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Hermione's eyes glazed over.

I was looking through Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve when ... YoungVoldemortApprehendedMe - I fled - he caught me - took my wand –

The memories coalesced, one after another, leading up to the present and then she was caught up. Hermione let out a shuddering gasp and blinked rapidly as she came to.

She looked around in confusion: the abandoned classroom; Petrified and with Voldemort standing over her, arms hanging loosely at his sides - Everything was recalled and accounted for … except for whatever had happened in the last few seconds.

"What have you done to me?" she demanded.

Wind rattled against the lone window as Voldemort walked past her. "Done? I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." He stopped at the window, turning his back to her as he stared through it. She stared at him disbelievingly.

"I apologize for apprehending you so forcefully," Riddle said suddenly. "… You must understand - a strange girl, walking about the castle at night, following students around. It was suspicious, perhaps even dangerous."

He turned round and paced back to her. He had a strange look on his face - he looked almost ... contrite.

She eyed him warily.

"I had to check – to make sure," Riddle continued. "Now that I suspect that you are in fact, a ghost, the circumstances have changed. But I still feel obligated to report you to the Headmaster."

He lifted her wand, as if to use it, then stared her in the eye. "Will you come peacefully?"

A moment's hesitance, Hermione staring at some point in between his eyes (one could never be too safe), and then she gave a tiny nod of assent. The spell left her limbs and she nearly groaned in relief, just managing to keep it to a small sigh. She rose without any offered help, not that she expected any.

He waited at the door while she worked out the kinks in her limbs, before she glanced pointedly at her still captive wand and he caught her gaze. If he was going to pretend at diplomacy, she wanted her wand back - not that she actually expected that, either.

And predictably, he tucked the wand away brusquely, lending her an apologetic smile. Well, two could play that game.

She held out a hand, expectantly. It was uncharacteristic enough of him to put away his greatest weapon against her, but to pretend it was because he was being considerate? The thought was unbearable.

Riddle raised a brow at her. "Surely you understand ... I shall be retaining your wand for the time being. I am a prefect. It is my responsibility to ensure nothing untoward poses a threat to the school or its inhabitants. In your ambiguity, you possess such a liability. I cannot in my right mind arm you."

As if that was really the reason! Regardless, she was unable to fault his reasoning. They both knew his own wand wasn't working against her.

Together, they left the room and then the dungeons, Tom leading the way but keeping an eye on her at all times. He was taking them through only seldom used corridors and hidden shortcuts - trying to, she guessed, avoid running into anyone.

While they walked through the eerily silent school (really, where was the yelling caretaker, or Peeves knocking down suits of armor when you needed them?) Hermione was able to deduce one important fact.

The sod had obliviated her. Something was missing from her memory - but it was near impossible to examine the last - what, hour that it had been since she first arrived in the memory? - objectively. Memory Charms often came with strings attached; an impulse not to examine confusing or hazy holes in your memories too closely, skewed logic if you managed to work around the impulse. Memory Charms were actually fiercely complex - the level of competence tied directly with the damage done. It was part of the reason many of Lockhart's victims had been left hospitalized.

Working around it would be hard. She loathed to think there might be something important she had forgotten. And that the only reason she wasn't loopy was because Voldemort was competent.

And there she went believing that this was all real. She resisted the urge to face-palm.

Halfway through coming up with contingent plans and ways of retrieving her wand (she wouldn't put it past Riddle to "accidentally" leave with it still in his pocket), they were stopped by a stray teacher.

Or perhaps not so stray. Long midnight robes speckled with tiny stars, complete with a blue sleeping cap sitting on shoulder length auburn hair, adorned a tall, thin man. His startlingly blue eyes gazed out curiously at them through half-moon spectacles and his nose was already long broken. Albus Dumbledore looked like something out of a fairytale, even as a middle-aged man.

The man himself spared her a fleeting glance before locking eyes on Riddle. Suspicious as ever of Riddle, he was.

"... Mr. Riddle, it is nearing 12:30 at night. Not even Prefects are allowed to be out after hours. I trust you have an explanation for this." Hermione felt slightly ignored.

She opened her mouth to respond but Riddle beat her to it. There was an inscrutable look upon his face. The feeling that this was exactly who Tom Riddle had been hoping to avoid cemented in her thoughts.

"I caught this strange girl stalking me in the corridors after I left Professor Slughorn's get-together, sir," Riddle said. "Upon further investigation I found that she is not a student here -"

"- I sort of am," Hermione protested. "And I wasn't stalking anyone."

Riddle ignored her. "I thought it wise to bring her unauthorized presence to the attention of Headmaster Dippet."

Dumbledore looked over his spectacles at her, seeing her properly this time. His eyes swept across her face, from her bushy brown hair to her slightly dimpled nose. There was no recognition in his eyes, not that she expected any. Then he scrutinized her robe and the Gryffindor badge sitting proudly upon its breast, and the grey pajamas underneath.

"Wherever did you come from, young lady? Have you, perhaps, been hiding in the castle?"

Hermione shook her head, careful not to meet his eyes. "It's a long story, sir."

