Disclaimer: I'm too tired to claim ownership over anything.
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: It's been an unhealthy amount of time since I updated this story, and for that I apologize profusely. Things have been entirely too crazy in my life, and events have conspired to keep me from completing this story. Now that things are settling down a bit and I have more time on my hands, I figured it was about time I finish this thing. Hopefully, it will live up to your expectations.
Hermione was bored. It had been a mostly uneventful week since she had returned to Hogwarts and she was beginning to regret her decision to return, if only a little bit. She was far more advanced than the material being taught in all of her classes and as a result, Hermione was able to finish all her work in record time. This left her with hours of spare time which she should have spent researching a way to get home, but more often could be found sitting on the roof of the Astronomy tower and staring out at the autumn wilderness below.
Riddle had been unnervingly silent and unobtrusive since the first day of classes and it unsettled Hermione greatly. She wasn't sure of what to expect from the young man. He was unlike everything she had imagined, and wondered if it was in part to her influence – ensuring he had a family by intervening the day they had been destined for death.
These thoughts ate at her mind every time she ventured to the tower, and today was no different. The last class of the week had let out hours ago and dinner was probably well under way, but Hermione cared about none of that. With legs dangling over the edge of the tower, bare feet tickling the rough weather roughened brick, she sat on a long ledge, watching the sunset with blank eyes, mind racing over anything and everything.
The puzzle that was Tom Riddle intrigued and frustrated Hermione. Since he'd been accepted in to the Riddle household and gained a family, every move he made went against everything she had learned about the teenage Voldemort. There was something sinister in his eyes and cold smile, that was for sure, but there'd been a few times throughout the week where she'd observed his less than pleased reaction to the use of the word 'mudblood' and, even more confusing, she'd seen him help up a first year Gryffindor who'd tripped while running to class. There had been no professor present to impress, and he'd looked like he was swallowing lemons the entire time, but he'd done it none-the-less.
He presented a challenge. Hermione wanted nothing more than to crack this particular puzzle. And maybe, in the process, save the future as she knew it.
"Sickle for your thoughts?" a cool voice spoke behind her, startling Hermione from her inner musings. Speak of the devil…
"My thoughts are far more valuable than a sickle, Riddle," she retorted calmly, keeping her gaze on the horizon beyond. Even as she said the words, she Occluded her mind, quickly building the walls that would protect her mind from invasion. She didn't know if her words, softly spoken, had reached the Slytherin behind her, but she didn't care either. "What do you want?" she asked, this time allowing her voice to carry on the soft breeze.
"You weren't at dinner," came the matter-of-fact reply. By the closeness of his voice, Hermione surmised that he stood a hairsbreadth away, within reach. Instinctively, she fingered the wand nestled in her pocket.
"And that concerns you how?" she asked, finally looking over her shoulder and meeting his stony gaze. She quirked an eyebrow and waited for his reply. He seemed to ponder the question, his eyes glazing slightly as he shifted his gaze to the sky beyond. Hermione swung her legs over the ledge and slowly stood, her limbs stiff from her prolonged sitting position.
"It doesn't," Riddle finally replied, gaze snapping back to Hermione and watching as she stretched and yawned. A jolt of some unknown emotion shot through his body, pooling low in his belly. He winced at the feeling, but kept his eyes trained on the long lines of her body. He found himself admiring the gentle curve of her hip, the slight hourglass figured hidden beneath her school robes, and the fullness of her lip as her mouth parted in a gentle yawn. Why was he noticing these things and what was this effect she was having on him?
"So I return to my original question," her voice broke in to his mind, snapping him back to reality. "What do you want?"
"Contrary to what you may believe, not everything I do is about you," Riddle snapped, eyes gray eyes alighting with fire. Hermione jumped back in shock. This definitely wasn't the reaction she was expecting. Yet again, he surprised her. "I had no idea you'd be up here," he muttered, his posture rigid in defense. "I often come up here to think."
Hermione didn't know if she should believe him. His eyes, though stormy with some kind of mixed emotion, were not easily read. She frowned, biting her bottom lip.
"It is a great place to think," she finally conceded, folding her arms protectively over her chest. She could feel his gaze burning in to her and it both unsettled and exited her. Hermione fought to repress the blush that suddenly flared across her cheeks. "I guess I should leave you to it, then," she muttered quickly, turning on her heel to flee.
"You can stay." The words were spoken so softly that they barely reached Hermione before she disappeared through the doorway. Hermione halted, hand grasping the doorknob, her mouth agape. "There's plenty of ledge to go around." Riddle spoke louder, though she could tell he was still unsure of his words.
