Disclaimer: I'm not stupid enough to claim owning any of this.
Rating: T, for violence, language, and sexual situations.
Summary: In the heat of battle, Hermione is flung back in time. Struggling to adjust, she runs in to the last person she ever wanted to see, the one person she seeks to destroy – the man she will ultimately learn to love. HG/TR.
Author's Note: An amazing turnout for the last chapter, I must say. Most reviews out of all the previous chapters – but that's probably because everyone's finished reading Deathly Hallows and is now feeling bereft at the conclusion of the series, and is therefore delving in to fanfiction with vigor. Whatever the excuse, KEEP IT COMING. I appreciate all of the comments and suggestions, and believe me, I take them all to heart. Anyway, I woke up with the most terrible migraine today, which pushed back my plans a bit. This chapter would have been up sooner if not for my penchant for debilitating headaches (a curse I've been afflicted with since I was a toddler). But that's neither here, nor there. You're still getting a chapter – obviously – just late. And I'm in a rambling mood, so I should probably shut up.
Chapter Eight
Dawn approached, kissing the horizon and bathing the solitary figure standing by the window in an ethereal orange glow. The promise of a brilliant day danced upon the grass, glistening with early morning dew, sparkling like a thousand diamonds scattered upon the hillside. It was picturesque – nothing more, nothing less. The view would have made a spectacular postcard, in the figure's opinion.
Not that it mattered, when you didn't have someone to send a postcard to, the figure mused with a snort of unveiled bitterness as they turned away from the window and stared at the half-packed trunk sitting at the foot of the bed. A neatly stacked pile of books sat on the bed beside crisply folded robes, ready to be added meticulously to the other items already safely ensconced in the ratty, second-hand wooden contraption that might have had an interesting history, if the owner had cared to find out – which they didn't. With quiet concentration, a number of shrinking spells were aimed at the remaining objects on the bed – for the figure knew that there wasn't enough room in three trunks for all of the items to be transported full-size, let alone one. Then, with almost obsessive care, the figure set about packing the shrunken objects, enjoying the tactile sensation as pale, smooth fingers ran over worn, leather bindings and soft, cotton fabric.
A soft noise at the door startled the figure, who snatched their wand off the bed and aimed it at the intruder. Paranoia, it seemed, ran deep these days.
"I is being sorry for intruding, Mistress Buchanan," Milly the house-elf apologized hastily, shielding her wrinkled face with overly long, gray fingers and trembling where she stood. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and slowly lowered her wand, though refusing to release it. "Master Cormac sent me to see if Mistress is requiring assistance?"
"No, Milly," Hermione murmured softly, returning to her packing with trembling hands. She knew, in the back of her mind, that she had to get over this silly paranoia. Snape was gone, and Riddle had yet to turn in to the complete monster that she knew from the future. Still, as Mad-Eye had always pointed out, a little bit of paranoia was necessary in self-defense. 'Constant vigilance!' he barked in her mind, making Hermione snort. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the small elf shuffling anxiously on bare feet in the corner. "I'm almost finished. Thank you for offering," she added, always the advocate for house-elf equality. If she couldn't free the abused creatures, then the least she could do was be polite. This was 1943 – campaigning for house-elf rights would probably end her up in Azkaban, or banished from the wizarding world. As a freethinking, powerful, intelligent woman, Hermione knew she would have to watch herself in this time. While suffrage was already a couple of decades in the past, there were still some things that women just didn't do in this time. She had already slipped up a few times with her blatant flirting with Tom, and her brash reactions to confrontations, especially with members of the opposite sex.
"If you is being sure?" Milly asked tentatively, once again snapping Hermione out of her musings.
"Yes, I'm sure," she replied, placing the last item in the trunk and snapping the lid shut with a dull thud. The locks were missing, but it mattered not to Hermione, who muttered a series of charms to fasten and lock the trunk against anyone other than herself. An extremely powerful wizard might be able to break through the required recognition spells, but for the few seventh year students that she would no doubt be sharing a dorm with, it was effective enough. When she was finished, Hermione looked up and was surprised to find that Milly had disappeared. Sighing, she shrugged and flopped on to the bed, closing her eyes against the exhaustion that suddenly crept through her body. She'd been so excited about returning to Hogwarts and having access to the vast stores of knowledge offered by both the library and the hidden items in the Room of Requirement that sleep hadn't been forthcoming. Now that she was all packed, however, and the train wasn't due to arrive in Hogsmeade until dusk, sleep was more than willing to pay a visit to the visitor from the future.
