05 – The Insufferable Swot
April 1943
A new day dawned and found Hermione tucked soundly in bed, sunlight streaming in through the gratuitously large bedroom windows. She came awake, not slowly nor at her own pace, but rather abruptly to a heavy press of warmth on her chest and an ornery MEOOOOOOOW in her face.
"BUGGERING HELL!" Hermione jolted upright, hand immediately scrambling for the wand by her pillow and she thrust it at the sizable fur ball that had been dropped from her chest to her lap.
The large fluffy gray cat sniffed at the tip of it and began licking at the wood.
Hermione, who was very, very suddenly alert, sat staring at the feline who had now begun to lick itself, grew tired of that, and curled back up into a ball. She blinked. And she blinked again. She willed her breathing to slow down and sent a look around the room. There was a cat in her lap, one on the windowsill sunning, and one looking very determined to shove its entire body into one of her shoes, all while she was tucked into an oddly familiar bed.
The night-slash-morning prior trickled back in.
Hermione rubbed at her head, which felt grossly overcrowded by the thoughts of herself, Hogwarts, the burgeoning war and its grizzly outcome , along with a plethora of other unpleasant things her older self saw fit to implant in the book and therefore her head.
A very cunning plan she had had, to implant a piece of her ragged old soul and a slew of dark curses on the object that would comfort her every night after that manipulative old coot's death. From the moment her skin had touched the cover, it had bonded to her and began pouring dark magic into her body, sharing the memories and will of her older self. Bit by bit, every single day and night, every time she opened it to research for some clue in their search to destroy the man of the hour, every time she double checked for something she'd most assuredly missed the time before, or even just to remind herself of the wizard who sent them all off to die, it saturated her very being. It was only a matter of time before the magic took her over completely and brought her up to speed—"aligned their goals", her older self would say.
A genius spell, it was.
Of course it was, she thought mildly. I cast it.
Hermione had moved on to rubbing at her face now by the time Ruthie appeared in the doorway holding another cat – an entirely different one than she saw at the door and clearly different than the one snoring in her lap.
"Morning, Little Miss," she chirped brightly.
The young witch had to resist casting a glare in her direction out of principle. Instead, she forced a smile and stretched, answering with a voice thick from sleep. "Morning."
"I nearly thought you'd never—Fanciful? Fanciful get OFF of there! Leave her be!"
Ruthie entered and waved a frantic hand at the cat curled on Hermione's legs. The creature barely cracked open an eye, unamused at the ruckus and meowed again. Ruth hissed at the thing, swooped in, scooped him up, plopped him on his feet, and shooed him from the room. The cat's eyes bulged briefly at the intrusion, tail bristling then twitching in her general direction, but left as though he'd meant to anyway, hind legs bobbing dramatically to make sure they both knew that.
Hermione was refraining from looking at Ruthie very oddly. She recalled that she'd cursed the woman to celibacy and a woefully single life the evening of their "talk" to avoid pesky familial obstacles later. Though she'd not really expected this.
"Sorry about that." Ruth sent the cat in her arms off in the direction of the first and turned back to the girl once more. "They think they run the place some days. Anyway…how did you sleep, child?"
Hermione rolled her shoulders, loosing a loud popping noise from the move, and replied honestly, "Better than I have in a long while."
Ruth smiled encouragingly, hand coming out to rest over one of hers – the fact that the girl was still clutching her wand seemed to escape her. "Good to hear." Her thumb had begun to rub small circles on the back of the young witch's hand when she carefully added, "Do you think you'd be up for a bit of an outing today?"
"An outing?" Hermione tried not to stare at the hand soothing her as though it were a hot poker.
"Yes. I thought, well, maybe it would make you feel a bit better about…" Her throat bobbed with a loud swallow. "We could get to know each other a bit. I know it must be awful for you, being sent back to a home you don't know – to an Aunt that you've never even met but—of course if this is too much too soon, you can just stay here. It's okay if you want to stay in here all day. I won't say a word about it. . ."