He was giving her a headache.
"How am I giving you a headache?" Riddle muttered in confusion. Hermione started, blinking rapidly. Had she really said that out loud? She must have, because she knew for a fact that her mind was still Occluded, the walls still safely guarding the truth.
"You're just so… so… unpredictable!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration and stomping over to the Slytherin, who looked shocked at her outburst. "You confuse me, and I HATE being confused," she continued, poking him the chest to emphasize every word. Tom stumbled backward with the force of her jabs, the look of shock morphing in to deep lines of confusion. "Just when I think I'm starting to understand you, you go and do something against everything I've come to expect! It's frustrating!"
"That's the pot calling the kettle black," Tom growled, his own voice laced with irritation. Hermione stopped her frustrated pacing to glare at the man standing before her.
"Excuse me?"
"You're just as frustrating to me as I am to you," he explained with a calm, cautious air. Circling her slowly, his eyes roved over her body with an assessing gleam, making Hermione feel naked beneath his gaze. She squirmed. "Who are you? Nobody seems to know!"
Hermione blanched, unsettled by the implication that people had noticed her lack of background. She saw Tom start at her flinch and quickly straightened, her features automatically masking over in to a look of casual indifference.
"Nobody needs to know," she countered, tilting her chin up in defiance. "Do you tell everyone everything about your private life?" she challenged, folding her arms over her chest and tapping her foot, eyebrow quirked high in to her hairline.
"Touché," Riddle conceded with a reluctant nod. It looked as if it pained him to admit that she was right. Hermione smirked in triumph, letting her hands fall to her side.
"We're all allowed our secrets. For self-preservation, if nothing else," Hermione murmured, her features softening as she gazed in to his stormy eyes. She could drown in those eyes, she decided with a frown.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tom replied, his own voice as soft as hers. His mind flashed to his many indiscretions, least of all his murder of Myrtle. Admittedly, that had been a mistake. He'd warded that particular bathroom against visitation, but somehow the crybaby of Hufflepuff had made her way in just as he was letting the Basilisk out. Though it had been a mistake, he'd enjoyed the rush and thrill of death – the realization of just how much power he could wield with the legacy bequeathed to the heir of Slytherin – himself. It should have scared him – this lust for power and destruction – but it didn't. But somehow, for some reason, he still didn't want anyone to know. He guarded his heritage in every way he knew how, and downplayed his thirst for blood among his fellow Slytherins. Even his followers believed he only sought to rid Hogwarts of muggleborns – they had no idea the extent of his plans. Magical domination over the muggle world. Power and control over everything.
"I bet you do," Hermione muttered when a flash of red alighted the Slytherin's eyes, his mind obviously off somewhere else. She could only imagine where.
"What?" Shaking his head, Tom looked at Hermione in question. He knew she'd said something, but his head had been filled with memories and plans that he didn't have the faintest idea of exactly what she'd said. By the look on her face, it wasn't anything nice. He scowled.
"Nothing," Hermione muttered, shrugging it off and turning away before he could further question her. "It's late and I'm tired. Good evening," she tossed the words over her shoulder as she moved quickly to the door.
"Hermione!" Against her better judgment, Hermione stopped at the threshold and slowly turned. Riddle stood silhouetted against the dusky horizon, his robes billowing in the cool breeze. The sight was breathtaking and unnerved her beyond belief.
"Yes?" she asked softly, afraid to stay and equally afraid to leave. She watched as he took a few tentative stops forward, then stopped suddenly. His shoulders drooped slightly, startling Hermione.
"Good evening," he murmured finally, dropping his head. Perplexed by his actions, Hermione silently watched him for another minute before sighing softly and escaping through the open door.
She needed a large vial of Headache Relief Potion.
"It has to be mutable," Hermione muttered to herself, staring at the book in her lap. "History says that Voldemort killed his father's family on the day I intervened, but the are definitely alive – and so am I, which means I couldn't have destroyed the space-time continuum, or I would have ceased to exist, which I most definitely didn't, or else I wouldn't be here, right now, reading this damn, infuriating book!" she spoke all in one breath, a circle of logic that left her with purple cheeks and a slight throbbing behind her temples. "So, now the question becomes – am I changing the future that I know, or have I created a parallel universe?"