As the sun crested over the hill, lighting the day with promises, Hermione fell in to darkness.
She was the first to arrive, Hermione realized as she stepped followed the house-elf in to Professor Dumbledore's office. Even the Deputy Headmaster himself wasn't present, which struck her as odd. She wasn't that early – there was only ten minutes remaining until noon. It was nothing to be suspicious about, though, she decided, wandering around the room that was decorated so differently from the woman that would occupy this office in the future. Where Professor McGonagall had been tidy and austere, Professor Dumbledore was a riot of activity. It reminded her of his office as Headmaster, but less organized. He was downright messy, she decided with an amused snort, taking in the desk littered with candy wrappers, empty mugs, and spare bits of parchment, tattered quills with broken nibs, and empty inkwells. The only neat aspect of the desk was the tidy row of fiery red phoenix feathers with golden nibs sitting in front of an array of colorful inks that reminded Hermione of the rainbow.
A soft trill by the open window caught Hermione's attention, drawing her gaze away from the chaotic desk. Perched on the windowsill, sharp golden eyes taking in her every move, sat Fawkes. Smiling widely, Hermione circled the desk and held out a hand for the phoenix to examine. He touched his beak to her forefinger, eyes closing as he drew in both her scent and magical aura. He must have deemed her worthy – once again, she grinned in amusement – for he suddenly nuzzled her hand and let out a content warble.
"Hello Fawkes," she whispered, unaware of the man standing in the open doorway. She missed the bushy auburn eyebrows that suddenly rose in to the man's hairline, and the look of complete shock that flew across the gently aged features. When she stepped away from the brilliant bird, he was quick to step away from the door, lest he be discovered. Hermione sighed softly, checking the clock on the far wall, and sat in one of three chintz arm charms placed before the desk.
"Miss Buchanan," Professor Dumbledore intoned pleasantly as he stepped in to the room. Hermione looked over her shoulder and smiled at the older man as he circled his desk and sat in his own chair, resting his beard-covered chin on steepled fingers. "A pleasure to see you again," he murmured, gazing at her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. His clear blue eyes were sparkling with curiosity, something that made Hermione squirm in her seat.
"And you as well, Professor," she replied politely, unconsciously smoothing down the fabric of her neat square-neck dress.
"I must say, Miss Buchanan, I was pleasantly surprised by your scores on the entrance exam." He spoke very casually, but Hermione knew there was a hint of accusation in his tone. She fidgeted, but did not lower her gaze. Doing so would only further his suspicion and the last thing she needed was Dumbledore looking in to her past, or lack there-of. "Your levels far exceed that of the average seventh year student," he added with quirked eyebrows. Hermione merely nodded like this was old news, which served to unsettle the older man she noted with triumph. Dumbledore straightened in his seat, his eyes suddenly turning calculating. "Which begs the question of why you are so intent on returning to school when surely there is nothing left for Hogwarts to teach you."
"You understand the times we are living in, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione spoke knowledgably, even though she was truly anything but. She only knew what she remembered from history books, and what she had learned in the few months since she'd arrived. He didn't need to know that, though. "Without a degree from a reputable institution of magical education and completing the N.E.W.T.'s, society will accept me as nothing more than a broodmare, or in the case of the past few months, a waitress."
"That is true enough," Dumbledore conceded with a nod of his head, the calculation gaze leaving his eyes to be replaced once again with pure curiosity. "Then why Hogwarts, and not Beauxbatons?" he questioned, earning a grin from Hermione.
"Simple," she replied with a slight shrug. "Hogwarts' library is better."
Hermione could tell he was about to barrage her with another stream of questions, but at that moment the same house-elf that had shown her the way arrived with two others in tow – a young girl around fourteen with lank blonde hair and sad hazel eyes, and a tall boy of sixteen with unruly black hair that reminded Hermione of Harry. She smiled fondly at the thought, wondering if the two could be related in any way. A silly thought, she knew.
