Bad Romance
Author's Notes: I am keeping the buildup to the real plot of this story brief; as such if you find that the beginning moves fast, please let me know but do understand that I see no reason to write out every detail.
Also note that this fic is an experiment for me. I have never tried my hand at an HP fanfic, and though I have cobbled together some facts about Hogwarts during Riddle's time there, please do point out any details that are missing or incorrect.
And finally: Hermione may seem a bit…emo, I guess, in this chapter but recall that she has literally just watched her best friends die. Don't worry, she'll be back (at least somewhat) to the Hermione Granger we all know and love by the end of the chapter.
Chapter Two: Prince Charming
"Students out of bed!" The caretaker cackled once again as the doors of the Great Hall swung shut with a thud behind them. The Great Hall itself was devoid of its usual tables, and the bewitched ceiling cast a melancholy purple haze over the empty room. Hermione shot him a glower that made her look braver than she felt. The Gryffindor spirit that had propelled her to start on this time-turning quest seemed to have quieted down now and was replaced by fear as well as guilt.
I wish someone were here with me, she thought miserably. Tears slid down her face as the images of Harry and Ron dead swam before her mind's eye. They're gone…
But they won't be if you succeed, she reminded herself fiercely, gripping her wand tighter in her sweaty fist. You can still save them.
Part of her wished she had dragged Ginny along with her, and yet she knew that the youngest Weasley would not react well to having to hunt down Riddle. Ginny was brave and fiery in spirit, but some part of Hermione knew that Ginny did not possess quite the same bravery that her brother or boyfriend had. Ginny was strong but would crumble easily.
Especially considering her history with Riddle, Hermione thought grimly. At that moment, the doors on the other end of the Great Hall swung open, revealing an astonishingly handsome young man with dark hair and eyes. Oddly enough, he reminded her of a handsomer, more confident Harry, and then something clicked somewhere in her mind and she froze, her jaw dropping, just as the young man spoke. He raised an elegant eyebrow at Hermione and the caretaker.
"Ah, a newcomer, Grogan?" he asked smoothly, stepping into the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him impressively. In a rasping voice, Grogan replied.
"Says she came 'ere on a portkey, Mr. Riddle," he sneered.
Hermione promptly fainted.
When she next woke up, everything was swaying, and her left side ached like hell. She could hear voices around her, and flickering lights of the corridors.
"She's awake! Thank goodness," said a voice-young; it couldn't be a professor-with immense relief. "Do not worry yourself, Miss MacMillian. We're taking you to the infirmary straightaway."
"Heh, lucky you're here, Mr. Riddle. Threw me back out last week chasing after that damned Potter and could never 'ave carried 'er all the way to the infirmary, course!"
That's right. I fainted when I saw ….him. Hermione began struggling wildly. Get out, you can't let him see you…! But she knew it was too late; Riddle had already gotten a good look at her face. She hadn't even been here a half hour and she'd already done something to potentially dramatically alter her own timeline. The last hope she could grasp onto was that she was so dirty and bloody that he wouldn't recognize her in the future.
"Let me go!" she ordered, pushing against Riddle's chest. He was carrying her bridal-style, and despite her struggling, he was quite strong.
"Shh, I'll happily put you down once we get you to Madam _," replied Tom in a patronizing but humor-tinged tone. "Please calm down until then; you seem quite injured."
Hermione was so tired that she could do little more than obey his orders, even though she knew it was dangerous. Maybe if I pretend to faint again he'll notice me less, she thought with hope. She made a show of her eyes rolling back into her head and relaxed in his arms, her head rolling until she was unfortunately resting her forehead against his chest.
"Wonder 'ow she got them wounds," asked the caretaker Grogan. "I dinnit see it outside but she looks like death itself."
"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," replied Tom. "Poor thing; I didn't mean to give her such a fright!"
Grogan let out a wheezing laugh.
"You did always have that 'ffect on the ladies, Mr. Riddle," he chuckled. Hermione fought the urge to slap both of them and remained limp in the future Dark Lord's arms.
I need to get to Dumbledore, she thought to herself. She caught what might have been a whiff of aftershave when Riddle shifted his hold on her so that her face was now settled against the crook of his neck, the collar of his shirt tickling her nose. Do not sneeze. Do NOT sneeze, she warned herself.
Finally they reached the infirmary, where Madam Plum was bustling about, making beds nd muttering something to herself.
