December 1, 1946
Hermione took one last look around the shop. The new order of books had been neatly shelved, the floor swept and the plants by the window watered. She nodded to herself before slipping on her warm petticoat and wrapping a bright knit scarf around her neck. She opened the shop door and the chiming of bells met her ears.
The chilly winter air hit her as she locked the door of Screed and Sons. Thin layers of snow covered dreary London as she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, she headed directly toward the stairwell, passing the crowd of witches in the wizards in the bar to her room. It was small, but with time Hermione had made it homely with a knitted tea cozy, the small collection of books she had obtained stacked neatly on a stool in the corner and the plant that was growing monstrously in size sitting on the window sill. With a warm cup of tea she snuggled into the squishy arm chair she had transfigured from one of Mrs. Weasley's sweaters and began to read till her eyes could open no longer.
Ever since the winters arrival, Hermione had been finding it harder and more harder to keep optimistic. How long would she be here? The uncertainty of her future was been eating away at her. She had no friends to speak of save for Tom and the no one could get too close to her save for the Riddles. She could have no acquaintances in this time.
Hermione was lonely and she was tired. Tired of working as a bookkeeper when what she really wanted was to be in the ministry, making a change. Of course that was impossible. Hermione Granger did not exist here. Jean Grant did. And Jean Grant was a bookkeeper, friendly and helpful to the muggles that entered her shop.
But Hermione persevered through it, in the hopes that this sacrifice would be worth it when she returned to her future one day.
She awoke to the sound of tapping glass and slowly opened her eyes to the sunlight flooding the room. She stumbled from the chair where she had fallen asleep to the window. A dark feathered eagle owl hovered outside her window. She unlatched the lock and slid open the window, a chilly breeze waking her. With an eyebrow cocked, she accepted the napkin as the owl released it from its claw before flying back out the window. She unscrolled the fabric curiously.
Jean, You're late.
"I'm late…" Hermione mumbled in sleepy confusion. Her eyes wandered to the clock and-
"I'm late!" She gasped, suddenly in a flurry to wash up and change. It was nearly a quarter past their scheduled weekend lunch. She skidded into the bathroom and changed into a clean blouse and pulled her hair back into a bun.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as she pulled on her coat. She had nearly forgotten.
She rummaged through her drawer and retrieved her pouch of money and grit her teeth, determined to pay this time.
She apparated inside of Brews and Stews Cafe and spotted him seated at a mahogany booth. As she neared she noticed the pouty curve of his lip.
"Sorry. I've made you wait again," she said, sliding into the booth across from him. Her eyes narrowed in surprise as she took in his ruffled appearance. Or at least as ruffled as Riddle could be. A lock of hair out of place, his shirt lapel rumpled, and most noticeable the deep violet bruises under his eyes.
"And yet here I still find myself annoyed despite the frequency of these occurrences," he said swottily, straightening in his chair. Hermione rolled her eyes, wishing she could retract the apology.
"Our lunches have gone could now," Tom accused grumpily, gesturing to the plates.
"As it happens, I'm a witch," Hermione retorted as she cast a warming charm over her plate. "Are you a wizard or not?" she asked with a delicate eyebrow arched.
He sneered in response.
"How was work?"
Hermione found she enjoyed listening to him talk about it. It served as a reminder that Tom was changing. He wasn't working at Borgin and Burkes after all. No, he was working in the ministry and from what she could see, he was making quite a name for himself.
Hermione always asked him this.
He told her of office drivel, the trial he was following closely, and how the departments were falling over their feet trying to recruit him.
"By the way," he said, conjuring sheets of parchment and holding it out to her, "There's a position vacant in the department of Magical laws and regulations," he said looking expectantly her. "Nothing too heavy. Just basic filing and desk work. It's not a bad place to start, you know."
Hermione accepted the papers carefully, taking in the ministry seal at the top and skimming through it.
"Thank you, Tom," she said slowly, folding it neatly and slipping it into her pocket. "I'll think about it."
He watched her closely and frowned. Hermione saw him struggle with whether or not to hold back. He didn't.
"You have no intention of looking at that again, do you?" Tom asked frustrated.
Not again, Hermione thought.
"What exactly is it you do with the applications I give you anyways, Jean?" Tom asked angrily. "I don't suppose you use them for kindle," he said sarcastically.
"That's not fair, Tom," Hermione argued. "I've told you before that I'm not interested. I wish you would listen to me when I tell you I like my job."
"You can't be serious," Tom insisted, still, "You can't possibly work as a part time keeper for a muggle book store forever. You must want more."
They were glaring at each other now, neither cared if the other diners happened to stare.
"You are really impossible," Tom finally ground out, his fist clenched on his knees.
Hermione scoffed. "Me? you're the one meddling in business that doesn't concern you!" she hissed.
Tom opened his mouth to retort but no words would come out. He shut it promptly.
