CHAPTER THREE

Friday 5th October 1997

School had quickly become a doddle for Adrienne. Being so far ahead of the school curriculum and essentially, more than able to sit her N.E.W.T's and pass with flying colours that very day, made lessons far more fun. Nowadays, only teachers such as Snape or Moody demanded that she and Daphne complete lesson objectives. McGonnagall encouraged the girls' curiosity and recommended books and journals to read that she thought would interest them. Some nights, Adrienne would scold herself for being stupid enough to allow herself to be ostracised last year. Only a fool would pass up the opportunity of making valuable contacts. Draco Malfoy is my friend, she mused almost disbelieving.

And friend he was. Other than perhaps Daphne – Draco was Adrienne's closest companion. And she meant it too, he wasn't just a tool to annoy Dumbledore or Ron and Harry, which admittedly, was a large bonus, but he was also someone she enjoyed spending time with.

It was different to her friendship with Daphne. With Daphne it was more centred on academics, on learning more, there were games too and a sense of comfortableness around each other, but it wasn't the bond she shared with Draco. Adrienne really hoped this was not all a dream or a trick they were all playing on her. Fool the new girl into thinking she has friends.

Currently, her and her friends, the Crown Snakes, as some liked to call them, convened together in the common room. Adrienne wasn't sure why, but it seemed to be only them and assorted Sixth Years. She wondered if possibly the other Slytherins were too afraid to share the common room with them – she hoped not, if the rest of the school had turned their backs on her little crew, she needed the solid support of the Slytherins. She'd discuss it later with Draco.

Pansy was absentmindedly filing her perfectly shaped nails, and Daphne sat beside her, absorbed in a book with the front cover of the one on Goblins that Binns had gifted her. Adrienne hadn't missed how slowly, Daphne had become more and more comfortable with showing her previously hidden academic side. She liked the change.

Theodore was sat in an armchair by himself, joking with a cool Blaise, who was carefully inching himself closer and closer into the group. He seemed to be at odds, Adrienne thought. Some days he would eat lunch with them, sit and chat about whatever they decided to discuss in the hours before they went to bed and some days he was nowhere to be seen, holed up wherever he usually was, offering them nothing but a small nod of the head when they passed him in the mornings. But Adrienne had chosen not to worry about it.

That night was one of the night's when she was much too tired to bother socialising. Though she preferred her new social life, she was still the quiet, lone ranger she'd always been, at heart. Draco, sensing she wasn't in the mood for Exploding Snap or Fuck, Marry, Kill had immediately drawn her into his lap, where she curled up and closed her eyes, contemplating what she would do about her Dumbledore problem. She hadn't shared that particular issue with her new friends – they may be fun and smart and fond of her, but they were still Slytherins and she wasn't going to throw out her biggest weakness for a group discussion.

She was determined to solve this by herself; she'd managed without a group of friends for years.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Draco said.

"Ten galleons, minimum," she retorted.

Draco grinned down at her. "Someone's fond of themself."

"Well, look at the kettle call the pot black."

He laughed. "So you admit that like me, you are fond of yourself."

Adrienne playfully stuck her tongue out and returned to her thoughts. Draco unconsciously began stroking her wild hair.

/

Blaise watched Draco and Adrienne from the corner of his eye as Theodore spoke to him about some theory he and Adrienne had found in some book. He'd subtly raised his eyebrows at the apparent closeness of Draco and their new leader, but every answer had been the same. Definitely no romance involved. Pansy, who knew the Malfoy heir better than most, had been quite sure.

"I'd see the signs," she'd assured them. "Draco's not one to hide when he likes someone. Or hates them. He doesn't even blush when she touches him," Pansy broke off into a laugh. "Yeah, it's definitely platonic."

Blaise wanted to trust Pansy's judgement, but couldn't believe that Draco could be so comfortable with so much touching if he didn't want to bed the girl. He was stroking her hair! But as Pansy had also claimed, he didn't seem flustered, or smug, excited, happy or turned on by having Adrienne curled up in his lap – how she fit there, Blaise had no idea, considering the girl wasn't that much shorter than Draco himself – he simply seemed content, as if it were his younger sister he were comforting.

A thought occurred to Blaise.

"Zabini," Pansy's sharp voice rung in his ears. "Are you even listening to Theo?"