"I suspect that it is ... Thank you for bringing it to our attention, Tom," Dumbledore said. "I shall take care of your charge from here. Miss ...?" He glanced inquiringly at her.

"Granger, sir," Hermione informed him.

"Granger," Dumbledore filled in, smiling kindly, "We shall adjourn to Professor Dippet's office to get this all sorted out. With any luck, he will still be awake and Tom here shall be able to avoid detention for being out of bed."

Riddle gained a tiny frown between his brows. "Sir, I would prefer -"

Dumbledore looked back at Riddle curiously. "It is quite late enough and you have class in the morning. Not to worry, my boy. I shall see to it that she is taken care of."

"I would like to have a hand in the proceedings, Sir," Riddle insisted. The slightest hints of frustration had leaked into his tone.

Dumbledore seemed to have noticed, too. He scrutinized the boy for a moment. "The subject is not up for debate, Mr. Riddle," he said finally.

Jaw clenching slightly, Riddle took a deep, calming breath. "... With all due respect, sir, she accosted me in the hallway, was following me around - and she claims she's a ghost who can use a wand."

He would pull that card.

"A ghost?" Dumbledore repeated in surprise.

"Yes, sir. Magic acts strangely around her. And she is ... permeable." For whatever reason, Riddle seemed to believe she wouldn't rat him out.

Annoyingly, this was somehow proving true. She was torn - terribly so. There was no question that she trusted Dumbledore more than she trusted Voldemort, even a young one. Tom Riddle had already killed three people by now, while Dumbledore was working on getting rid of the latest Dark Lord. It was a no-brainer.

But at the same time ... the Dumbledore of this time - she didn't know him, he didn't know her. Even as an old man - wiser, more learned - he had still used them all. Didn't that mean the he would be worse now? Yes, he would always do the right thing - on a grander scale. But for small things like this? There were too many unknowns. She had no desire to give another person a weapon against her by forcing Riddle to hand her wand over to Dumbledore.

If push came to shove, maybe then Hermione would say something.

As it stood, she would be forced to let Riddle leave with her wand. She didn't like it, but she wasn't willing to call him out on it. That she felt safer unarmed around Dumbledore than she did with Riddle contradicted her thoughts, but that's how it was. It was complicated.

"I hope you have not been dueling in the corridors whilst unsupervised, Tom," Dumbledore said reprovingly, recalling her to the present.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir. It was more of an accident, than anything."

A darkly colored wand, ornately carved and long, maybe 13 inches, appeared in Dumbledore's hand. Not the Elder Wand, Hermione noted distantly.

He turned to her. "Do you mind, my dear?" He was asking permission to confirm Riddle's words.

Hermione gave a hapless shrug, tired. "Not at all, Professor."

The wand rose. Riddle's eyes gleamed, eager to see what magic the esteemed Professor would cast - and to see him fail in the attempt.

An elegant swirl, exaggerated for their sakes, and suddenly Hermione's world shrank, getting smaller and smaller, until finally she was staring up at two virtual giants looming over her. Odd sounds echoed through her head, like distant moaning. The wind outside. The howling was magnified three-fold.

A metallic clatter, then; a suit of armor toppling, that seemed common at Hogwarts. Likely Peeves. Hermione's little pointed ears flicked forward at the slightest rustling of robes. Her nose twitched, smelling a hundred things that she had trouble separating.

Her sharp vision caught the tail end of a fleeting, furious look that passed over Voldemort's features. It was gone in an instant, replaced with a rigid blank mask.

Still, an ominous feeling in the air persisted, making it static and dense. She shivered. Her fur stood on end. Suddenly, she wasn't so comfortable being a foot tall and powerless in the face of two powerful wizards. Their breathing was unnaturally loud, their every gesture large and bumbling. Distantly she marveled at her improved senses. She was even able to hear their hearts, beating a quiet, steady rhythm.

"Meow," she said, intending to say, 'Please turn me back'. The meow morphed into a mewl of distress, brown cat eyes wide and dismayed.

Dumbledore undid the transfiguration immediately. "I'm very sorry, my dear, I did not mean to distress you."

The sense of impending danger faded. "It's - quite alright, Hea- Professor," Hermione stuttered uncomfortably. Not only had that been an unpleasant experience, being a cat brought back unpleasant memories of the Polyjuice Potion mishap in her second year.

Gingerly, she felt for skin thankfully void of fur. Fingers patted her face, feeling the absence of whiskers and a pointed, wet nose, and then felt underneath her sleeves across her arms and an old scar that had never quite healed properly - mudblood. "You just - surprised me, is all."

She brushed back her hair and touched an object - a hat - still sitting upon her hair. She blinked in confusion. It was folded, like a paper boat, and as she reached the pointed top intent on removing it, it burst apart in an explosion of golds sparks. The sparks transformed into hundreds of tiny, glittering blue butterflies which fluttered around her face. She stared, dazzled at the sight.

Meanwhile, Riddle was full-on frowning and Dumbledore was smiling ruefully. Hermione's mouth had fallen open in a little 'O' of awe.

The butterflies dissipated and this seemed to signal Dumbledore that it was time to get going. He clapped his hands together.

"Now that that is all cleared up ... Shall we be off to see Professor Dippet, Miss Granger?"