The woman kept on talking, fumbling over her words and attempts at comforting her new ward. The story and memories Hermione had whipped up of Persephone as little Ruthie's freshly orphaned niece were apparently quite tragic and jarring for her.
Sweet little Persephone; born in London to Ruth's Muggle-born step-sister and her husband, moved overseas to chase dear ol' mum and dad's dreams of running a new tome and scroll archival unit being built in America, then transported back to the UK to her only living relative after their untimely demise to senseless riots and all that rot – clearly so very tragic.
Ruthie, you haven't changed a bit, have you? Hermione's fleeting smile was genuine.
"That sounds like a marvelous idea, Aunt Ruthie, thank you." She gave her a shy look. "I do need to get a few things if-if it's not too much trouble. I brought what I could but… The American Ministry would allow me only so much through the International Floo Gate."
Ruth huffed at that, squeezing Hermione's hand. "We'll get you taken care of," she resolved, "After breakfast."
. . . . .
"Mulciber, for Salazar's sake, will you focus?"
The large boy nodded from the wall he was occupying outside the Leaky Cauldron, clapping Tarquin Nott on the shoulder with a big grin. "I am focusing, mate. I'm focusing on that delightful little filly right there."
Nott quirked a brow and followed the other boy's not-so-subtle gesturing in the direction of the ice cream parlour down the way. "Who? Where?"
Mulcibur took Tarquin's head in hand and readjusted it until his gaze fell where he'd been looking a moment ago. The boy's eyes narrowed, darted around then widened suddenly when he locked on to the object – the girl – in question.
"Look at all that hair," Nott remarked dumbly, causing his friend to snort.
"Wasn't exactly what I was looking at, but yeah, we'll go with it."
Hearing that the idle chatter of the two had shifted to the topic of women somehow in the last thirty seconds, a fair haired blonde boy also chimed in, looking down the road merely long enough to take in the girl's attire. He scoffed and went back to his discussion about sports with yet another dark haired boy. "Not sure what you think is going to happen with that one, gents. I'm not sure she could look any more prim and proper if she wore a sign labelling her a bookworm. Her knickers are probably locked away more tightly than the Chamber itself."
Mulciber sighed wistfully. "And that's why you don't understand the ladies, Abraxas. It's precisely those kinds of girls that give you the best run for your Galleons."
Nott nodded animatedly.
The blonde continued to look confused. "What are you on about?"
"Just think about it, mate," Tarquin Nott said knowingly, "think about parading around, all tightly wound like that. Thinking about the rules all the time. 'Got to be good! Got to be proper! Can't put a toe out of line!' If you can work your way in… just give 'em a little taste of being even a little bit of bad, well…" He trailed off with a waggling of his eyebrows.
Silvas Rosier, the dark haired boy Abraxas Malfoy had been conversing with earlier, snorted. "Or they can just be a terrible lay."
Nott shrugged amicably. "Just a risk one must be willing to take for the sake of experimentation. There is a distinct lack of individuals willing to undergo such arduous testing but… I suppose I can make the sacrifice. I'll let you blokes know the outcome."
A big, meaty hand clamped down on Nott's shoulder and Mulciber grimaced. "I saw her first."
Nott smiled with all of his teeth, plucking the mitt from his robes. "Aye, you did. And if you wanted to claim her, you probably shouldn't have pointed her out. All's fair in love and shagging, mate."
"If you buffoons are quite finished?" A smooth tenor drawled suddenly from behind the group and they all shot up, stock straight. Tom Riddle had emerged from the alleyway between the pub and its neighboring shop, wiping his hands thoroughly with a dark cloth; Rophelius Lestrange loomed behind him like a dull looking guard hound.
"Of course, Tom. Just doing a bit of sightseeing while waiting."
Tom eyed Mulciber carefully and glanced for barely a second in the direction the boys had been fixated on, then back. "I see nothing of interest at the ice cream parlour. Unless you are aiming to fall off the wagon again with that dieting, Mulciber. Did you not express interest in trying out for a Chaser position this coming year? Or did I mishear you?"
"N-no, Tom," the large man said quickly, a tinge of pink coming to his cheeks and a hand covering his stomach. "You didn't mishear."
