Why hadn't she thought of it before? It was so obvious! Hermione raced through the halls. The Death Eaters would be soon on her heels. In the corridors, some of the first- years were still scattering. She wanted to help them but there was no time. If she was right, they would all be saved.
If she was right.
How long had it been? Three, four years? She had no idea where McGonagall would have placed it.
It was valuable, that much was certain. And rare. But would it still be there?
Hermione was sure that McGonagall would have simply given it back, especially after so long. It was Ministry protocol after all. But still. Hadn't she seen her professor stow it away secretly in her office drawer after she thought Hermione had left the room?
The hope remained. Hope.
Funny, how it could spark back up again so easily, when Ron and Harry were both dead. She almost felt guilty, but now was not the occasion for guilt or mourning. She had to get to McGonagall's office.
A crash and the start of shrill screams behind her marked the entry of the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. But even her would- be murderers had become secondary.
There was only McGonagall's office. She needed it.
Memories of red hair. Memories of them falling. Memories of tears, death and despair. No. She wouldn't let it happen. She wouldn't allow it.
The small office was just off the corner of the right wing. Hermione sped into the room without a second thought and slammed the door shut behind her, muttering a reinforcement spell. It would buy her some time.
She turned around and began searching. It had to be here.
It just had to be.
Opening cupboard after cupboard, drawer after drawer, she scrambled about looking for a glint of gold.
Nothing.
Panic was starting to override again. She didn't want to die. Try as she might to be the courageous Gryffindor, there was still the nagging voice from within. I don't' want to die. I'm not Harry. I'm not brave like him. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't-
A rattle on the doorknob. They were here.
The Death Eaters had finally caught up to her.
She whips around to sift through the drawers again, rummaging through the papers. Her only hope of survival in-
And then she sees it.
At the very bottom of the drawer, a glimmer of a thread- thin chain made from the finest gold, the chain the only indicator of the object hidden within its secret compartment.
Hermione breathes out a sigh of relief, not realizing that she had been holding her breath all this time. McGonagall had kept it. She reaches in and grabs the object, just as the door to the office breaks open and hangs upon its hinges, undone.
Through the dust and fumes, after-effects of the spell, she hears the one word which makes her blood run cold.
"Mudblood".
The word is spat at her, like a disease, as five or six Death Eaters file into the room, their wands pointed at her heart, their faces sneering and triumphant. The skull white masks have been discarded, so that she can clearly see her assailants.
There is no longer a need for them to hide their identities; the paradigm has shifted and she is now the criminal of this new society.
"It's over. You've lost. Now accept death like a good, little girl." The words are mocking and dripping with sarcasm. They are taunting her, daring her to say otherwise, daring her to deny reality.
"No. I haven't lost." The words come out without a thought, strong and confident, even as she feels crippled and smothered inside.
Laughter from the Death Eaters, cold and harsh, ring out throughout the room. Hermione fingers the object in her hand and begins to turn the dial. She looks up defiantly and meets the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, who looks at her hungrily, a wolf ready to pounce. Turning and turning.
"Do you really think that you can win against all of us? That you can win against the Dark Lord, now that your precious Potter is dead? Give up and beg for your life, and maybe we'll make it a quick death."
More laughter, the high screech of Bellatrix punctuated over the din. Turning.
"One would think that death would be welcoming, my dear. You'd meet that weasel of a blood traitor again after all. He was truly pathetic, so weak he died minutes after the battle had begun." Turn.
Two more turns. Just two more.
"Be glad you'll join him in the afterlife. This isn't your world anymore, Mudblood. You've had it for long enough. It's our turn now."
One more turn. The Death Eaters come towards her as one, the smirks on their faces slowly morphing into deadly grins.
"Your time is over".
Now. In one swift movement, Hermione throws the chain over her head. She stares straight into the grey eyes of the Malfoy and returns his smile.
"No, it's just begun. My time has just begun."
