Another Time

by WolfRune20855

When Jean Granger is swept back in time to the 1920s, she must start a life for herself and her unborn daughter. AU where Hermione grows up fighting for witch and house-elf rights as a new dark lord comes of age.

2. Fall, 1939

There is a world where Hermione Granger grew up in the foggy streets of London, with two parents who loved her but didn't love each other—where she never knew that magic was real until Minerva McGonagall delivered her letter. There is a world where Hermione Granger strolled into a compartment on the Hogwarts Express and demanded to know if two boys—one with red hair and the other with a scar—had seen a toad—a boy named Neville had lost one.

There is a world where Lavender Brown grew up with two over-protective-yet-distant pureblood parents and a pet rabbit – a world where Lavender was taught to be a perfect lady – a world where she and Hermione were nothing more than passing enemies.

This isn't that world.

This is 1939. The muggle world is at war. Hermione Granger has spent the past eleven years in the Scottish highlands with her mother, her adopted sister, and, as far as she is concerned, her uncle and cousins.

And, despite her many attempts otherwise, she's absolute rubbish at flying.

Some things never change.

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September 1939

"This is rubbish," Hermione Granger mumbled as she walked alongside her mother, sister, and cousins in the crowded Platform 9 ¾.

That morning, they'd flooed to a family friend's house just so they could catch the Hogwarts Express. It was, in Hermione's eleven-year-old opinion, a horrible system. She lived in the highlands, for crying out loud. It would take her less time to travel to Hogwarts by Quinn's new car than by train. Besides, she liked the car. As soon as her uncle had purchased it, she'd read his manual, which was good because he forgot to. Riding in the car was fun. Quinn had even let her drive once (after he made her promise not to tell her mother).

"It is rubbish," Hermione's older cousin, Bash, agreed. Bash was three years older than her, but only two grades ahead of her. He was starting his third year in Gryffindor, where he was determined to make the position of chaser. He'd been beaten out last year, but this year, he swore over and over again, would be his year.

Ahead of them, Fletch rolled his eyes. "Ye canna drive to school, Hermione." Of the three of them, Fletch had the thickest accent. Bash had an odd mix of Jean's English and Quinn's Scottish, while Hermione practically sounded like a smaller version of her mother and Lavender sounded posh.

Fletch was also the one who looked the most like Hermione. The new captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, Fletch was stocky, with a smattering of freckles, and bushy, mousy brown hair. Bash, on the other hand, was lean, with sandy blond hair that curled at the bottom. They both shared the same sparkling blue eyes that came from their mother. Hermione's eyes, on the other hand, were hazel—with more brown than green.

Lavender didn't look anything like Hermione, which irritated her. Hermione knew that they weren't actually related by blood, but she would have preferred Lavender to look something like her. Instead, they were polar opposites. While Hermione was short and mousy, Lavender was tall and graceful. With dark hair that always curled perfectly, violet eyes, and caramel skin, she was beautiful. Hermione often wished she could look like her. Lavender looked like a princess from a fairytale. Hermione looked like a scullery maid.

"Why not?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. She was small for her age, and Fletch was nearly twice her size, but she'd never been scared of her cousins. She had no reason to be.

"Because ye can't."

"Great reasoning there, Fletch," Lavender commented from her position beside Jean. "I think I can almost see why the hat placed you in Slytherin. You're very cunning." Lavender's sarcasm caused Hermione to smile.

Fletch frowned. Before Hermione, Lavender, and Bash had the chance to gang up on the older boy, Jean Granger stepped in between them, wrapping one arm around Hermione's shoulders and another around Lavender's. "I can't believe you're all grown up and going to Hogwarts. It seems like just yesterday I was..." Jean got a distant look in her eyes as she trailed off.

Hermione frowned. Her mother was one of her favorite people in the world — she was her role model — but sometimes she felt like another person. Sometimes, it seemed like Jean Granger had lived two lives — the one as a doctor in the highlands, and the one she never talked about. The one from before Hermione. Fletch said it was normal for parents to have two different lives — his reasoning being that Quinn used to be different before his mother's death — but Hermione wasn't sure she believed him.

"It's just Hogwarts, Mum," Hermione pointed out. "It's only an hour away from the house."

"And if ye wanna visit Mione and Lav, I can smuggle them out during my Hogsmeade trips," Bash added.

"No gettin' in trouble this year, mister." Quinn pointed an accusing finger at his youngest son. "I don't want a letter from Professor Dumbledore tellin' me my son's gettin' in all sorts of trouble. I'm startin' to think he's wonderin' if I'm even raisin' ye."

"Awe, Da." Bash grinned. "He should know yer not." With a salute, Bash darted towards the nearest train car, ducking through the door before his father had the chance to respond.

Quinn shook his head. Turning to Fletch, he said, "I don't expect ye to keep an eye on him, but if ye could look out for the girls..."