"Ah, Mr. McLaggen, Miss Hooch, welcome, welcome!" Dumbledore greeted enthusiastically, standing to shake the newcomer's hands. He'd been far less enthusiastic to see her, but Hermione suspected it had something to do with his reservations about her. The names struck a chord with Hermione, who suddenly realized that the young girl who stood before her was the future flying coach and Quidditch referee, Rolanda Hooch. Looking at the sheer bulk of the tall boy, she was suddenly struck with the image of the brash Gryffindor who had fancied her for a time in her sixth year. She wondered if this was his uncle, Tiberius, whom Slughorn had raved about at many Slug Club meetings. With a mental groan, Hermione realized that once Slughorn got wind of her intelligence, she would no doubt have to deal with his nasty club once again. "Shall we begin?"
All three teens nodded, eying the tattered hat that he now retrieved from a high, glassed-in shelf. When McLaggen stood to go first, Dumbledore tsked good-naturedly.
"Ladies first, Nathaniel!" he exclaimed, beckoning the blonde girl forward. So, not Tiberius, Hermione learned. Perhaps a grandfather, she idly pondered as the hat was lowered on to the young girl's head. It was there for nearly a minute before the brim split open and declared the girl to be a Hufflepuff. Hermione smiled at her, mouthing congratulations as she pushed out of her own seat. "Miss Buchanan?" Dumbledore prompted when Hermione hesitated. Worrying her bottom lip, she stepped forward, and with a deep breath, allowed the hat to be placed on her head.
'Hmmm,' the sorting hat begun, and Hermione could almost see it tapping its non-existent forehead in thought. 'You present quite the conundrum, Miss… Buchanan? No, that's not right. An Occlumens, too! Ah well, I fear I shall never know your true name, then,' it spoke, almost bemused. Hermione heaved a mental sigh of relief. She almost hadn't raised her mental wall in time. She didn't need the hat spilling her every secret to Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter. 'That's not your only secret, eh?' it spoke knowingly, chuckling in her mind. 'With your mind Occluded, it will make a difficult job of sorting you properly.'
'Sorry,' she shrugged mentally, earning another chuckle from the magical hat.
'There hasn't been a student whom I couldn't sort before, and I'm not about to start with you!' it exclaimed over-dramatically. 'From what I can see, you possess traits from every house that tell me you would fit in any one. Dear me, but this is difficult.' The hat was silent for some time, and Hermione could almost feel the magic it was imbibed with as it tried to pry at her mental wall. It took all of her concentration to keep Gryffindor's creation from succeeding. 'Very well, then,' it spoke, almost sadly. 'If you treasure your secrets so much, then you will go in the one house that can truly appreciate the art of secrets and deception.'
Hermione didn't even have time to lodge a very heated complaint before the rim of the hat split open and bellowed "SLYTHERIN!"
Hermione bolted upright in bed, breathing heavily as she came out of the dream. 'Nightmare, is more like it' she thought grumpily as she pulled herself out of bed and stood with a yawn. The dream had been a memory of the sorting for the most part. That was until it decided to take a rather unpleasant turn and deviate out of the realm of truth and into the realm of 'what the hell was my subconscious thinking?'.
Heaving a sigh, she strode over to the window and looked out upon the setting sun watching as it began to dip below the horizon. Had she really slept that long? Checking her watch, she realized with a start that the train was due to arrive soon, and she would have to hurry to reach the station in time. Hurrying to the dresser where her uniform and robes hung for the evening, she hastily changed, banishing her dress to the trunk. As she came to stand before the mirror mounted on the back of the door, she straightened her blue and bronze tie and appraised her reflection with a soft smile.
What her dream had failed to replay was the fact that, in the end, the hat had become frustrated and asked her where she would like to be placed. Knowing that as a Gryffindor, she wouldn't get within two feet of Riddle again, she opted to go to the house that the hat had almost sorted her in to the first time. Ravenclaw suited her and her thirst for knowledge, and she knew the Slytherins genuinely respected this house.