"No doubt the blithering idiots will hurt themselves on the train with that damned Exploding Sn-Mr. Riddle! Grogan!" she cried, suddenly sounding embarrassed. She must have caught sight of who Tom was carrying, for Hermione heard her draw in a breath sharply. "I don't recognize her. What in Merlin's name happened to her? She looks like an apocalypse survivor," she breathed, rushing forward to aid Tom in placing Hermione on a nearby bed. Hermione almost laughed at her words. Almost.
"Couldn't tell ya. When I found 'er, she was mumbling something 'bout a portkey, see," said Grogan, suddenly sounding quite anxious. "Thank Merlin for Mr. Riddle here, 'elping me carry the young lady up 'ere."
"Oh, it was no trouble, Grogan," replied Tom sweetly. To her horror, she felt a cool, dry hand over her own hand, which now rested on her stomach. "I just do hope it wasn't my fault…"
Oh cut it out with that bloody 'all my fault' business, Hermione thought with rage. Unfortunately, had she not known who Tom Riddle would grow up to become, she would have fallen for the lie just as his professors obviously had. His tone was sweet and gentle, just enough worry to sound genuine without sounding simpering. Had she not known better, she would probably consider his voice that of an angel.
She chose that moment to wake up again, if nothing for the excuse to shake off Voldemort's hand.
"My dear! How are you feeling?" cried Madam Plum. Hermione attempted to look confused and disoriented as she looked between the three people surrounding her bed.
"…Dumbledore. H-he's expecting me," she managed to say in a trembling voice.
"And you say you cannot tell me your mission," a surprisingly ginger-haired Dumbledore confirmed slowly. Having bathed and been given fresh robes, Hermione felt at least somewhat more human as she sat across the desk in Dumbledore's old office. It was smaller and less grand, no doubt, but it was still filled to bursting with fluttering contraptions, Fawkes perching on a golden stand, and of course, the Pensieve hidden away in a cabinet.
Dumbledore was studying her shrewdly, though his eyes gave away that he found this somewhat amusing, for they twinkled behind his spectacles quite tellingly.
"I am sorry, Professor, but I just cannot tell you. All I can tell you is that…" she paused as she looked down at her hands, which were still trembling from shock. She looked up again at Dumbledore. "…All I say is that what I'm doing will save thousands of lives. No, more…it may save the world."
"Quite a task to take on for a seventeen year old girl," commented Dumbledore lightly. Hermione grimaced.
"That's why I'm asking for your help. I had hoped to avoid involving others in the plan, so as to preserve the timeline as much as possible…but if there's anyone whose help I'd want, it would be yours, Professor. I can assure you you'll find out in due time what my mission is. In the future, I'm at the top of my class at Hogwarts. Even you have told me I was one of the cleverest witches you've ever met. Believe me, I can do this."
Softly, she added, "I don't have any choices left now."
Harry. Ron. Her eyes burned with tears and she fiercely blinked them away as Dumbledore regarded her, his eyes seeming to look directly through her. She wondered if he was using Legilimancy on her, but somehow, she knew he wouldn't do that. Dumbledore understood the seriousness of altering the fabric of time…looking into her mind could indirectly cause horrible things to occur.
She needed a plan. Now that she knew it was September first, nineteen forty four, her original plan had to be put on hold for several years.
"What I need is time here at Hogwarts. I haven't anywhere else to go."
"I see. So then, you are here because you have been homeschooled all of your life, and your parents wished to prepare you for these dark times more adequately by giving you a year of official education," confirmed Dumbledore. Hermione nodded, catching on quickly.
"Yes. I come from Surrey. My name is Hermione MacMillan and I am an only child," she added smoothly. Dumbledore grinned and clapped his hands together.
"Then the only things left to do are to alert Headmaster Dippet to your arrival, Sort you, and then place you into your classes, am I correct?"
Hermione followed Dumbledore out of his office, feeling a sense of loss as the door shut behind them. "The other students will be arriving this evening, Miss MacMillan. That should give you enough time to get your affairs in order, I believe," Dumbledore said over his shoulder as they wove through the corridors. "You've already met our Head Boy, Mr. Tom Riddle. If what you say about your academics is true, Miss MacMillan, I daresay you'll meet your match in him…"
"Oh, I'm sure he's far cleverer than I am," Hermione said modestly, though inwardly she seethed at the mention of Riddle. Once again, images from the final battle flashed through her mind and she suddenly felt quite old and tired. Beaten and broken. Lost. Subconsciously she hugged her arms around her body, not realizing that Dumbledore picked up on the gesture.
Stop thinking about it for now. You can't be so weak, she reminded herself. It was a great effort to tear her mind back to the present-or was it the past?