"I will," Fletch promised.

Hermione frowned. She wanted to say that she was fully capable of looking out for herself, but she wasn't entirely sure that she was. She didn't have a lot of experience in the world outside of their small village. Unlike most witches, she'd gone to the nearby muggle primary school, where she'd been too unusual to make friends. The other kids usually avoided her — partly because she was from that family from the cliffs — partly because she always had her nose stuck in a book. Despite her best efforts, she wasn't very good at making friends.

Her only friend in the world was Lavender, and Hermione wasn't entirely sure that they'd be friends if they weren't sisters. Lavender and her were so different. Hermione loved reading and knowledge. Lavender, on the other hand, enjoyed daydreaming. She'd often sneak out of bed in the middle of the night to stare up at the stars. Hermione had joined her on a few occasions, but she was always restless and ended up leaving before Lavender. People liked Lavender. They were drawn to her in a way that they never were with Hermione.

"You'll do great, darling," her mother reassured her. "Just make sure to look people in the eye and smile." Hermione nodded. Her mother's arms wrapped around her small frame, squeezing her in a tight hug. "Don't forget, you are smart and kind — nobody can take that away from you."

Hermione felt tears coming to her eyes. Maybe she wasn't ready to say goodbye. Maybe Hogwarts wasn't for her. Maybe she should return home to her independent studies, where she was comfortable and loved — where nobody gave her odd looks for being a smart girl. Hermione shook her head. Hogwarts was the finest wizarding institution in all of Europe. She needed Hogwarts to succeed.

"I love you." Hermione squeezed her mother tightly.

"I love you too, darling." Her mother turned to Lavender. "I love you too, missy, and don't you forget it. You are my daughter, just as much as Hermione. The two of you are sisters. You need to look out for each other – always have each other's backs."

Lavender met Hermione's gaze and rolled her eyes. "Duh, Mum. Of course I'm going to make sure Hermione makes friends."

"Hey!"

Lavender snickered. "I'm just kidding. We'll be fine."

With a quick goodbye to Quinn, Hermione and Lavender started towards the Hogwarts Express. Fletch, ever the thoughtful cousin, let them join him and his friends — two twins called Gale and Breeze — in the compartment so she didn't have to face the hoards of unfamiliar faces.

As Hermione watched the train pull out of King's Cross, the scenery changing to the unfamiliar English countryside, she felt a tugging at the pit of her stomach. This was it. Hogwarts. The only thing she'd wanted since Fletch had received his acceptance letter — a place where she could finally be accepted for being herself — a witch. For some reason, instead of feeling hope, she felt dread.

What if everyone hated her? What if the magical kids were just as cruel as the muggle ones? What if she was just as strange here as she was back home?

"Hey." Lavender grabbed Hermione's hand in her own. "We'll be fine. We're the Granger-Wood sisters. Hogwarts doesn't know what's coming for them."

Hermione couldn't help but smile in response.

.

.

Abraxas was glad to be on the Hogwarts Express — if only because that meant that he was finally free of the empty, echoing hallways of Malfoy Manor until Christmas. The familiar chugging of the train was comforting in a way that not many things in Abraxas's life were. It was nice to be sitting in an open compartment beside Antonin Dolohov, with Tom Riddle seated across from them.

They didn't swap stories of the summer. Antonin was an orphan who lived with his great aunt, and Tom didn't like to talk about his life outside of Hogwarts. It was one of the things that brought the three Slytherin's together. House politics and blood purity aside, all three of them didn't like to think about their old worlds—the only worlds they had known until last year.

"I've got to make beater," Abraxas said, adding to their current conversation of what their plans were for this year. "I don't know what I'll do if Wood doesn't let me on the team."

"Study," Tom suggested.

Abraxas snorted. "Yeah. Because I'm totally going to do that."

Despite his words, Abraxas was a fairly decent student. He wasn't exceptional like Tom, but his father would have avada'd him if he didn't keep up his grades. Sometimes, he thought that his father would kill him for succeeding in Charms rather than Defense Against the Dark Arts. He needed to study those more this year. If he didn't…

"How come your father didn't just purchase you a spot on the team?" Antonin asked.

"Wood's not like Zambini," Abraxas said by way of explanation. "He doesn't take bribes. Trying to persuade him with anything other than my natural talent would guarantee me a spot in the stands."

He doesn't say that his father would never spend money on something as trivial as quidditch. During his first year, Abraxas had tried to explain that being on the quidditch team was a way of making connections — an activity that his father was very fond of. That hadn't worked. Abraxas, like every other firstie, hadn't been allowed to try out.

"Wood shouldn't have been made captain in the first place," Antonin said. "He's only a halfblood, anyways. He's not truly a Slytherin."