Blaise regarded the girl, almost bored. "Your lack of tact once again, fails to bemuse me, Miss Parkinson."

She rolled her eyes, but said nothing else, and returned to the silly thing she was doing with her nails.

"What are you talking about?" Daphne asked.

"That book Adrienne and I found the other day."

"Oh yeah," she recalled. "The Arithmancy one? With the alternative theories on the Fifth Formula?"

"That's the one," Nott answered. "And here I thought I was the only one she'd shown it to."

"Oh please," Draco cut in. "Who do you think told her where to find it?"

Causing no harm, Adrienne lightly punched Draco in the stomach. "Don't be so unpleasant," she chided, causing Pansy to laugh and Daphne to snigger behind her book.

"Oh, you love me really," he teased.

Adrienne flashed the girls a pseudo-irritated look but didn't refute his claim.

Curious.

"Adrienne?" Some short, red-faced First Year appeared, a note in his hand. "Headmaster wants you. Says it's urgent."

The girl in question finally raised her head off of Draco, looking thoroughly displeased. "What's the issue?"

"Dunno," the kid replied. "Here," he stretched the note out to her.

She took it and thanked him as he hurried off. From where he sat, Blaise could tell there were only two neatly written words on it. He mentally scoffed at his esteemed Headmaster's ways. "Guess I've been summoned," she joked.

Draco rose to go with her. "Stay," she told him.

He remained stood up, intent on accompanying her. Adrienne gave him a meaningful look, and after a few moments, he sat back down, defeated.

"Won't be long," she called as she left.

"Don't pout Draco," Pansy said. "It doesn't suit you."

Curious.

/

Tom Riddle stood as still as possible, trying his hardest not to falter under Dumbledore's friendly, yet unflinching gaze. They were waiting for this mystery girl the man had saw fit to summon.

He could hardly contain his rage.

Fifty years.

He had lost fifty years because of some mistake that he was certain was down to the insufferable man sat before him, chewing softly on some silly sweet.

The Cruciatus Curse danced dangerously in his mind. Tom was seconds away from applying it – what did he have to lose? He was in an unfamiliar time, with no allies, no Dippet, and Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster. The one familiar face—

Then the girl entered.

She was tall, at least five foot seven, and carried her significant height well. Her long legs were encased in opaque tights, and her pleated skirt was inches away from being scandalous; hanging casually just above her knees; she wore no makeup, perhaps some of the eye stuff, since her eyelashes were particularly long and curled, framing her large, black eyes perfectly.

It was her hair Tom Riddle liked. So long, it touched her waist, in loose waves that looked soft but wild and—he was being distracted by this girl that Dumbledore had summoned. Probably exactly what the man had wanted.

Old coot.

"Professor?" She asked, eyeing the unfamiliar boy with interest etched into every inch of her face.

"Adrienne," he said her name as if it were his favourite word. "Thank you for coming so quickly. As you can see, we have a bit of a problem."

Finally, she turned to face him properly. She held her hand out. "Adrienne, Slytherin, Seventh Year. Nice to meet you."

He accepted it. "Tom, Slytherin, and I was in my Seventh Year too."

"Was?"

"Tom Riddle is a former pupil of mine. From the 1940's. How he's found himself here in 1997, I have no idea, but now he's here, we must waste no time getting him settled."

Tom was interested to find that Adrienne seemed to hear the lie in Dumbledore's words too. Her lips pursed. "He was Head Boy in his time," he added unnecessarily.

"So he just disappeared for fifty years?" Adrienne asked surreptitiously. Tom Riddle was beginning to like this girl.

Dumbledore smiled his irritating smile. "Apparently."

"I'll of course get him settled in, then. You'll love it," she assured Tom.

"Adrienne's a bit of a star amongst the Seventh Year Slytherins," Dumbledore explained. "Despite being a year younger than most of them."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"I got put ahead a year," Adrienne supplied witheringly, as if she was sick of saying it.

"Not that I'm surprised of course, my good friend Nicholas Flamel has personally seen to her education since she was five."

"As a favour to you," she smiled sweetly at the wrinkled man.

Tom was confused. Was this Adrienne, Dumbledore's… Child?