Alone with Dippet and Dumbledore, she was sorted into Gryffindor-of course. A four-poster bed in the seventh year girls' room was arranged as well as a trunk, and Dumbledore even gave her a changepurse of Galleons for purchasing school supplies as well as her own personal necessities. Thank god, she thought grimly, looking down at the baggy black robes. Hermione wasn't prone to vanity, but she certainly had no desire to wear the same set of clothes each day. With only a few hours left before the rest of Hogwarts arrived, Hermione decided to keep herself busy and venture into Hogsmeade for some books and clothes. It was a somewhat balmy day outside, though the sky remained an unfortunate gunmetal grey. Hermione set off out of the Great Hall, careful to not let her gaze linger too long on any of the scenery. For her, it had only been a few hours since she had escaped the smoking ruins of the castle, and she had little interest in dwelling on it now, when it was all so painfully fresh and stinging.
Keep yourself busy, she reminded herself.
She had never been one to relinquish her stronghold on her spirit. She had once been the Gryffindor Princess, hadn't she? Yet now as her feet sank into the wet ground, so her spirit sank lower. Every step came a fresh memory of the hopeless battle that she had escaped, and guilt and grief wracked her until suddenly she stood in a small copse of trees, clutching at the bark of one and gasping for breath.
Don't think about it. Do not think about it.
She dry-heaved for a few moments before rising again and wiping the cold perspiration from her face with clammy hands. In the muggy daylight, her bushy curls clung to the nape of her neck and she pushed her hair away. In the distance, the sun set the clouds aglow from behind, giving the daylight a muted and restrained quality. She thought of Harry and Ron yet again, and instead of letting her mind revisit their lifeless bodies, she instead dwelled on what they-especially Harry-would have done in this situation.
"Right then. I'm just going to keep moving forward," she said for her own benefit, brushing her hands off. Harry would have never allowed himself to become weepy about such things. He had so readily marched to his own death…
Tears slipped down her cheeks and she resolved, standing there in the wet copse, that these would be her last tears until she completed what she had set out to do.
I have set out to destroy the Horcruxes ahead of time, without changing the timeline or catching the attention of Lord Voldemort. And that is precisely what I shall do.
Squaring her shoulders, Hermione resumed her journey to Hogsmeade, though she couldn't help but notice that the scent of Tom Riddle's aftershave still, even after she had bathed, lingered tantalizingly against her skin, like the faint memory of a song.
Hogsmeade was different from how she had known it, of course. The Shrieking Shack had not even been built-nor had the Whomping Willow been planted yet, obviously-and though the Hog's Head and Three Broomsticks were there, little else was recognizable. She was relieved to see that Honeydukes existed already, but what was most exciting was than an ancient-looking bookstore sat where Zonko's would one day be. Called Tingling Spines (she sighed in exasperation at the 'punny' title), it looked like a gust of wind strong enough might just knock it down. She stepped inside, whipping out her list of required reading. Dumbledore had advised she'd find everything she needed here in Hogsmeade, and he had not been lying.
"The Hogwarts lot get their books usually at Diagon Alley, of course," wheezed an elderly man as he trembled under the combined weight of her textbooks, tipping them into her arms. "But once in a while we get the odd student dropping by." In the back of the store, a girl of about eighteen with straight black hair seemed to perk up. The eldery wizard rolled his eyes in her direction and lowered his voice. "You can bet my Minerva here's always happy when that Riddle fellow drops by. You'd expect she'd have gotten over her silly crush by now, but no…"
Hermione stood rooted to the spot as she stared at the girl, suddenly recognizing the sharp features. "…Of course, she's starting her job at the Ministry soon, thank Merlin," the elderly wizard was grumbling.
"Th-thank you," Hermione stammered abruptly before shoving Galleons at the wizard and practically knocking over the bookstore in her haste to get out. Once outside, she found herself gasping for breath, and she had to set her books down on the ground. Professor McGonagall had a crush on Voldemort?
This was just getting too weird. Hermione's keen brain normally absorbed even the most shocking facts, but to see a young McGonagall was too strange.
"Need some help?"
Hermione let out a little shriek and bolted upright to find herself face-to-face with the devil himself. Tom Riddle was wearing slacks and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Hermione recognized it as part of the outdated uniform (without the black robes of course), though on him it hardly looked like a uniform and more like haute couture. Tom's head was cocked to the side, his eyebrows raised, and for the first time, Hermione looked directly into his startling eyes. For a moment she was overtaken by his angelic features, but her friends' deaths so fresh in her mind, her hostility-another inappropriate reaction, considering her mission-bubbled over.
"No, thank you," she spat, immediately snatching up her books and storming away, leaving a very confused looking Lord Voldemort.