His eyes widened as he realized who he was talking to. Every English wizard knew that Abraxas was half-veela, and anyone with half an understanding of pureblood history could tell that Riddle was a muggle name. Tom had gotten bullied for it a fair amount of their first year, before he put a stop to it the only way a Slytherin would respect — with an awe-inspiring show of raw power.

"Not that I-"

"You're right," Tom agreed with a condescending sneer. "Wood isn't ruthless enough to be a Slytherin. He'd be better sorted for in Hufflepuff."

"Oy. Now that's just mean."

Three heads — two dark and one pale — whirled around to find Sebastian Wood standing in the doorway to their compartment, digging through a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Usin' Hufflepuff to make yerselves feel high and mighty as if ye aren't all slimy snakes."

Tom frowned. "Nobody asked your opinion, Wood."

Sebastian Wood shrugged. "That might be true, but ye were talkin' about my brother, so, really, ye were." He grinned.

Abraxas didn't like it. He didn't like Sebastian Wood, for that matter. The Gryffindor was one year ahead of them, and had formed a personal vendetta against Tom since the younger boy beat him during the dueling club. That meant that whenever he was in the same room as Tom, the two would inevitably argue.

"Though, Riddle, if anyone is better sorted in Hufflepuff, it's ye. They don't care about blood status there, unlike ye Slytherin pricks."

Tom's frown deepened, but he kept his cool composure. Blood status was a touchy topic for Tom, and Sebastian knew it.

A smile tugged at Abraxas's lips as he thought of something that would ruffle Sabastian's feathers. "Say, Wood, is it possible that you're angry because Camille Horne wrote to Tom over the summer instead of you."

Abraxas knew for a fact that Camille Horne, Sebastian's Ravenclaw crush the previous year, had written Tom one singular letter over the summer, which he then forwarded to Abraxas rather than send a reply. It was filled with horrible poetry. They'd had a good laugh over it.

"Malfoy." Sabastian feigned surprise. "I didn't recognize ye there. I could've sworn ye were Riddle's new girlfriend."

His comment didn't phase Abraxas. He was used to being compared to a girl. The truth of the matter was that, yes, he was pretty. Everyone talked about Tom's good looks — about how he would grow up to be a heartbreaker. Abraxas, on the other hand, seemed to take people by surprise. From a young age, he knew that he looked different. Save for his cold eyes, he didn't share a single feature with his father. The nearly-white hair, pale skin, lightly rosy cheeks, and dark, long eyelashes all belonged to his mother.

He sometimes wondered if that was why his father hated him.

"Oh, shove off, Wood," Antonin growled. "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Yer right. I do." Sebastian popped a jelly bean into his mouth, made a face, and spit it back into the box. "Tell Cami thon I enjoyed seein' her this summer." With a grin, he whirled down the hallway.

"Prick," Tom muttered.

"A real O Level asshole," Antonin agreed.

Abraxas watched the blond student strut down the hallway. "How on earth is he related to Fletcher Wood?"

Fletcher Wood was the sixth-year Slytherin keeper who walked girls to class, gave first-years directions, and caught spiders instead of killing them. As far as Abraxas was concerned, Sebastian Wood seemed like the kind of person who killed butterflies for fun. They couldn't be more different.

"I have no idea," Antonin said. Abraxas glanced towards Tom, who shrugged in agreement.

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.

If only then, the three Slytherins had known about the third and fourth Woods — the one who always had her nose buried in a book and the one who always stared up at the stars — both of whom had a past they didn't even know about. If only they'd known…

But they didn't.

The train kept chugging through the countryside.

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.

Hermione held her breath as she followed the crowd of first year students through the Great Hall, her eyes roaming the ceiling made of stars. She whispered to Lavender that the ceiling was only enchanted to look like the night sky. Lavender nodded, unable to take her eyes off of the stars. Hermione could, however, and she surveyed the crowd of students surrounding them. She spotted Bash laughing at the Gryffindor table. From Slytherin, Fletcher offered her a thumbs up.

They stopped in the front. Even if she hadn't read about it in Hogwarts: A History, she would have known what to expect next. Bash described the sorting as the most terrifying thing he'd ever experienced. He'd whispered scary stories in the dark about a student who got to the hat, only to be outed as a squib in front of the entire school. Fletcher told him to shut up and stop scaring her.

Hermione paled at the thought. What if that happened to her? She shook her head. No. She'd done magic before. She wasn't a squib. She was one-hundred-percent a witch.

One by one, the names of her classmates were called in alphabetical — Abbott to Slytherin, Beetle to Ravenclaw, Brown to Gryffindor, Black to Slytherin, Copper to Hufflepuff, Ferlet to Gryffindor, Goyle to Ravenclaw.

"Granger, Hermione," the head of Gryffindor house announced, his voice booming throughout the Great Hall.