She can hear the ticking of the clock again; the epiphany which had saved her, maybe even her friends and family.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Faster and faster, until it matches the beating of her heart.
The room is spinning now, the familiar feel of dizziness slowly confusing the senses as the scene around her begins to melt away, becoming a swirl of colours.
The grin on Lucius Malfoy's face has contorted into a snarl. The Death Eaters are reaching out for her, trying to grab at her hair, her robes, anything; their eyes wide as the realization dawns upon them. They had been outsmarted.
Yes, Hermione thought. I'll fix everything.
She knows it is forbidden, Dumbledore had told her so in their third year. Her own mind is whispering for her to stop. You know this is wrong. You can't do this. You won't come out of this unscathed. She knows that there will be consequences, but all she can think of is the graceful arch of a falling body, and red hair.
Ron, I won't let them take you away from me. I'll do anything to see you again.
Yes, Hermione thought. Anything. She looks down at the Time Turner fastened around her neck. I'll remould time itself if I have to.
Anything. For you...
...The spinning stopped.
The Death Eaters were gone.
She had escaped, and yet the guilt was gnawing at her again. Her mind had become her enemy, her conscience her executioner.
You shouldn't have left. You should have stayed and fought. Where is your Gryffindor pride? Why is your honour? Where is your loyalt-
No. She couldn't think like that. Not now. It wouldn't accomplish anything. The mission. That was all that was important. Think only about the mission.
It wasn't working. All the stress and emotional blows had worn down her nerves. She could feel the onslaught of tears, the raging storm of emotions roaring, demanding release…this couldn't happen right now. It was not the time or place. The mission. Think about the mission.
Refusing to lose control, Hermione retreated mentally into the corner of her mind she found most welcoming.
The twelve uses of dragon blood are…
She took in her surroundings. The room was littered with small intricate contraptions of all sizes and colours.
The Goblin rebellion of 1815… took place… in Germany due to the inflation costs of the galleon… which propelled the need for…
She feels calmer now, turning to see the nearest contraption, a delicate silver machine with dozens of knobs and pulleys, a small chute on the side blowing out a steady stream of hot steam at what looked to be a red and brown egg. Whoever owned this room had very strange tastes.
The five most common habitats of elves…
She tiptoes towards the door, making sure to avoid the many tiny mechanisms scattered about the floor, to search the halls for any wanderers before slipping out quietly into the hallway, keeping to the shadows as she walked. She needed was to leave Hogwarts right away.
Her mission required extensive research. She would find him and she would finish the job. Just as she had promised.
According to Harry, Voldemort had grown up in an orphanage. She had come back to this era in hopes that she could kill him as a child, before he grew up to become the Dark Lord. It was ironic really. She was doing exactly what Voldemort had done to Harry. Try to kill him while he was still defenceless. But she needed to block that fact out now. She was nothing like Voldemort. Nothing.
…twenty- two ways to effectively uproot a Venus- fly trap…
Creeping quietly down the steps towards the exit, Hermione tucked the Time Turner safely within the collar of her robes. She was not wearing her Hogwarts uniform and there would be questions if she was found on the property, especially at this time of night, but this was her only chance to leave. The school would be busier during the day. If anyone asked, she would say she was a friend or colleague of one of the professors, even if she didn't know any of the professors in this era. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to that.
…unicorn…sacred amongst magical creatures …protector of virgins…blood…longitivity of life…
Striding across the entrance hall, Hermione was out the doors in no time. She let out a heavy sigh.
Safe.
Felix Felicis…the luck potion…used to augment one's chances of success by a magical testing of-
Oh no. Felix Felicis. The memory of Harry and the potion resurfaced. Felix. Felicis. Harry. Felix. Harry. Felicis. Harry, Harry, Harry…
Harry Potter…defeated… Dark Lord… killing curse...falling…no, no, no!
It was coming again, she couldn't hold it back. The tears. The guilt. They were building, building…no, no, not now…not now…
"Hold it right there!"