Content with her appearance for the time being, her brown curls in a neat ponytail rather than the typical forties updo that she had yet to master, Hermione nodded and strode over to her trunk, which she shrunk and placed in her pocket. Sheathing her wand in her sleeve, she strode out the door, bidding her room goodbye, and hurried down the stairs. There, she met a teary Cormac, who tried to hide his sniffles behind the noise of rattling dishes as he cooked.
"I cannot even begin to thank you for all that you have done for me, Cormac," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around the older man from behind. He turned and embraced her in his wiry frame.
"Think nothing of it lass," he mumbled in to her robes. "I'm glad to have known ye," he added, pulling back and offering her an honest smile. Hermione giggled and swatted him playfully on the shoulder.
"It's not like I'm disappearing! I'll still see you on Hogsmeade weekends," she reminded, to which the old man blushed and turned back to his cooking. "I'll visit every chance I get!" Hermione tried to reassure, though inwardly, she had no idea how long she would be in this time. If she didn't find a way home, she could be stuck here permanently.
"See that you do," Cormac grumbled, wagging a sharp knife in her face, which Hermione skillfully dodged. She sent him a chastising look, and was about to say more when the train whistle sounded in the night. "You'd best be going, lass," he murmured softly, his eyes turning sad once more. He hugged Hermione one last time before shoving her toward the door. "Get, or you'll miss the carriages!"
"Yes, sir!" she laughed, smiling through tears and waving as she pushed through the door. The night beyond was crisp, cooling as autumn descended. She set off in a run, ignoring the curious looks of passersby, and managed to reach the station just as the doors of the train were opening to let off the students. She blended easily in to the crowd and managed to find a seat with a gaggle of chattering Ravenclaws, who glanced at her curiously.
"Who are you?" asked a snotty-looking girl with long, black hair and piercing blue eyes. Hermione raised her eyebrows and studied the questioner.
"No one of importance," she replied evenly, earning a shrewd glare. She was reminded, at once, of an odd mixture of Bellatrix Lestrange and Molly Weasley. It was an unpleasant picture. "Who are you?" Hermione countered, leaning back in the carriage and folding her hands demurely in her lap.
"Someone of importance," the girl replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder and raising her head a notch. A boy with outrageously red hair who Hermione noticed was actually a Gryffindor and not a Ravenclaw, sighed heavily and shot the girl a reproachful look.
"Ignatius Prewett," he supplied, holding out his hand for Hermione to shake, which she did with a bit of bemusement. The others quickly followed suit, but Hermione recognized none of their names.
"Lucretia Black," the snooty girl supplied at last with a dramatic sigh, though she refused to hold out her hand. Hermione shook her head in bewilderment. A Black. She should have known. Hermione snorted inwardly and glanced surreptitiously between Ignatius and Lucretia. How these two opposites managed to procreate and make the amazing woman that Molly Weasley was, was far beyond Hermione.
"Hermione Buchanan," she supplied finally, and at their continued curious looks, she shrugged. "Transfer," she said by way of explanation. They all seemed to understand, which relieved Hermione immensely. She wasn't in the mood to answer questions right now, and was saved from any further as the carriage pulled to a stop outside the massive entrance to the castle.
In her hurry to get out of the carriage, Hermione's foot caught on her robe and soon she was tumbling toward the hard ground.
Only she never made impact.
"I thought we weren't going to make a habit out of this," a silky voice murmured in her ear. Hermione groaned audibly and hurriedly straightened herself, shooting Tom an annoyed look.
"It was an accident," she muttered defensively, momentarily forgetting about her goal to teach Tom to love. If she was going to succeed, she needed to get on his good side, and treating him with obvious contempt was not the way to go. She took a deep breath and schooled her features to hide her irritation. "How are you this evening?" she asked as they both made their way up the steps and in to the castle. She was surprised by his silence and peeking out of the corner of her eyes, she saw that he appeared to be in serious contemplation. The fact that an answer for such a simple question required such serious study greatly amused Hermione.
"I am fine," he replied at last, his voice belaying no emotion other than disinterest. Hermione rolled her eyes. They continued on in silence, and it was obvious to her that Tom was quite content to make no effort toward conversation.
"I'm fantastic, thank you for asking," Hermione muttered sarcastically before she could catch herself. Tom shot her a sharp look, to which she blushed profusely and shrugged as if to say 'Oops?'.