"Right then. Perhaps you should keep your focus on your studies then? They won't take you if you're failing either, you know?" Riddle's already dark eyes darkened further. "Nor will I. The inner circle is no place for idiots. Though if pressed, I could find a spot for you elsewhere, I'm sure."
Mulciber blanched, bowed his head then shook it. "That won't be necessary, My Lord."
"Excellent." He smiled a smile that was known to melt young girls' hearts and knickers straight away and patted the large man on the back. "Now gentlemen, shall we carry on? We've a few more meetings to attend to before the day is out yet and only a few left before the break is over. I'd very much like to have everything squared away before we return."
"Yes Tom," the reply echoed through the lot of them and they followed at his heels.
. . . . .
Tom emerged from the curtained area of Flourish and Blotts with a few tomes beneath one arm. He had sent his followers off to handle the last couple of his meetings while he went to fetch the necessary texts he would need upon his return to school. They were the last bits of reading he would need to do for this particular leg of his personal project. Overall, he was remarkably pleased with the flow of the day. Aside from a bit of idiocy from his school mates, everything had been going just as planned and scheduled. Tom checked his watch, smirked to himself when he found he was precisely on schedule, and approached the counter to finalize his purchase.
It was about that time when he paused, looked, and frowned.
"Five more sickles, Miss," the clerk said, sounded more than a little perturbed. "The silver ones."
"Yes. One moment, please. I have it, just one moment."
His obstacle, a bushy maned female poised in front of the wizard shopkeep, was rummaging through a worn leather bag. The girl's brow was furrowed, the corner of her lip tugged between her teeth, and most importantly, she was in-his-way.
Tom watched the witch continue to sift – how big was her bloody bag? – and he checked his watch again with impatience. The clerk was leaning forward, a scowl on his face, and judging by his own irritation, it seemed as though this had been going on for more than a few minutes.
The girl had managed to produce two more sickles from somewhere in that ridiculous satchel and had gone back to looking for more when Tom finally reached his limit.
Honestly, she's taking forever.
Gallantly, he strode forward, and placed his books on the counter with a startling thud. Both the shopkeep and the girl straightened and looked at him.
"Tom," the wizard gave him a strained smile, "Sorry lad, it'll be just a second." He didn't bother to mask the irate tone in his voice. "A bit of an issue here."
Tom smiled pleasantly and reached into his pocket, placing the balance for the witch's purchase as well as his own onto the counter. "Here, allow me. These too if you please."
The clerk let loose a thankful exhale and smiled brilliantly back, happily accepting the coins. Before the girl could object, he gathered their books and ushered her outside. It wasn't until they were out and clear of the shop that he handed over the tome, having a quick glance at the cover – Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes.
"There you are, Miss."
The witch accepted the text and her dark, chocolate eyes scanned him over before coming back to rest on his face. "Thank you," she said and his mouth opened to complete the exchange, but she cut him off matter-of-factly, "however, your chivalry was both unwanted and unneeded."
Tom felt his lids flutter and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Excuse me?"
"I had it." She then took his free hand in hers, opened it, and dropped the remaining sickles she'd been fishing for into his palm.
He looked at them like they were the most offensive objects on Merlin's green earth.
"It was just taking a moment to procure from my bag."
Tom grimaced at the coins but, seeing that she'd drawn back once again and, if her stance said anything, she was not about to let him return them. He couldn't help the dry reply that came next. "Yes, and while you were taking your moment you were wasting several of mine." Pocketing the coins with a more neutral face now, he returned her earlier inspection with his own. He vaguely recalled seeing this woman somewhere – wasn't this the witch those idiots were fawning over? "Perhaps you should be grateful that I stopped the impending altercation with the shopkeeper and be on your merry little way, girl."
"And perhaps I would be grateful if said altercation was not one I could have handled on my own. However, seeing as I am fully self-sufficient, I can say 'I had it' - prat."
