, she had been hoping to rectify it during the Heads retreat. Asking Riddle about her, however, seemed to have been a mistake. For a moment, he seemed to visibly share her worry when she admitted not one letter had been replied to.
It had been a passing look in his eyes, eyes she had never seen show any emotion. Admittedly, he did seem to get excited when they learned new things in class, but that had been years ago, for the past year it seemed like he had become bored with their coursework, seemingly not needing to study in order to get some class grades higher than hers.
It frustrated her to no end, but also knew that, for some, certain types of magic came naturally.
Just as she started descending the Grand Staircase, she felt a rumbling beneath her feet and could see the portraits start to panic. Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes as she hit the bottom of the stairs, a blue spattering of light slowly forming together and she only just covered her ears as a thunderous clap echoed throughout the school and its grounds.
Pointing her wand at the heap of clothes now at her feet, Minerva poked it with the toe of her shoe.
"Bloody hell, can you not do that?" came an aggravated voice from beneath the cloak and bag before a head popped out, revealing the pain-etched face of Hermione Granger.
"There you are," boomed a voice from behind, making Minerva once again roll her eyes. This would of course be the time Tom Riddle would sulk up from the dungeons, not even allowing her a moment's time with the newly arrived witch.
After helping Hermione to her feet, Minerva gave her a quick hug, before whispering in her ear, "Library after?" Hermione responded with only a glance and a smile, but it was enough for Minerva and, after a quick glare in the direction of the Head Boy, she made her departure to the Great Hall. Some things, she felt, could never be understood. Love, she knew, was one of them.
Though, knowing that would not ever stop her from berating the younger witch for her choice.
Tom Riddle had not become Head Boy by mere trial and error or that whole nonsense of learning from one's mistakes. Simply put, he did not make mistakes. It was a well known, and proudly held, fact of nature.
But as he finally approached the witch, whose arrival he had been anticipating greatly, he was unsure how to greet her, and there would be no lesson learned if this one important moment were to be ruined by his lack of experience with females. One part of his mind argued that the terms she had left upon were unsure, therefore their greeting could also be unsure.
However, the other part was just absolutely overwhelmed at the prospect this greeting held. Before his thoughts could be organized, a mess of robes and curly hair flew in his direction and latch itself around his neck. Momentarily, he was lost.
Soon, the gesture was recognized and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the one smell he had missed all summer long. The orphanage was certainly not a place for pleasant smells.
"I missed you so," she breathed into the crook of his neck, making the corners of his mouth turn up in a nearly forgotten gesture.
He rubbed his cheek on the side of her head, still unsure of his desired actions. Bloody hell, this was his closest friend, did he really want to ruin it with some silly urge?
As usual, his mind was made up for him as Hermione drew back, looking up into his eyes with tears brimming in her eyes but a smile still held warmly. "Tom," she spoke quietly, before stretching up on her toes and joining their lips in a simple, joyous, and long missed embrace. If possible, he found himself holding her tighter, letting go and feeling warmth spread all the way through his body, down to his bones, blood and the very fibers they were made from.
Moments later, they broke apart, Hermione resting her forehead on his chest. "I've figured it all out," she told him. "I know how to fully perform the spell, and what must be done next."
Tom gently pried her from him to look into her eyes, fearing she might be pulling his leg.
"I wouldn't," was her response, seemingly reading his mind.
"Well, then?" he asked impatiently, making her laugh.
"Always business with you," said Hermione, shaking her head with mirth. "Can we discuss this after breakfast? I haven't eaten in ages."
"I almost got stuck in that damned century," Hermione was telling Tom Riddle. They sat together in the library, far from prying eyes who hadn't even arrived yet. It was simply routine. "But I did find trace of the gauntlet."
At this, a smile crossed his features. A year ago, Hermione could never expect to see more than a smirk or sneer; he was at ease around her. It was not much, since he was still doing everything else on schedule. Maybe a few days had changed, a few dates happening a few days before or after her memory knew, from future books and lessons with Dumbledore.
However, things would be different in the coming six months. It would be the last of her preparations. Always, in the back of her mind, one saying stuck with her, "if at first you don't succeed,"
"Try and try again," Tom finished for her, a note of seriousness in his tone. "What have you done, Hermione?" he asked. "And I am not talking of your mishaps and forays into the wrong times and places. You would not have returned until you completed the task you so adamantly set out to complete this summer."
Sighing, she crossed her legs, wondering what she could and could not say. One thing was certain, the full truth was far from being an option. He did know of her time travel, knew of a great war in the future, that he was the key to preventing it. However, he was not aware that it was, in fact, he who the world needed to be saved from.
"The gauntlet was my task, Riddle," she responded with a sneer. Surprisingly, she had learned that mannerism from Abraxas Malfoy, not Tom Riddle. Abraxas had a haughty, know-it-all sneer, which fit better for Hermione than Tom Riddle's malicious, vindictive ones. It was strange how one year could cause her to adapt. "I told you long ago that we must take steps to achieve what you are seeking."
He shook his head. "You did not say it would take this long."