Hermione froze. She couldn't do this. She couldn't do this. She couldn't–

"Hermione, go." Lavender shoved Hermione lightly forward, causing her to stumble.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione took a deep breath and sat down on the chair. There's nothing to worry about, she reminded herself as the hat settled atop her head. It felt heavy. The lights in the Great Hall seemed to fade. She could barely make out the faces of her schoolmates. Her heart raced.

She had nothing to worry about.

"Quite right," said the sorting hat in the depths of her mind. "Nothing to worry about at all. You've got magic, for sure. It runs through your bones — deeper than blood. Ancient." The hat hummed. "You're not from here."

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered.

"Another time, Hermione." The young witch jumped as the hat addressed her by name. "That is for another time." A beat, then, "Hufflepuff is not for you. No. You're too ruthless for them — too ambitious. Slytherin, then, perhaps. Green has always been your favorite color."

Hermione looked out at the gathering of students beyond her. Her gaze drifted to the Slytherin table, hazel eyes flicking over regal faces and fancy robes. They stopped on Fletch. Her cousin offered her a smile in support.

"Or, maybe, you'd be better suited to Ravenclaw. There, the students search for answers and solve riddles. You've got plenty of questions that need answered."

Hermione glanced towards the sea of blue and black. She could fit in there. She could belong.

"What about Gryffindor?" she muttered, her eyes finding Bash's.

The lion's house had always been her first choice. Lying in bed at night, she'd stare at the ceiling and picture the future she might have in Gryffindor — a future where she changed the wizarding world for the better, where she freed house-elves, and fought for witches rights. She would like to make that future come true.

"Gryffindor?" the hat seemed shocked. "Gryffindor is for the brave. The ones with courage and might who stand for their beliefs. Is that you, Hermione?"

The truth of the matter was that Hermione didn't know if she was courageous or not. She'd grown up in a small village, where she was picked on for being different. She never stood up for herself. She was quiet. She kept her nose in her books and ignored the outside world when she could.

"Alas, I see only one option. It seems there isn't much of a choice. You belong in…"

Hermione took a deep breath. Her hands reached for the hat. She'd spend the next seven years in Ravenclaw, amongst curious minds and budding intellectuals.

"Gryffindor!" the sorting hat shouted.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

Bash shot to his feet, clapping. He whooped loudly. Hermione couldn't help the smile that came to her face. Straightening her skirt, she left the dias and took the open seat next to her cousin.

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.

"It's a hatstall."

Abraxas's words pulled Tom away from his thoughts to the girl sitting on the chair under the giant sorting hat. She was tall and lanky, with ginger hair and a handful of freckles. Tom's first thought was that she was another Weasley. He had spent most of last year memorizing every pureblood family in hopes that he would somehow find himself listed. He hadn't.

What he had discovered was that most of the families had a look about them. The Goyles were big. The Blacks were attractive. The Malfoys — with the exception of Abraxas — had dark hair and cold eyes. The Weasleys were all pasty with red hair. The girl before them certainly met those qualifications.

Tom watched Antonin count the seconds on his watch. "Four and a half minutes."

"Really?" That surprised Tom. Even with himself, the sorting hat had only taken a minute. Perhaps she wasn't a Weasley after all. If she had been, the hat would have tossed her in Gryffindor with the rest of them. Tom had discovered that the sorting hat was a bit biased with the old families. "What's her name?"

"McGonagall," answered Abraxas.

So, she was Scottish, Tom thought. There was no way to tell how pure a wizard's blood was in Scotland. The entire region was steeped in fairies and magic. In Scotland, muggles still believed in magic, even though it had been dismissed as fancy in London.

"Eight minutes," Antonin said, gaping.

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted.

Tom frowned. However promising the hatstall had been, the new witch had ultimately wound up in Gryffindor. The hat had probably been debating between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

His dark gaze drifted to the newest addition across from him: Orion Black. A childhood friend of Abraxas, the young wizard looked promising — even if he didn't seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer. Based on his connections alone, Black would go places.

And Tom Riddle needed all the connections he could get his hands on if he was going to be the Minister of Magic one day.

.

.

And then there was one.

Lavender knew that she'd be the last. Fletcher had pulled her aside that morning, preparing her for the possibility. "It's nothing to be nervous about," he'd said. "I was last. Bash was last. We were both sorted into the right houses for us." The problem was, Lavender didn't want to be sorted into the right house. The moment the hat had shouted that Hermione belonged alongside Sebastian, Lavender had made up her mind: she would be sorted into Gryffindor as well.

For the past seven years, Hermione had been Lavender's closest confidant. In truth, the two girls were nothing alike. Hermione was smart, Lavender was not. Hermione was outspoken and opinionated, Lavender liked to quietly daydream. Most importantly, Hermione was confident that she'd spend the rest of her days unwed, Lavender desperately wanted to fall in love. They had their fair share of fights, but, at the end of the day, they were a unit. Hermione and Lavender. Lavender and Hermione. Sisters.