By now they both knew each were perfectly aware that Hermione had no records at the ministry. But neither of the spoke of it. And he couldn't, not after he had promised not to pry. At least not yet, he wouldn't. And so, he decided, his fist clenching ever more tightly, he would drop it. For now.
And Hermione would be thankful for that.
"Alright then, we'll agree to disagree," he said simply, acting uncaring. Hermione watched as his body relaxed and relieved, she did too.
"Honestly Tom, I really do appreciate your concern. But I'm happy with my job," she lied.
"If you say so," he said tight lipped and still unconvinced.
Hermione forced a small smile of her own.
"How is your grand father?"
She knew that these days, Tom visited his family's manor often. His father had been wrong when he said the illness would pass. It had only gotten so much worse.
"There haven't been any improvements. There isn't much the muggle doctors are able to do... I've suggested magical medical treatment," Tom said.
"I don't suppose Mary is keen on the idea, is she?" Hermione predicted.
"Thinks it unnatural," Tom confirmed, frustrated, "But I'll need to do some more research before I bring it up again. I'm not quite sure if even magic has a cure for his ailing heart."
Thomas Riddle would have needed an assessment from professional mediwizard to determine what kind of treatment they would be looking at.
"If you need any help with research, I'd be happy to assist you," she told Tom and she meant it.
"I'll let you know," he said with a nod.
When it came time to pay, Hermione had to insist.
"But you've payed the last three times," Hermione pointed out, ashamed, "It isn't all fair of me now, is it?"
"Nonsense, it's only natural that I should," he said, and Hermione wondered if he could be more arrogant.
"And why is that?" Hermione asked offended.
"Well for one thing, Money is hardly an issue for me."
Hermione felt her eye twitch.
"And for another, I am usually the one who initiates our lunches, As a gentleman, its only right that I pay if I call upon you.
Hermione's mouth dropped open.
"I'll have you know, I am perfectly well endowed in the financial department, thank you. And I am not some call girl," she bit out, "Our meetings are mutual, I li-," she stopped abruptly. And as she saw his eyebrow slowly rise she felt her cheeks blush pink.
"You like what, exactly?" Tom asked leering.
Hermione blinked, then she dropped her galleons onto the table, head held high…
Before quickly grabbing her coat and sliding out from the booth. As the coins sunk into the table, disappearing, a cheshire grin spread across his lips and he followed Hermione out into the cold streets.
Hermione did like the chaste meetings with Tom.
Only because she was lonely and he was often available, she told herself this.
She was ready to tell Tom to get lost when he looped his arm in hers and pulled her into apparition.
Short of breath, she landed beside him in his flat.
"What do you think you're doing!" Hermione demanded.
Tom gestured to a neat stack of book at the center of his glass topped coffee table.
"I was hoping to get a head start on the research," Tom explained.
Hermione's anger quickly faded to be replaced with excitement.
"You know I'm quite popular at the ministry these days, very busy," Tom was saying, but she didn't hear. She looked up at him, and when she smiled it was genuine.
Meanwhile, Tom's cocky smirk was faltering and maybe, perhaps his stone heart was fluttering.
. . .
December 2 , 1946
It was an ungodly hour. Tom stumbled in front of his fireplace, the haze of sleep leaving him as his heart pumped wildly. What was wrong? He fell into the flames, ready to find out.
"Oh Tom!" Mary exclaimed as she clung to his robes. Tom squinted from the brightness of the lit room. "Frank is- Frank he's- he's dead. Oh, the poor, poor boy. It was so awful, Tom, that h-horrid fiend! He came round here and he- he-," she couldn't finish and instead dragged him from the fire place and into the entrance hall.
His eyes widened at the sight before him, he had expected... well he had just woken up, so he did not know what he was expecting but it had not been… this.
"Tom, you're here! I had thoughts to go to the constables but…-"
His father, shaken, rose from the ground, where he had been attempting to coax away the grieving maid Bryce from her son who lay bleeding out on on the gleaming hardwood. The Door was in pieces, it splintered shards scattered across the floor.
"...- Perhaps in this case…" his voice trailed off and Tom followed his father's gaze to a slumped form sprawled in the corner.
"Morfin," Tom hissed lowly.
"You knew?" Tom Sr. gasped, surprised.
"I was curious," Tom brushed it off. "And you are right," Tom said, looking up at his father. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will handle this."
Tom strode back to the fireplace and combed his fingers through his hair before making his firecall.
He looked around the room first before drawing his wand and lighting the fireplace. Orange flames burst forth and crackled.
"Diggory," Tom called, crouching beside the fire.
He could hear some grumbling and a few choice words. "Riddle? Merlin, this had better be good.
"I'm calling in... a favor," Tom said.
"My family was attacked in their home tonight and another muggle was murdered. The wizard (Tom loathed to grace Morfin with the title) has been subdued. He's had a stint in Azkaban before, Morfin Gaunt. I want him gone. Permanently. I also suspect a memory charm will be necessary for a muggle witness."
