June 30, 1945
Tom hadn't meant to end up in Riddle Manor. He had meant to floo to his new flat in London Underground.
But as he emerged from his family's fireplace, he found he couldn't be bothered to correct the error. He quietly made his way through the house into his room through the darkened halls.
Most of his books and clothes had been moved to his new flat, leaving his room decidedly bare. He rummaged around the large wardrobe until he found a crisp white muggle shirt to change into. Carefully, he hung his graduation garb and placed it in the back corner, knowing he would have no further use for it.
At last he settled on his bed. Only to begin restlessly twisting the ring on his finger. He frowned. He should have gone to her, as they planned. The truth was he had no way of reaching her, he had always known that.
Tom sat up and let his feet lead him out. Barefoot, he crept down the stairs, hands tucked in his pockets. He was just... going to check.
He opened the front door, and stepped onto the front deck. The sun was rising and he was met with nothing but the fresh morning dew and the smell of mowed grass.
After a while he headed back inside. He was knackered, the purplish bruises under his eyes could attest to that.
He paused at the stairwell, he could have sworn he'd seen a sliver of movement. Gripping his wand in his pocket, he slipped back down the stairs.
"Tom!" Hermione whispered, surprised. She lowered her hood and walked towards him at the staircase, her boots creaking against the floorboards.
"When did you get back?" Hermione whispered, placing her hands on the railing and looking up at him. Hermione had waited for Tom until the late hours of the night. When Tom Sr. offered her a guest room, she couldn't think of a reason to turn him down. She had slept lightly until light had creeped through the curtains.
"Not long ago," Tom responded truthfully, his voice lowered. "I apologize for not keeping our engagement," Tom said, watching her carefully.
"It's quite alright," Hermione said with a shrug. "I thought you might have your reasons," Hermione said dismissing it. "Besides, your father was quite kind enough to offer me a room tonight anyways."
"Why the hurry to leave?" Tom questioned stepping down closer to her.
"Best not to stick around," Hermione said.
"As per usual," Tom was quick to jab, " How very much like you."
Hermione blinked and tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. "I had planned on swinging around at a more decent hour to catch you, actually."
Tom was surprised to hear this.
"You wouldn't have found me," he whispered.
Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion.
"I've my own place now. A flat in the undergrounds," He explained more loudly.
"Oh," Hermione said surprised. "Well, congratulations!" she whispered earnestly. The way she saw it, these changes in the timeline were welcome.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.
"I could show you," Tom said hesitantly.
"You mean now?" Hermione asked
"It's nearly a decent hour now you know," Tom pointed out, "If it's not a bother, I'd like to have our talk sooner rather than later."
"You do realize that you're the one who put it off in the first place," she quipped, cocking her head to the side.
He did not deign to respond and she cleared her throat.
"Er, right then," she said, cautiously taking hold his arm offered to her.
She felt Tom's arm twist away from her and re doubled her grip. The next thing she knew everything went black; she was pressed very hard from all directions;she could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around her chest; her eyeballs were being forced back into her head; her ear drums were being pushed deeper into her skull
Without a sound, they apparated out of Riddle Manor.
They appeared inside of a mirrored elevator and Tom pressed the button for the top floor. A woman crooned softly on the Wizarding Wireless Network from a hidden speaker. Hermione released his arm quickly and they stepped into the hall. There was only one door and as Tom neared it a bronze key materialized in his hand.
Inside, the flat was spacious with large windows and shelves upon shelves of books, which even Hermione was finding herself envious of. They sat at a table placed near the kitchen as Tom used his wand to light the stove and set the kettle.
"You were following Dumbledore, weren't you?" Tom asked.
"Professor Dumbledore. And yes, I was."
"And just what is your acquaintance with him?" Tom asked suspiciously.
"I'm not. Acquainted with him." Hermione told him.
"Then why did you enter the castle? How did you enter the castle?"
"That's my private agenda, Tom. You of all people should respect that," was Hermione's cryptic response.
"And that is?" Tom demanded, gesturing to her cloak covered forearm. Her hands tightened around her tea cup.
"A memory or a constant reminder. The word means nothing to me," she said defensively.
"Why didn't you tell me you're a mu-uggle born?"
"Why does it matter?"
"You can't be serious!" Tom shouted angrily. "Who are you! There's not a single file of you at the ministry. You know far too much about me for my liking," he ranted, his eyes gleaming.
Hermione reached under her robe.
"And by the way, just how old are you anyways? You don't look a day over-"
She spun the dial…
"Jean?"
Hermione blinked. She was still seated at the table.
"Well?" Tom asked expectantly, a steaming cup in hand.
"Milk. And the two sugars, please," Hermione answered meekly.
He gently placed the cup down and sat across from her. She watched as he opened his mouth to speak-
"Have you received many job offers?" She said quickly already knowing the answer.
"Yes," he said slowly. "Recruiters from the ministry have been quite insistent, actually."
"Well, I think that's brilliant."
"Do you?"
"Of course. Think of all the good you could accomplish. The ministry needs turning around. It's flawed and sometimes horribly archaic. We need capable and trustworthy people in positions of power," Hermione insisted.
Precisely how Tom saw it.
"What about you?" Tom questioned.
"What about me?" Hermione asked nervously.
"What have you been doing since the war ended? Where will you go now?" he wanted to know.
"France," Hermione blurted the lie out quickly.
"France," Tom repeated disbelievingly.
"Er-," It was the first place she thought of. Somewhere far away, so she wouldn't risk her cover.
"France, yes.-
-I"
-Stay in England." Tom said, not asked.
"I... I can't," Hermione said startled. "I want a fresh start. I don't want any reminders of the war," she lied. "It's over and I want to forget."
After a moment's thought he said, "Then consider it forgotten."
"What do you mean?"
"I won't ask questions. I won't try to discover your secrets."
"You would really do that?" Hermione asked surprised.
"Yes," Tom said, making sure to hold her gaze. She couldn't know. That he was lying.
. . .
So Hermione had found herself in need of a drink. But she was a responsible witch so she didn't go straight for the firewhiskey.
"A butterbeer? This early, eh?" Aberforth, the barman had said.
The Hog's head was empty bar for them and the little goat running circles around her feet where she was sat at the end of the bar.
The younger Dumbledore brother had left behind the back door of the bar after leaving her glass and a plate of still steaming, home made crumpets.
Tom wanted her to stay? Could she do that? She had always known what she had been getting herself into. She had known that no matter what she tried, it was always possible that she would fail. She had even considered the possibility that she might get stuck in the past or worse, lost in time. And If she was being honest with herself she knew she was not doing as much as she could have been.
But now Tom was asking her to stay. Would this be her life forever? She fingered the turner around her neck. Every single time she had gone back to her time, Tom had still been the same. Maybe this needed to be done. Perhaps if she had not been so reliant on her time turner, not so reluctant to help Tom, the futures would have been different.
She took a swig of her creamy drink. Then she groaned, lying her head on her arms over the bar.
"This is madness," she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve.
She felt a lick at her ankle.
She wanted to go home.
Wherever that was.