"Wood, Lavender."

Dread grew in the pit of her stomach as Lavender approached the front of the great hall. A heavy weight settled on her shoulders as the hat was placed on her head. She'd heard stories about the sorting hat, but hearing stories was entirely different from experiencing it. The hat felt...alive.

"Hello," she muttered, politely introducing herself to the hat. It felt like the right thing to do.

The hat hesitated for a moment. "Hello, Lavender," the voice whispered through her head. "You're the first of your classmates to greet me tonight."

"You're welcome, I guess." She didn't know what else to say. "Where do you think I belong?" She crossed her fingers and prayed for Gryffindor.

"You see much, yet you are unsure of what it means. Divination is a skill, but yours goes beyond that. It is a gift. You could find your answers in Ravenclaw, surrounded by people with a thirst for knowledge."

"No," Lavender said with a firm shake of her head. "Gryffindor. I belong in Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor is for the brave. Are you brave? You see glimpses of the past and future, yet you don't have the courage to search for answers. Why would you belong in Gryffindor?"

Lavender sucked in a breath. Maybe the hat was right. She'd seen things since she was little – glimpses of another life – yet she'd never had the courage to share them with anyone.

"You would grow in Hufflepuff. You would be loved for yourself. You would be popular—sought after—loved by many."

And that was all Lavender had ever wanted: to be loved. No matter how much she knew Quinn and Jean valued her, there would always be a quiet voice in the back of her mind insisting that she was not blood. She didn't matter. She could be popular.

Lavender glanced out over the crowd, scanning over the Hufflepuff table. Her eyes wandered over the four tables, coming to a stop on Gryffindor. Hermione's face was bright – hopeful. She smiled encouragingly at Lavender.

Lavender wondered what would happen to Hermione without her. Children can be cruel, and Hermione was visibly different. They were both odd, but Lavender had learned how to hide it better over the past few years. Hermione was unapologetically herself. Even with Bash's help, she'd be picked on.

"Gryffindor." Lavender gritted her teeth. "I have to be in Gryffindor.

"You don't trust yourself enough. If you follow your sister, you will not grow. Your questions will remain unanswered. Your future will be set in stone. She will overshadow you at every turn and you will grow to hate her for it." The hat sighed. "This is for your own good."

Lavender felt her heart racing. "What is for my own good?" she demanded. "What is for my own good?"

And then the hat shouted, "Slytherin!" and Lavender's entire world slipped away.

.

.

Abraxas didn't usually bother with other people. He only really cared about himself, Tom, and Antonin, and even then he didn't really care about the other two boys beyond the bonds required by friendship. But when the new Slytherin firstie sat down across from Orion Black, sliding into the seat beside Tom, he felt something tug at his heartstrings. His father would call it weakness inherited from his Veela mother. Abraxas wasn't sure it was, though.

She was one of nine firsties sorted into Slytherin, and the only girl. That meant that she was completely and totally on her own. She wouldn't have any instant friends waiting for her. In fact, she probably would have a hard time making friends. The other houses tended to avoid Slytherin, bonding with each other and leaving the snakes to themselves.

"Hey," Abraxas said, leaning across the table. The girl looked up at him with tears beginning to form in her eyes. Abraxas blinked. Her eyes were wide and violet. They looked at him, not really seeing him through the tears. "It'll be okay. Slytherin's great. Trust me, things will be a lot better come morning."

The girl blinked at him, her eyes coming into focus. She offered Abraxas a small smile. "Thanks."

In the front of the great hall, Headmaster Dippet spoke those magical words and the feast appeared on the table. A few seconds later, Fletcher Wood slid in beside the new girl. "Looks like ye've got some cunning in ye after all, sis," he said, wrapping the girl in a hug. She leaned into him. "Don't worry about 'Mione. Ye'll make plenty of other friends."

Abraxas studied the duo. If the latest addition was indeed a Wood, she didn't look like it. While Fletcher and Sebastian looked nothing alike, they at least shared the same skin color. Lavender Wood's was a few shades darker. And she was much prettier. Abraxas glanced across the table to Tom to see if he'd noticed the same thing. If he had, he didn't show it. Perhaps she was illegitimate.

For a brief moment, Abraxas considered befriending Lavender to get onto the quidditch team, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Even if he was best friends with his little sister, Wood still valued skill over connections. Abraxas would never understand how he or his crying sister landed in Slytherin.

But that was just the Woods. The entire family was an enigma.

It was better to leave them to themselves.

.

.

Hermione didn't realize how exhausted she was until the sorting was finished and the four new Gryffindor first year girls climbed the stairs to their room. "They're enchanted so that boys can't climb up them," the prefect had explained. Hermione had absorbed that piece of information and filed it away for another time.