"And it will take even longer. Though I may have the power of time in my hands, there is more at work against me, and you, than just time itself," momentarily, she paused, taking a breath and gathering her thoughts. "I had some unfortunate run-ins, which led me to witness terrible moments past and future. I'd rather look ahead to change what we can, here."
"What about my mother, Granger?" he asked with a hiss.
Once more, she sighed, before standing up and holding her hand out to Tom. He eyed it questioningly, but seemed to trust her request and found himself standing with Hermione Granger flush against his chest, her arms encircling him like they had upon her arrival. This time it was not rushed, however. It was certain and warmth spread throughout his body and he wrapped himself around her in response.
"I have seen the horrors of your mother's life," she whispered softly. "I found myself in a duel with a much younger Marvolo once, and was also chased by a very small and young Morfin who had curiosity in regards to what lay beneath my skirt."
Tom let go quickly, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders as a dangerous glint flashed through his eyes. "Tell me what that bastard did," he demanded, eyes piercing and serious.
She only shook her head. "You know I mustn't, Tom," replied Hermione, simply, stepping backwards and out of his reach. Surprisingly, there was no momentary struggle. It seemed Tom Riddle learned some patience and control. "I will say I have another foray planned, involving the Gaunts, your mother. Hopefully, I will find a way to her without also stumbling upon your dear uncle and grandfather."
xXxXxXxXxXx
Hermione's mind was still adjusting to the time period she returned to. In the past year and handful of weeks, this had been the only constant, the only place she found herself staying in for days at a time.
The way to the library was still an unconscious effort, regardless of her starting location. Just ten minutes before, as she had been settling into her dormitory, an owl had found her with a letter from Minerva, asking to meet at 4 so they could catch up. She frowned, thinking of the scattered letters she'd received. It had been hard finding a way to transfer them through time at all, but in the correct order was damn near impossible.
At night, she had dreams of actions she had yet to make, but they had been proven predictive, and that had scared Hermione. Worried that her effort would be fruitless, that the same terrible war would occur, that her presence merely changed a few dates; that time had already been set in stone.
The greatest sacrifice she could give, her only help for Harry, and all her friends from her time, would not be saved from the terrors they had seen. It was hard to know whether it had done better or worse for her time, and she was bloody scared to find out until she had done everything.
Right now, she needed to focus though. On the present she was in now, the things she had to continue later could wait until then, when that was her present. Trailing from the Ravenclaw tower to the library seemed worse than the trek from Gryffindor she could remember. Sighing, and with lingering shadows resembling Harry and Ron looming in her mind, she quickened her pace until she pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Breathing in the scent of old books and parchment, a small smile formed on her lips. Memories, mainly good, flooded her vision, and she could vaguely see herself reading in several corners, different ages and apparel. It was a strange side effect of repeated time travel. Hopefully, she mused, after settling back home, in her time, the visions would fade and her memory would gather in proper order.
Minerva was sitting with her back towards Hermione at their usual table. It was at the cross section of three categories: Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. All three them branched out into the other various sections of books, but these three were used most by the two witches. One studying time travel mechanics, the other studying the concepts of space and matter.
From the beginning, a bond had been formed with the young woman who would grow to be her Transfiguration professor and role model. The conversations they had, and the contributions they gave to one another regarding theory and practice had been a nice change of pace. Six years with two slackers had made Hermione used to a lack of intellectual debate. Here, she found it first in the form of Minerva, and second in Tom Riddle himself.
Shaking this reminiscing off, she pulled out the chair opposite the Scot and took her seat. After a moment, Minerva placed a bookmark in between the pages and placed her closed book on the table, fixing her eyes on Hermione. "How was your holiday?" she asked indifferently, her tone almost bored.
Hermione rolled her eyes at this coldness. She had come to expect it, with how the previous year ended and the goodbye she'd given Hogwarts. "It was… interesting," she replied, taking Minerva's book into her hands and glancing over the cover. "I'm not sure ho—"
"I can't believe you just LEFT like that," the woman across from her suddenly snapped. "Gods, I knew it was not going to be a quick 'pop' and done, but I was certain it had not worked! It seemed as if every speck of you exploded!"
"Technically, that's what happens," said Hermione coolly. Minerva knew the truth, it would only be right to give her some details regarding her missions. She had also been the one to help Hermione decode the spell Voldemort had used on her. The nights spent staring into the Pensieve were not forgotten, but she could see the worry Minerva was trying hard to suppress with her anger. Hermione put down the book and looked up, making eye contact before speaking. "It is the most painful experience of my life, and that's saying something. Once I was tortured by Bel- I mean a Death-" She shook her head momentarily, trying to find a new subject. The sting of Bellatrix's blade had not worn off, and neither had the scar. "I did what I set out to this summer, and can only hope my actions prove to be for the best."
Minerva nodded, the anger no longer present in her eyes. "How is it you keep this all together, Hermione? One woman cannot do all that has been asked of you."
Over Minerva's shoulder, Hermione could swear she had spotted herself, not a glimmering ghost, but a whole bodied human, dart between shelves. "By remembering who this is for, and what must be done."
The vision of herself left view, but all she could see was the disheveled state of dress and matted hair, and hoped desperately it was not a terrible sign of things to come.