Adrienne seemed to read his mind. "Professor Dumbledore took me in when I was a baby. My parents didn't want me and died shortly after," she shrugged, as if this was no big deal, but the way her shoulders tensed and her eyes almost froze informed Tom Riddle that it was.

So she was just another one of Dumbledore's little projects. A pet, almost. Clearly there was no paternal bond. That was interesting.

"Well, run along now. I do hope you settle in well, Tom."

Tom resented how Dumbledore said his name. As if it were the punchline to some lame joke no one but he found funny. As if it shouldn't inspire fear and admiration and respect. As if he were anyone.

The wizened man may have ruined Tom's plans by somehow transporting him fifty years away from all his followers and carefully laid steps, but he wouldn't stop Tom from doing exactly what he had set out to do back in 1944. I'll simply rethink, regroup and restart. Tom Riddle had a feeling that this Adrienne chit would help him do this.

"So," Tom said, unsure of the social protocols in this time. "What's changed?"

"Since 1944? Quite a lot, I'd assume."

Tom waited for her to continue.

"Well, boy's tend to dress more casually," she glanced at his tailored trousers, fancy white shirt, meticulously ironed tie and the badges pinned in a neat line along his cloak.

"Girls too," he returned, looking pointedly at her short skirt.

She followed his gaze and laughed prettily. "I suppose so," she acquiesced.

"Anything else?"

"Don't be so obviously good," her lips curled in distaste, but her eyes were crinkled with silent laughter. "I mean, unless you're a Hufflepuff, people tend to laugh. And bully."

"Noted," he said, wondering why this stranger was being kind enough to pass on this obvious, yet valuable advice. Was she not a Slytherin? "So no asking for extra work, then?"

Adrienne smiled to herself, thinking Tom could not see. The notion of asking for extra work amused her. He wanted to know why. "I'm sure you can find yourself appropriate revision material without bothering the professors."

Tom Riddle thought he might like this Adrienne if things proceeded they way they were. "Perhaps you can help me."

"Perhaps I can."

They arrived at the Slytherin dungeons. Tom liked seeing something familiar. Adrienne whispered the password and they both entered the dimly lit room, filled with leather furnishing, and similarly dressed students. Occupying the most seats, a group of students, Seventh Years Tom thought, glanced up as the door swung open. They had been waiting for Adrienne, he realised.

Adrienne's a bit of a star amongst the Seventh Year Slytherins.

Interesting. The way Dumbledore had presented the information, implied to Tom that Adrienne's stardom was a relatively new development. He wondered why, if she'd been here for at least a year.

Tom stored the question away for another time.

"Who's the queer?" A mean-looking girl, picking at her nails asked, as if Tom wasn't stood there.

"Popped up here from the past," Adrienne replied, gesturing for Tom to come forward. "Dumbledore wants me to help him integrate," she explained, sharing a look with a boy that favoured Abraxas a rather unpleasant amount.

"How far back?" A smaller girl, with chestnut coloured hair that fell in loose curls around her shoulders, questioned.

"1944," Tom answered, smiling at her ruefully, investigating as to whether girls' in this time responded to him the same way they used to.

"Bloody hell," Abraxas' lookalike breathed.

"Right?" Adrienne reiterated, climbing into the blonde boy's lap, as if it were perfectly normal and not completely inappropriate. "He's called Tom Riddle."

Tom was satisfied that his name caught the attention of all three boys – including the one who held Adrienne much too close for him to feel comfortable. "Tom, this is Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and the two girls are Pansy Parkinson—" the one who'd called him a queer, flashed a false smile and winked suggestively at him. "And Daphne Greengrass," the other girl gave him a friendly look, but quickly returned to the large book she'd been reading.

The large picture of ugly goblins flickered to Tom's eyes and he soon deciphered the real book Daphne Greengrass was reading. Curses and How to Execute them, the title read.

Interesting.

For the first time since he'd opened his eyes and found Dumbledore staring at him, impatiently, as if he'd been anticipating the prodigy's arrival, Tom thought he might not mind 1997.

Perhaps a fifty year jump was exactly what he needed.

As he watched Adrienne and this Draco Malfoy communicate almost wordlessly, and Daphne devour the words in her Restricted Section book, and Pansy fiddle with her nails pretending not to be listening intently to the two other men discuss exactly how Arithmancy and Charms could be conjoined, Tom Riddle thought he might be right.