There was a great silence save for the crackling of burning wood as Diggory took this all in. Then, "Right-o Tom. I'll be there faster than you can say azkaban, but-,"
"I want this done quietly. The less aurors involved the better."
"Of course, we can't have any gossip flying around the ministry now, can we… But I'll have to let Ogden know.
"I expected as much," Tom said, nodding.
The flames when out and Tom stood back, ignoring the quiet sobs of Mrs. Bryce coming from down the hall. Tom's heart was beating very quickly, but he didn't notice. Instead he was thinking furiously. What if… what if Morfin had…
Tom's blood boiled as he considered how this night could have ended very differently. And what of Frank? The man was not much older than Tom.
Where was Diggory, damnit? Hadn't he said faster than-
"Azkaba-," he started before quickly clearing his throat as the hearth roared and flashed green, Diggory stepping hurriedly out of the flames followed shortly by a short plump man wearing enormously thick glasses.
"Diggory, Head Auror Ogden, this way, please," Tom said, leading them out of the living room.
Diggory looked around the lavish room in interest as he followed.
"Morfin Gaunt is it? I remember this one. Caused a right stir in the department years ago, before my promotion, and- I say! It's this chap again!" Ogden exclaimed pointing a gnarled finger as they entered the entrance way.
Tom Sr. blanched, "Ag-gain?" he stuttered, 'What do you mean again?" Tom Sr. questioned, eyes wide, though by the way he said it, perhaps he did not really wish to know.
"Oh dear," Ogden was saying, as he took in the weeping mother and her dead son.
"Please describe what's transpired here, Mr. Riddle," Ogden asked as he approached Morfin's crumpled form.
"He- He came out from that hovel of his is what. Nearly tore down the door, pounding and yelling till it finally gave in. And, and then Frank, he tried to stop him from entering further. When I came down, he, he-" Tom Sr. gestured wildly, flinging his arms in the air.
"And, and- so I had to stop him and I, well I grabbed that stick of wood there and I, why I popped him a good one over the head!"
Ogden crouched beside Morfin and with a wave of his wand glowing shackles bound the murderer's wrists. Another wave of his wand and the shards levitated off the floor before flying back into place, mending the door.
There was a gasp and then a startled shriek. The maids tear streaked face turned ghastly white, her sobbing finally ended from shock. Her mouth agape, she looked to the young master Riddle and then his father searching for answers, and faltering at their unfazed expressions.
"Fulton, if you would," Ogden implored.
"Right away sir."
And with that Diggory lead the stunned maid out of the hall for a memory alteration.
"She will be alright, won't she, Tom?" Tom Sr. asked concerned.
Before Tom could tell his father that Diggory was in fact one of the department's highest ranking Aurors and was known to cast a mean obliviate charm, Ogden answered first.
"She'll be as fine as one can be, after losing a son. But the fine details," Ogden said, as he crouched down to pick up Morfin's crusty wand for evidence, "will be lost to her. You see, lad, it won't have been a slicing hex that killed her son, but instead a knife wound," he explained, putting his hand on Tom Sr.'s shoulder.
"Just as you believe it was a swarm of bees that caused you to break into hives all those years ago," he finished.
"I...-what-!?" Tom Sr. sputtered.
"Oh, it's just dreadful," Ogden said, his frown deepening his wrinkles. "Such a young fellow, too. And I'll tell you, I insisted this Gaunt character be put away longer than he was. Only three years, it was hogwash! And I had told the jury so!"
Diggory re-entered the hall, having sent Mrs. Bryce to sleep. He approached Frank's, body, and fixed him up, before encasing him in white sheets, while Ogden propped Morfin up to apparate.
"Now, Tom, don't you worry, this case has closed itself." Ogden said, catching his glasses from sliding down his nosed as he struggled to keep Morfin up.
With a pop they were gone.
"The constables will have to be...informed," Diggory said, twirling his wand.
"If you could also take care of the body-," Tom began to ask of Diggory.
"No, that quite enough you've done. I'll do it myself," Tom's father said thickly, "I owe him this much, surely," he said determined.
"Father," Tom was ready to object, but to his credit, Tom Sr. was adamant.
"I'll bring him to the funeral house myself. The boy served this family his whole life. That is my final say."
Tom wasn't happy with this. His father was clearly shaken. And to have to move the dead body at this hour?
"Then I'll assist you," Tom said, stepping towards his father. "No, I'll be fine. I want you to stay here and check on Mother, she went up to Father's Room. I am afraid this is too much for her age to take."
Tom paused, conflicted. He made eye contact with Diggory who gave a slight nod of his head.
"You go on Tom, I'll assist... Mr. Riddle, here," Diggory said.
Tom grudgingly agreed, frowning and made his way up the stairwell, wish this would all end soon.