Hiya! Hope you're all staying safe and isolated :)

This is the first fic I've written in years, so please be kind, and please review.

I don't own Harry Potter, or anything attached to it. I own only the plot.

With no further ado, enjoy!

Hermione Granger was having a bad day.

It hadn't started off badly. In fact, it began rather pleasantly, with breakfast by the Great Lake. They brought sandwiches and cakes from the kitchens – enough to feed a small army – and had spent the morning storytelling and daydreaming outside. It had been nice to forget about the world for a while.

Unfortunately, it had gotten a lot worse very quickly.

Somehow, amongst their laughs and games, Hermione has been pushed into a glowing arch she swore she'd never seen before, a glowing arch that vanished miraculously upon her presence in it, and somehow, somehow, she'd ended up here.

In 1944.

Surrounded by people she recognized from old library books and photos taped in Grimmauld Place of blood purists and Voldemort sympathizers.

She fainted.

The first time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, she flicked a rubber band in his face.

She had been aiming for Maryse sat one row in front of him, but she had overcompensated and Tom had turned and he received an elastic band to the cheekbone.

He had not been impressed.

It genuinely escaped Hermione that she could survive a war – a genuine, brutal war, with curses flying violently every way – and still have the aim of a blast-ended skrewt. Squeaking in shame, she grabbed her bag and sprinted out of the room. Dumbledore shook his head bemusedly and watched her leave. That girl was an odd one.

Nightmares plagued her for the next three weeks: dreams of who this boy was and what he would become.

She avoided him the best she could after that.

The second time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, it was in the library.

Both reaching for the same book, she had conceded and let him use the tome first. Two hours later it was in her hands once more, and she was devouring it with intense fury.

It was only when she was back in her dorm that evening that she realized Riddle had stayed, and had been staring blankly at her until she had left. The thought made her mouth feel grimy and sent eerie shivers down her spine.

She got no sleep that night.

The third time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, they had been assigned to work on a project together.

"Who else could it be, but the best two students in the year?" Dippet had asked, and at Hermione's arched eyebrow he explained that they had been selected - alongside an auror and two unspeakables - to do the research on an ancient artefact that had been discovered recently upon the grounds.

A week into their task, Hermione discovered it was the arch, and threw herself wholeheartedly into her research. Riddle matched her efforts.

Three months later, they presented their work to the headmaster. Dippet, incompetent as he was, managed to spill a liquid that looked suspiciously like firewhiskey over the papers, almost set them alight, and rip half the pages within ten minutes of receiving them.

"Bumbling fool," Riddle muttered under his breath, immaculate smile still in place, and Hermione couldn't help it: she snorted. Over their project, she had begun to spend more time with him and could tolerate his presence.

The imposing debates they had may have helped with this. She proved to him that not all mudbloods were unworthy (she was his only academic competition, after all), and he showed her that magic wasn't black and white, but was a spectrum, dependent entirely upon intent.

The night Hermione released she had cast seven curses, hexes and jinxes, all on separate occasions, that could be considered dark, she screamed so loud the other girls in her dorm wouldn't speak to her for a week.

The twelfth time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, she smiled at him.

They talked for hours, sat hunched in a desolate corner of the library, and she smiled at him. Inevitably, their conversation ended in a monumental dispute, in which Hermione was adamant (although, she was only really trying to convince herself) that she was a purely light witch.

"Ruling through fear is futile, Tom!" she shouted, "Can't you see that? Unforgivables and murder are useless, if you can never trust anyone, and will spend your whole life living precariously!" With a final glare thrown at him over her shoulder, she packed up her belongings and stormed out, not noticing the glint that had appeared in Tom's eye.

Hermione slept restlessly that night.

The next time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, they were once again in Dippet's office.

This time, they were being offered internships in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione squealed and wrapped her arms around Tom, who tightened his shoulders and looked at the far wall with a smug expression on his face.

Two weeks later, they had donned Ministry robes and were deep in the bowels of the ancient building. The object in front of them resembled a thermometer, but instead measured the dark intent a sorcerer contained within them. Both Tom and Hermione' readings – taken in the presence of only each other, of course – were resolutely in the "Concern – heavily dark" section.

"Guess you're not as light as you thought," Tom whispered lowly in her ear. Hermione's spine, alight with shivers, bent away from him and she gasped.

Her hands didn't stop shaking until she finished a bottle of wine that evening.

The thirty-second time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, it was at a ministry ball.

Dressed in a silver satin gown, she twirled in his arms to the compulsory waltz.

"I hate this," she groaned, "Being forced to dress up for some stupid function. We're not even important in the ministry."

Tom's eyes shone – a mildly disturbing sight, Hermione's mind objected, he's evil – and he leant towards her ear. "One day," he promised, "You won't be forced to do anything." Her eyes went glassy, and she was forced to remind herself that she had the potential to be evil too. Glad she was being held by Tom, the realization almost caused Hermione to trip.

The words stayed on her mind for the next six days.

The seventy-first time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, he was smiling dutifully at cameras.

As he politely demurred some nonsense to a reporter, she couldn't suppress a smile.

It had happened.

It had finally happened.

Tom had been elected Minister for Magic at the age of 22.

Her satisfaction was instantly coupled with alarm – after all, he was the Dark Lord, he shouldn't be leading the country – but for the first time in her life, she suppressed it. Tom had yet to show his malevolent side, and he had taken control of Magical England without a drop of blood spilled. This could be good for the country; it could bring the change it desperately needed.

Hermione grinned a chilling smile.

Yes. This could be good.

The eighty-fourth time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, he was begging her to join him.

"You've helped me all this time, why not take your rightful place? Though I am loathe to admit it, I wouldn't have made Minister without you." He brushed her hair out of her face. "We can change the world."

Those words held so much allure.

For the first time, Hermione Granger well and truly gave into her dark side.

The last time Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle, they were old.

At 689 and 690 years of age respectfully, they had had a long and fruitful reign. They reworked the entire system of government, they destroyed millennia of elitism, and they brought civilizations to their knees.

They were loved. They were revered. They were envied.

For the final time, Hermione locked eyes with Tom.

"We did it," she smirked, "Not once did I have to attend another stupid ministry function."

She was right of course. In her decade or not, she was still the brightest witch of her generation.

It had been good.

No mudbloods killed, no ranks of death eaters, no avada kedavras.

Yes. It had been good.

The End.

Thank you for taking the time to read it!

Take care,

Missannabethchase x