"It all quite depends on the method of travel," an unexpected voice answered, the voice laced with amusement and curiosity. Hermione sprang to her feet, the book clattering to the cold stone floor as she rounded upon the figure bathed in shadows.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione questioned, though she knew the voice could belong to no one else. The older man stepped in to the soft light emitting from the tip of her wand and smiled softly. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, just a bit of light reading," he replied, waving his hand toward the library stacks on either side of Hermione. "I was quite surprised to find I was not alone. And that you share my interest for muggle physics. Time-travel, to be precise." Dumbledore grinned and bounced on his toes like a child who had at last found the hider in a game of hide and seek.
"Just a passing interest really," she shrugged off hesitantly, bending to retrieve the book and quickly reshelf it. "It's a great subject to read when you can't get to sleep," she added, feigning a deep yawn.
"I see," Dumbledore nodded sagely, though it was obvious he didn't accept this excuse. Hermione got the impression that he'd overheard enough of her one-sided conversation to understand exactly why she was reading books on time-travel in the middle of the night. "Tell me, Miss Buchanan, how is it you came to be in this time?" He leveled his cool, blue gaze upon her, making Hermione squirm.
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Professor," she muttered in defense, her voice weak. Dumbledore merely quirked an eyebrow and rocked on the heels of his feet.
"If you tell me the method of travel, I may be able to tell you the type of mutable timeline you have created by your presence here. Certain types of magic affect the outcome, you see." He took a step forward; turning his attention to the line of books that discussed the very subject they were speaking of. "I may also be able to tell you if it is possible to return you to your time."
"Professor, I really don't know –"
"For example, if the method of travel included a form of alchemy, the timeline is, in fact, immutable. If it included a spell or curse, a change in the past will result in a future that is part of a parallel universe. But the sands of time…If the sands of time were used, the future is what you make it."
Hermione suddenly laughed, though not in delight. It would just figure…
"And if the method included both a curse and the sands of time?" she asked, her voice full of consternation. Dumbledore blinked rapidly, seemingly stumped by the question.
"That presents an interesting problem. The solution will, no doubt, require further study."
"No doubt," Hermione muttered wryly, straightening her crumpled robes and looking anywhere but at the older wizard.
"I will make you a deal, Miss Buchanan," Dumbledore spoke after a brief moment of awkward silence. "I will help you discover the solution and find a way home in exchange for the right to study your case."
"I will tell you nothing of the future!" Hermione exclaimed in a vehement whisper.
"I expect you to do no such thing. I merely wish to examine the details of the events that transpired to bring you here, as well as the components. I also require that you answer a few questions – not related to the future of course. I wish to publish my work for the betterment of wizarding knowledge, but I will, of course, keep your identity anonymous."
"I don't need your help," Hermione muttered, less than thrilled with the prospect of becoming little more than a lab rat. "I was the brightest witch of my age."
"Yes, I have no doubt of that," Dumbledore agreed with a nod, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon frames. He folded his hands demurely across his stomach and tilted his head to the side. "I will not publish my work, if you so wish it, though this knowledge will be a great loss to our world."
"This knowledge could get me killed if the wrong people were to find out the truth," Hermione countered, her hands shaking with fear and rage.
"I see…"
"No, you don't. You only see power and glory." She tilted her chin up at the look of surprise that danced across his aging face. "You forget, I know your future and I know your past, probably more intimately than most of your closest acquaintances can even claim. For the greater good."
"The past is just that, Miss Buchanan," Dumbledore spoke somewhat stonily, obviously disturbed by her knowledge of his past transgressions. "I harbor no more delusions of power or dominance. I only seek to better knowledge and mold young minds."
Hermione let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She knew that despite his many flaws, in the end, Dumbledore really wasn't the threat. Voldemort was.
"Your assistance would be greatly appreciated, Professor," she murmured in concession.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hands, the boyish grin once again returning to his face. "Now, as the hour is quite late, and I assume that you would like to get whatever sleep you can before classes resume, might I suggest we begin tomorrow evening?"
Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. She was full of emotion – regret and relief the strongest. She regretted involving another person, especially since one wrong word spoken could turn Riddle against her and destroy everything she was working for. At the same time, however, she was relieved to not have to shoulder the burden alone. While Dumbledore worked toward finding a way for Hermione to get home, she could concentrate all of her efforts on ridding the future of Voldemort once and for all.
One way or another.
AN: I'm extremely frustrated by this extremely crappy chapter – especially since it is so short. I do consider it an accomplishment that I actually pooped something out. I will endeavor to better the chapters from here on out. I don't need any flames. I have a funeral to attend this week and the last thing I need is irate readers bitching me out about my crappy update. Sorry, mourning makes me grumpy.