The snap of her reply was so sharp and stinging it left him surprised. Tom was unsure as to the last time someone had addressed him in such a way. He felt the stirrings of something in his blood at the blatant disobedience from the random trollop and his thoughts began to wander. The hand so casually tucked into his pocket tensed as he weighed the pros and cons of taking an extra few minutes to illustrate a very animated lesson in "gratitude towards your superiors" as well as detailing a woman's place in the world when he was interrupted again.
"Persephone? Persephone, where are you child?"
Tom's eyes narrowed briefly at the newcomer before that neutral, yet somehow polite, mask was fitted back into place. The older witch, likely somewhere within her late thirties and early forties was calling out, looking around with a poorly tempered look of concern until she latched onto his general vicinity and hurriedly strode over.
Persephone? He stared at the ungrateful girl and watched her stance transform before his eyes.
Persephone stretched her spine more elegantly, standing up straighter and more proudly than before. That mass of hair – he guessed it was hair – pulled up atop her head yet somehow still everywhere, suddenly managed to look like an artfully crafted fall of curly tendrils where it cascaded down her back and shoulders and she tucked her newly acquired tome into her still slim looking satchel.
"Here Aunt Ruthie," the girl called in a much nicer tone than that she had used previously. Turning her back to Tom, she waved at the approaching woman.
Persephone. He raised an eyebrow and took a silent moment to just take in the fluid change in the girl's -in Persephone's- demeanor.
"There you are! I was looking for you in the bookshop and that man—" Part of the way into her speech, Ruth seemed to finally notice the tall, dark haired boy standing all too close and looking all too interestedly towards the interaction. Ruth smoothed her hands down Persephone's shoulders and subtly tucked her against her side and slightly behind. She smiled at the boy but was clearly addressing her ward. "My apologies, I hadn't meant to interrupt." Ruth cast a glance down to her niece who looked back with an easy, even, and mild smile. "Who is your friend here?"
The young witch picked up flawlessly and moved away from her aunt to introduce them. "Aunt Ruthie, this is… Tom."
Persephone turned to him with a charming expression that reminded him a bit of a fox… or a wolf… or perhaps something much more malicious before it was about to strike with the insincerity behind her perfectly formed smile. Without missing a beat, he took the woman's hand to make a small bow and brush his lips over her knuckles. "Tom Riddle," he said smoothly before straightening and releasing her hand with a lingering touch, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Madam."
"It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Tom." Ruthie smirked with open amusement and mumbled over her shoulder to Persephone. "Well he's a charming one, isn't he?"
Persephone sniffed at that but said, "Clearly, he's my knight in polished armour. He helped me with a bit of a currency exchange problem."
Tom smirked and wondered if her nose could climb any higher into the air while still under this rather impressive display. "What can I say? I have a weakness for beautiful witches."
He daringly reached a hand out as if to brush along Persephone's cheek but merely hovered over the skin. Tom allowed his earlier dark disciplinary thoughts to surface and the dangerous flicker to come to his eyes. He sought her stare, expecting the girl to flinch away at the unspoken threat but instead, when he met her gaze, he found her staring right back with her lips quirked just slightly.
"I consider myself fortunate that I suffer no such maladies in regards to the opposite sex," Persephone practically purred at a level low enough for her aunt to miss yet clearly enough so that he got every syllable.
He felt that twitch from earlier tugging at the corner of his eye. Tom still held her stare and in a nearly habitual fashion, he tried to snake his way into her thoughts. Something about this witch. . .
Tom's train of thought was cut off abruptly when almost immediately after he'd started, he ran hard into the mind's equivalent of a brick wall. He pushed and nudged at the blockade and all he got for his efforts was the unsettling feeling of trying to move through a lake of muck and sludge. This time, he couldn't control the look on his face and both brows went up from shock.
Persephone tilted her head quizzically, but her own expression didn't change. If anything, her smirk grew. "Please excuse us Tom. We've another set of errands to run, but it was such a pleasure meeting you. I thank you again for your gracious help today. Perhaps we'll see one another again."
He nearly missed his cue but nodded smoothly. "Of course. Good day Madam…" He stared at Persephone a hair too long. "Miss Persephone…"
Persephone smiled sweetly and turned with her aunt, a guiding hand placed at the small of her back as they wove through the lingering holiday crowd and left the young man to his own devices.