She had three roommates: Adeline Brown and Rowan Johnson, who were already best friends, Minerva McGonagall, the hatstall with a mischievous look to her. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about any of them. Thankfully, she didn't have to make up her mind yet.

After changing into her pajamas, Hermione collapsed onto her bed. Sleep soon swallowed her.

.

.

The quidditch pitch was windy. For reasons that Bash had surely explained, but Hermione had tuned out, Gryffindor had to share the pitch during tryouts — with Slytherin. Something about promoting inter-house cooperation. Needless to say, neither of the teams were happy about it. Hermione was sure that Fletch would take it as an opportunity to scout the competition As she made her way through the stands, she idly wondered if the Gryffindor captain — a welsh seventh year called Felix Hooch — was smart enough to do the same.

The part of her that had spent years cheering for Fletch hoped that he wasn't, but the part of her that was a Gryffindor prayed that he was.

Only a handful of students had come out to watch the tryouts. Hermione spotted Minerva, the hatstall from the sorting, in the middle of the bleachers. Aside from the fact that Minerva snored like a lion, Hermione didn't know much about her. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Jean's whispered, Talk to her. Try to make friends. It'll make Hogwarts even better. With a deep breath, Hermione marched towards the ginger.

On the edge of her seat, Minerva intently watched the tryouts, examining every move that a potential player made. Hermione fidgeted with the edge of her sweater, unsure if Minerva wanted to be left alone. She was obviously comfortable watching the players zip back and forth across the field. Maybe she wouldn't want Hermione—

"Are you gonna stand there all day or take a seat?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. Unsure of how to answer, she plopped onto the bench beside Minerva. The redhead glanced over towards her and arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't take you to be the type who liked quidditch, Granger. No offense. You seem to always be at the library. Adeline and Rowan are starting to think that it's code for meeting your beau."

Hermione's cheeks flushed. "It's not."

"I know it's not," Minerva said. "I've seen you in the library. Not that you'd notice me. You're always too absorbed in your books. We haven't even started class yet and you're halfway through the reading list."

"Actually, I'm finished with the reading list. I'm just rereading some of the more difficult chapters." Hermione cringed. Merlin, she sounded like a know-it-all. "And you're right: I'm not a huge fan of quidditch. But, um, Sebastian and Fletcher Wood are my cousins. I'm here as moral support. Plus, I promised Lavender I'd meet her here."

She'd barely seen Lavender at all these past few days. She missed her sister and resented the hat for placing her in a different house. For the first time she could remember, she wasn't sharing a room with Lavender.

Minerva's eyes glinted with curiosity. "You don't sound Scottish."

"Neither do you," Hermione pointed out. She could hear the faintest hints of an accent in Minerva's voice, but, for the most part, she sounded English.

"My da's a reverend. He used to make us recite verses out loud every night in English accents. It was an odd sort of game." Minerva shrugged. "I figured that most of the people at this school will be critical enough of my lack of fancy wizarding relatives. I don't need them making fun of my accent too." A smile tugged at her lips. "Although, aye can go native when aye wanae."

Hermione chuckled, offering, "My mother's English," as an explanation. "My mum's a muggle."

"And your da?"

Hermione frowned. "He was a wizard." She didn't tell Minerva that she'd never met her father. The stories she heard about him were an odd jumble of facts that didn't seem to fit together. It was nearly impossible to find anything about him in the Wood household, and she'd tried. "He died before I was born."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks." A beat and then, "Do you like quidditch?"

As it turned out, Minerva McGonagall liked quidditch. She liked it a lot. She talked on and on about quidditch as players flew about the pitch. Minerva talked so much that Hermione was glad when Lavender showed up, shouting her sister's name the moment she entered the pitch. Lavender lit up the moment she saw them, jogging over to join them.

"How're tryouts going?" Lavender asked, settling into the seat beside Hermione. "Fletch said he's worried about the team this year. Apparently, both his beaters graduated last year, and...I probably shouldn't be telling you this. House loyalty and all that."

"Forget house loyalty," Hermione said. "You are my sister first and a Slytherin second. Just as I am your sister first and a Gryffindor second." Lavender smiled at that. Hermione turned to introduce her friend to her sister. "Minerva, this is my sister, Lavender. Lav, this is Minerva. She's as obsessed with quidditch as Bash and Fletch."

Lavender laughed at that. "Sounds like she's more of a Wood than either of us." Hermione couldn't help the smile that came to her face. At Minerva's confused expression, Lavender explained. "The Wood brothers are very passionate about quidditch-"

"And good," Hermione added.

"Yes, and good. I don't like flying because I'm scared of heights. " Lavender's smile widened. "Hermione, on the other hand, can't fly a broom to save her life."

"Hey!" Hermione protested. "I can fly. I'm just-"

"Not very good at it," Lavender finished for her.

"I was going to say 'better at other things.' We don't need to share all of my faults with Minerva. I'm trying to become her friend."