The voice made her blood run cold with the reality of being caught. How on earth was she going to explain herself? She was on the verge of tears. Oh no. She couldn't break down now. Not now.
Hermione Granger is always strong. Hermione Granger is a Gryffindor. Hermione Granger does not cry in front of others, especially not strangers. She closed her eyes, forcing composure.
Get rid of him. Then I can leave. Get rid of him. Then I can continue the mission. Get rid of him…then I can cry, drown myself in my own misery…
From the tone, the owner was definitely a male student, the voice not yet deep enough to be a man's.
But there was something invariably cold and detached about the voice; it carried an air of authority, as if its owner was born to lead and command…
Hermione turned, her face now a mask of detachment. Felix Felicis…Harry…stop thinking about it!
Sure enough, there was a figure leaning against a pillar of the entrance hall, his face and torso shadowed in darkness. Hermione caught a glint of gold reflecting off his robes from the moonlight.
A badge.
This boy was a prefect.
"Who are you?"
The voice had become stern and suspicious, its owner kicking off the pillar to stand upright. Hermione could almost feel the glare, even if she couldn't see his face.
"I had business with a professor."
"In the middle of the night? Anyway, you haven't answered my question. Who are you?"
"This hardly concerns a student. Be a good boy and run off to bed."
Suddenly, the entrance hall was filled with a wave of burning, scorching heat.
Hermione gasped for breath, choking under the humidity. She fell to her knees.
What was happening?
She could feel waves of heat and energy emanating off something. Her thoughts were jumbled now, unable to cohere, everything was blurry… unable to focus…her façade was fading away…the emotional turmoil within rearing its head once more. No, she had to suppress it. She couldn't break down.
Just what was going on? She could almost see the crackles of electricity flying across room, the entire entrance hall suddenly bursting with magic.
Was this all this boy's doing? Just who was he?
Questions were flying, her mind boggled, her control slipping away; this wasn't happening. She couldn't break down. She was a Gryffindor. She had a mission.
From one nightmare into another.
Hermione could vaguely make out approaching footsteps. He was coming closer, advancing on her!
"This is the last time I will ask. Who are you?"
He was in front of her now, looking down at her.
The heat was unbearable.
Suddenly, there was a hand on her chin, tilting her face upwards. She was staring into his face, but Hermione found that her eyes couldn't focus. The boy seemed to be kneeling now, his grip on her chin so firm it hurt.
She tried to wrench away, but found she was unable to. She was much too weak, having gone without food for days because of the battle. She knew that her physical and mental states were being shredded to tatters, and now they were coming undone, at last.
"You aren't here for a meeting with a professor. You're much too young."
That cold voice again. How could someone still manage that cold tone in such a magically charged environment! The boy was acting as if he didn't even feel it!
"Look at me. I know you're lying. I want the truth. What are you doing here? "
She had to get away from this boy right now. If he could do this, make the room like this, what else was he capable of? She had to get away. But she was too weak. Concentrating, she willed all her focus into seeing just who this mysterious boy was. She had to know who he was.
Just who on earth could have so much power?
Her eyes focused for just the briefest of moments and she managed to catch a glimpse of his face before everything became a blur again.
Green eyes…black hair…
No…Felix Felicis…no…it couldn't be…
"Harry? Harry, is that you?"
A soft chuckle. The heat was slowly dying down now and she found she could breathe again, her mind trying to piece itself back together.
Harry. Could it really be you?
"No, my name is Tom Riddle."
Oh no. Hermione suddenly felt sick. There had to be some mistake. Tom Riddle…at Hogwarts…no… it couldn't be. Tom Riddle was supposed to be still a child…utterly defenceless…no…how could this be? Had she made a mistake with the dial turns in her haste to escape the Death Eaters?
This couldn't be happening. A Tom Riddle fully aware of his magical potential and already using his powers to bend others to his will…to bend her…
This couldn't be happening.
From one nightmare into another.