. . . . .
Once they'd traveled a good distance away, the snooty persona of Persephone melted away somewhat from Hermione's limbs and she thought back on her first formal meeting with Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Voldemort the man was an insane and chaotic sociopath, one of the most evil dark wizards of all time, strangely hell bent on the eradication of an entire ethnic group for reasons that he'd probably already forgotten, and generally speaking an overall amazingly gifted and talented wizard – dark or no.
Tom Riddle the boy was an intensely charismatic and supposedly brilliant individual with a tragic past that paved the way for the insane adult. With her brief exposure to him thus far, she could partially understand how he'd fooled so many people, but the other part of her was just disgusted at their lack of observance.
As it was, Hermione had already felt the obvious taint of dark magic all around him, even at fifteen and without a single horcux to his name yet. The fact that Dumbledore, supposed wise and powerful wizard and the closest thing to a foster parent during Tom's stay at the school, had not come to realize the things he was destined for by then tried her patience. She was also curious to the fact that Tom himself hadn't sensed the darkness flowing through her body as she had his. Perhaps it was just her constant exposure to it from that bloody house she'd been slaving in for a decade that made her attuned to it, though the occlumency may have helped to some degree – she knew it helped to repress the pesky Gryffindor tendencies that kept trying to flare up now and then anyway.
Hermione smirked at that thought.
The task of possessing one's younger self when it was as strong willed as it was, was daunting indeed. If it happened to be such a fortunate or well-timed thing that said self had been tortured within an inch of her life and her defenses had been utterly obliterated by the time she got her hands on the cursed book again, well, that was clearly just lucky timing. Clearly.
In any case, after her short time with Tom so far, she realized that if she had traveled to this year with the intention of the boy's redemption she would have been sorely disappointed; he was already well on track for all of the evil deeds that awaited him.
It was extremely fortunate that she hadn't traveled to the past with such intent.
"You just met that boy today?" Ruth asked, jostling Hermione from her thoughts. The witch was partly curious and partly puffed up in a protective fashion.
"Yes." Hermione glanced at the woman from the corner of her eyes, "When else could I have?"
Ruth's brow furrowed and she shook her head at the silly question, reaching up to rub at her temple. "I…don't know. Sorry, that was a silly question. You two just seemed so… familiar with one another to have just met."
Hermione shrugged. "He reminded me of someone I knew from back home."
The older witch glanced down at Hermione with a frown. "Persephone," Ruth hesitated, "I know that it can't be easy for you, for all this change, but…"
The girl blinked oddly at the woman who appeared to be stumbling repeatedly over multiple approaches at whatever the hell she was trying to say next. It was at about the fifth or sixth strained-apprehensive-doting face that she grew tired of it. "Yes, Aunt Ruthie?" she prompted.
"Thank you," Ruth blurted suddenly. Her eyes went round and her face flushed before she shook her head, then turned to fully tug Persephone into a big, strangling hug. "For coming out with me today. I can't imagine how difficult it is for you, love, and I know you don't know me as anything but your mum's sister, but I'll take care of you. I promise, okay?"
Hermione was thankful that the woman couldn't see the face that she was making while Ruth cradled it to her bosom. Her arms came up to hug her "aunt" but she hesitated the closer she got; it had been such a long time since she'd willingly touched another person with anything but malice in her heart and, frankly, it was just weird. Hermione clenched her jaw, sucked in a breath and closed her arms around the older witch who ruffled her hair with a shaky exhale. "Okay."
And was this woman crying?
She was.
Well, she did just lose her fake sister to some freak occurrence, she mused.
Awkwardly, Hermione rubbed little circles on Ruthie's back while the woman cried ungracefully from their spot tucked off to the side in the Alley. This only seemed to make the witch's sobs come harder and, on a hunch, Hermione curled her fingers and progressed into a very light scratching motion that she'd often used to soothe Crookshanks instead; the sobs lessened in volume until Ruth was just holding her very tightly and sniffling.
Excellent. My spells turned her into a spinster cat lady. Brilliant.