Minerva gaped at them. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?" Hermione asked, genuinely confused as to what Minerva was talking about.

"It's just...you're very quiet when you're by yourself, Hermione." Minerva shook her head. Hermione frowned. Was she? She'd honestly never noticed. They were only a few days into the school year. She was still adjusting to Lavender not sleeping across the hall and sneaking into Hermione's room whenever she had a nightmare. "And, yes. I'd love to be your friend. Both of you."

.

.

Sebastian watched Hermione and Lavender from his broom. They were joined by a third girl, with red-hair and a shocked expression on her face. Bash understood the feeling. Lavender and Hermione were as different as day and night, but when they were together, they miraculously clicked.

"They look happy."

Bash glanced at his brother as he joined him in the air. Fletcher had his eyes firmly fixed on their sisters in the stands. Although one was adopted and the other was their cousin, they would always be his sisters in Bash's mind.

"They do," Bash agreed.

"That's good," said Fletcher. "I was worried about Lavender after she got sorted in Slytherin. She almost cried."

Bash felt like he should make a comment disparaging his brother's house, but he couldn't bring himself to. He'd spent most of his childhood antagonizing the girls while Fletcher had assumed the role of protector. He thought it was because of their age difference. Bash was closer, so his mind had always viewed them as competition. But he'd seen the expression on Lavender's face when she was sorted. He'd watched the determination leave her eyes. His heart had sunk alongside her's. He was glad she had Fletcher to look after her. To him and Fletcher, Lavender was always softer than Hermione. Both the girls needed protection, but if there was one person who didn't belong in Slytherin, it was Lavender. She wouldn't survive a minute against the snakes like Riddle and his cronies.

"Speaking of Slytherin," Bash said, "don't let Malfoy on your team."

Fletcher arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

Bash shrugged. "Just trust me on this one, Fletch. That guy is no good."

.

.

She was late.

She was late. She was late. She was late.

Lavender sprinted through the corridors of Hogwarts, her black hair falling out of her headband as she ignored the looks she got as she passed by upper year students with free periods. She ignored the voice in her head that told her running like this wasn't ladylike. She was late to her very first class. Curse the sorting hat for placing her in Slytherin without any female classmates. There was no one to wake her up when she overslept.

This wouldn't have happened if I were a Gryffindor, Lavender thought bitterly. Or a Hufflepuff. Or a Ravenclaw.

At that very moment, as Lavender lamented her recent house placement, her black mary-jane caught on an uneven stone and she toppled to the ground. Had she simply fallen to the ground, scraped her hands and bruised her knees, Lavender would have been fine. She would have pushed down her embarrassment and tears and continued on her way to charms.

But that wasn't what happened.

Instead, Lavender tripped over the stone and stumbled into a nearby student, taking him down with her as she fell. Pain shot through her left knee as it pounded against the ground causing tears to well in her eyes. Several four letter words that Bash liked to use when their parents weren't in earshot came to mind. Lavender held them back. She was a lady. Ladies did not curse.

"Shit."

But whoever she'd run into did.

Lavender glanced up through her tears to find the most beautiful boy she'd ever seen staring down at her, half-concerned-half-frantic. She'd seen him before at the Slytherin table, surrounded by his two dark haired friends. He had pale silver hair, with sharp cheekbones and a regal nose. His eyes were the same color as the North Sea after a storm. Those eyes were staring at Lavender right now, causing her heart to race in her chest.

Abraxas Malfoy, the second-year beater, and, as of this moment, the love of Lavender's life.

"I'm begging please do not cry. Wood will kill me if you cry."

"Why would I kill you if I cry?" Lavender mustered a small smile. She took the hand that Malfoy offered her. Her stomach filled with butterflies as he helped her to her feet.

"Not you, your brother."

"I don't think Fletcher would kill anyone," Lavender said. Her eyes roamed over Abraxas Malfoy. He looked very good in green, although, Lavender thought, he'd look better in blue. It would bring out his eyes.

"You're obviously not on his quidditch team." Malfoy glanced over Lavender, checking her for injuries. "You probably have a class to get to. I'll see you around the dungeons, Wood."

"You too, Malfoy."

With that, Abraxas Malfoy turned around and left. Lavender watched him go. Her eyes remained on his silver hair until he vanished from view. There, in that empty corridor, running late for Charms class, Lavender Wood decided that she was going to marry Abraxas Malfoy one day.

She was going to marry him.

.

.

Out of all of her classes, the one that Hermione was dreading the most was Transfiguration. The day before, Slughorn's potions class had gone magnificently. He rewarded Gryffindor points for each of Hermione's right answers, which had felt immensely satisfying. Slughorn was friendly and encouraged natural talent. Dumbledore, on the other hand, terrified Hermione. Maybe it was because she'd heard stories of his class from Fletch, who'd explained that the professor widely favored Gryffindors. Even Bash disliked his class (although Bash disliked everything that wasn't quidditch or potions).