"Why am I not surprised that you're a Ravenclaw," Tom said softly as they entered the great hall. With the Ravenclaw table right next to the Slytherin, Hermione was able to walk on beside the Slytherin. "Then again, with your brashness I'm entirely surprised that you're not a Gryffindor," he spat out with contempt. Hermione had to force herself not to defend her old house. That alone would reveal far too much about her character – things that he couldn't know if she was to succeed in her plan.
Oh, who was she kidding? There was no way she was going to be able to teach Riddle to love. Creatures like him were incapable of such a complex emotion.
"Good evening, Riddle," she dismissed, ignoring his comments as she swept down the aisle and deposited herself at the end of the Ravenclaw table. She watched under hooded eyes as Tom sat himself at the Slytherin table, almost directly across from her. A tall blonde immediately caught up his attention, a boy that Hermione had no doubt was a Malfoy – Abraxas, if she remembered correctly. They were talking heatedly and Malfoy kept glaring in her direction. Tom seemed to notice this, and Hermione couldn't stop the smirk as Malfoy was rebuffed. When Tom looked her way himself, Hermione raised her eyebrows as if to say 'Yes?". He scowled and immediately looked away.
"I've never seen a girl catch Riddle's attention as much as you seem to have," a soft, airy voice murmured from beside Hermione. Startled, she whipped her head around and succeeded in whacking the person with her ponytail. She blushed and apologized to the blonde boy, who merely nodded and smiled as if he didn't have a care in the world. Reminded her of…
"Neptune Lovegood," he introduced, holding out a purple hand. Hermione blinked rapidly, eyeing the purple hand as laughter bubbled on her lips. Oh yes, this man was most definitely related to Luna. She wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing radish jewelry.
As if reading her mind, the hint of a radish necklace peeked out from the neck of the boy's robes. Hermione grinned and eagerly shook his hand, introducing herself.
"Beware of Riddle," Neptune warned airily, watching as the first years filed through the doors. "He was raised by Googlesnores, and they're a nasty bunch." Reaching in his robes, he pulled out another necklace that had an assortment of muggle coins hanging from it and handed it to Hermione. "This will protect you from Googlesnore venom."
Hermione had to resist the urge to laugh out loud as she accepted the necklace and fastened it around her neck. The coins jingled merrily against her chest, earning a toothy grin from Neptune.
"Thank you," she grinned back, tucking in to the feast as it appeared. She couldn't believe she had missed the entire sorting, but somehow, Neptune was far more fascinating than a bunch of first years that would be in their sixties in her time. The feast drifted on, and Hermione was content to keep to herself for the most part. Every now and then she would feel a hole burning through her and would look up to see Tom giving her an odd look, which he would quickly mask and look away.
When the feast ended and the last of dessert faded away, Headmaster Dippet stood to make his welcoming speech. Hermione found it very dull compared to Dumbledore's quirky speeches, and soon tuned him out to gaze around the great hall and look for familiar faces. At the Gryffindor table a young girl with brown hair pulled back in a severe bun, and square shaped glasses perched on her thin nose was instantly recognizable as Minerva McGonagall. Hermione shook her head in amusement and continued her perusal. When she reached the Slytherin table, she was shocked to see a pudgy girl, no more than twelve, with frilly pink accents added to her green and silver uniform, and Hermione had to hold back a gag of disgust. Umbridge. Shuddering, she swept her eyes up the table, where they once again landed on the gray orbs of Tom Riddle.
This time, neither looked away. There was a challenging look in his eyes, an odd smirk to his thin lips, and an almost excited color tingeing his normally pale cheeks. Hermione blinked rapidly and was the first to break eye contact. Shifting in her seat, she couldn't help but begin to doubt her plan. Something had happened during the feast to bring back the fire in the nasty Slytherin's eyes, and if the devious, triumphant smirk plastered across Malfoy's face was anything to go by, Hermione knew she would have to watch her back.
Tom Riddle was up to something.
AN: What did ya'll think? Let me know! Oh, and before you all start nit-picking, I purposefully fudged with the Black Family Tree to suit my needs. This is AU, after all...