She nodded slowly, but first: "One moment, please, Professor." Shifting so that Dumbledore's view was restricted, she gestured to Riddle, holding out her hand in a silent request for her wand.

Riddle eyes flashed, but he handed it over without a word, pausing only momentarily before dropping it in her hand. Quietly, she thanked him and then stepped back, joining Dumbledore at his side.

"We'd best be off. Straight off to bed with you, Tom," Dumbledore said. "Pleasant dreams." He turned round, Hermione trailing after him.

They moved away, and before they had fully left the corridor, Hermione glanced backwards and caught a last sight: Riddle, standing stiller than a statue, his robes draped darkly around him. What little light there was in the hallway seemed swallowed by his dark figure, casting eerie shadows in a halo around him. His bent face hid his expression from view, offering no further clues.

His head lifted and a dark stare met hers for just a moment, before he too, turned sharply round, going back the way they had come, opposite her and Dumbledore.

Dizzy, Hermione let loose the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Come along, my dear," Dumbledore said. "Professor Dippet does often tend to paperwork until very late, but it is best not to chance catching him whilst he is readying for bed. Would you mind telling your story in full while we walk?"

"Of course, sir ..." She could tell him the truth now. Even if this was all a figment of her imagination, it didn't hurt to get help from every available source –

What on earth?!

Her hand was transparent.

Her immediate thought was, she was returning to the present. She froze, concentrating on the feeling of going back, a feeling not unlike apparating, but easier. Something she had attempted several times before now without any luck.

"Miss Granger?"

She ignored him, concentrating with all her might.

... It hurt! Her entire body started shuddering, her head felt like it was being forced to squeeze through a straw. She felt parched and hungry all at the same time. A massive headache formed in her temples.

Just a bit further ...!

Her ears popped; somewhere, something exploded, and then her vision darkened. All she could think as the world whirled around her ears in a familiar, albeit pain-lanced, sensation, was,

Finally.


"I think we got off on a unfortunate start."

"..."

Hermione stared at the outstretched hand. Tom Riddle wanted to, to ... make friends?

How many pure intentions are behind that request? Close to zero, likely.

They were in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, each seated on adjacent white beds. Dressed in hospital garb, Hermione had one foot over the edge and the other leg tucked in. Dark bags played under recently opened, exhausted eyes, and alongside the chaotic nest that was her hair, it completed the appearance of the recently ill.

Riddle sat across from her, handsome even in the plain white shift of the hospital. His inky dark hair was only slightly out of order compared to Hermione's, mussed at the top. But his complexion was clear, if slightly pale. He was leaning forward, both socked feet on the ground, leaning his left elbow on one knee and holding out the other hand in a gesture of peace. He was waiting for her answer.

It was two days since The Incident. The one that had for a short while cast her into the pits of despair - and, to be fair, quite unsettled Riddle, too. Not that he really deserved consideration.

They were stuck together, quite literally. Oh, yes, they could put distance between them. To an extent. They didn't have to be touching or anything, or even standing within three feet of each other. It was more like 10 or 15 meters, and allowed a lot of breathing room.

For reasons unknown, some kind of magical tether was binding them together. The teachers were less than aware of it, they had instead come up with a convoluted and ridiculous explanation: that it was all a rare magical accident - a ghost haunting gone awry, magic reacting in unpredictable ways.

Professor Dippet had gone on and on about it. How, many ghosts left their magical signature on one they marked for a past transgression and tended to haunt them for extended periods. Usually, it ended when the victim (Tom bloody Riddle was the victim here, not her, according to the doting professor) moved on for an extended time from the premises. In other words, when Riddle left the school for longer than just Christmas Break (not that he would).

What frustrated her about the situation was, Wizards just let things like this happen all the time. There was very little they took seriously aside from cold-blooded murder. Ghost haunting and disrupting a student's life for their entire school career? They'll get over it. Dementors that suck even what little happiness you may be able to find already in prison? They're bad people, they deserve it. Love potion? It's all just a bit of fun. Hermione made a face of disgust.

And now, they were forced to cope and asked to attend classes together like it was a normal thing. By the school, the teachers, through the sheer fact that there wasn't anything they Could do, currently. Hermione had to wonder what kind of mental she was really capable of, because this was, without a doubt, the maddest thing she had ever heard of, not something she would have thought herself capable of imagining. All that time spent going through an old wizard's collection of memories on top of War Trauma had really done a number on her.

She sighed.

"... I suppose we did," Hermione finally said, returning to the present. She reached forward and grasped Riddle's hand. "Hermione Granger."

His hand, fingers long and skin warm and callused, closed around hers and gave a single, firm shake.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "Good," he said softly. "Tom Riddle."

She just barely resisted making a face and broke the handshake and the staring contest, lifting a cold foot back onto the bed and tucking it under the sheets. She looped the rest of the spread around her shoulders to ward of the sudden chill that permeated the air, and fiddled with her fingers.

"So, what's our first class?" she asked lamely.


Please tell me what you think! Sorry for the shortness, I am constantly at war with myself how much further to take a chapter. The story seems to be moving at a snail's pace ...