Professor Dumbledore swept into the class moments before it officially started, dressed sharply in a set of fine robes. His piercing eyes swept over the crowd of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, taking note of every student. Even though he glanced at her for only a second, Hermione felt like he was peering into her very soul.

"Good morning," the professor said. "This is first year Transfiguration. I am Professor Dumbledore. Now, I'm sure that you've all heard stories about me—" A Ravenclaw girl's hand shot into the air. Professor Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Miss…"

"Twig, Catalina Twig," the girl provided. "Is it true that you knew Grindelwald?"

"As I was saying," Professor Dumbledore continued, completely ignoring Catalina's question, "many of you will have heard stories about me. Not all of them are true."

But that means that some of them are true, Hermione thought. She wondered if Dumbledore had truly known Grindelwald. The dark wizard was currently terrorizing the European wizarding community much like Hitler was terrorizing the rest of the world. It terrified Hermione to think about all of the evil that was going on outside of their small island.

She glanced towards Minerva beside her. The other girl held her gaze, offering a small shrug. Surely Headmaster Dippet wouldn't allow Dumbledore to teach at Hogwarts if he were in league with Grindelwald. Right?

"Now," Professor Dumbledore began, "who can tell me the spell to transform an animal into a teacup."

Side by side, Hermione and Minerva's hands shot into the air. Hermione couldn't help the smile that came to her face. She'd found someone like her—someone just as smart and passionate about learning. She finally had a friend.

.

.

Fletcher Wood stared at his playbook with a frown. He had two weeks until the season started with the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match. Two weeks to whip his already good team into shape. He had taken to sketching out new plays and drills whenever he had free time. It kept his mind off other things…

Tucked in the back of his playbook was the letter he'd gotten two days ago. He'd only had it for forty-eight hours, yet he knew the words by heart. The handwriting inside was rushed—frantic. Everything seemed frantic these days.

Fletcher, I don't know if the word has reached you in that fancy magic school of yours, but Chamberlain announced that we're going to war against the nazis.

Fletcher pulled his thoughts away from the letter. They weren't productive. He was a wizard living in the wizarding world. This was where he belonged: sitting in the Slytherin common room sketching out plays.

The portal opened, allowing a group of second years entrance. Fletcher's eyes flitted to the newest addition to his team. Abraxas Malfoy was nothing like Fletcher had expected. To begin with, he didn't look like a Malfoy. With his veela good looks, Malfoy looked like a creature from a muggle fairy tale. For reasons Fletcher didn't even want to begin to think about, Sebastian had a thing against one of Malfoy's close friends, Tom Riddle. His younger brother had told him not to put Malfoy on the team, which—if Fletcher were to be honest with himself—was one of the reasons that he did.

I've thought about the war a lot these last few days. You, of all people, should know how I feel about the horrible things that are happening on the continent—you listened to me rant about them all summer.

Despite his initial reasoning, Fletcher was surprised to discover that Malfoy was actually a good beater. Paired with Maeve Flint, the two made a good team. Even Slughorn, who was originally against putting a girl on the team, agreed. Fletcher had made the right decision.

By the time this letter reaches you, I will have already enlisted. I turn eighteen in a month anyways, so it's not as if I am actually lying—just stretching the truth.

He had a good team this year. Even with Bash on Gryffindor's team, Fletcher knew that they didn't stand a chance against Slytherin. With him as the captain and his hand-picked team of athletes, none of the other houses stood a chance. He should be celebrating. If they trained hard and ran drills, they would absolutely demolish the other houses.

And yet…

Fletcher's notebook was empty.

I know that if you were here you would be trying to talk me out of this. You've always been the more reasonable one out of the two of us. But I can finally make a difference, Fletch. This is what we talked about all summer—changing things for the betterment of everyone.

When the family owl had dropped Leon's letter on his lap, Fletcher had been ecstatic. He'd felt the same butterflies in his stomach that he'd felt all summer and the years leading up to it. He'd had to hide his smile from the rest of the Slytherins so that none of them got curious, but the moment he'd stepped into private a grin broke across his face.

And then he'd read the letter.

Now, Fletcher felt sick. Only a year apart in age, he'd known Leon since they were boys. They'd gone fishing on the weekends and spent nights camping outside. They'd gone to school together until Fletcher had left for Hogwarts. They'd grown up together. Leon even knew that he was a wizard—partially because he'd seen Fletcher accidentally light the night sky with fireworks, but mostly because Fletcher had wanted to tell him.

They shared their hopes and dreams—sneaking away where no one could find them. They'd spent summer nights staring at the stars, their fingers touching. They shared everything with each other—everything. Leon was the only person who knew Fletcher in his entirety. The only person…

And now he was gone.

The National Service Act was passed by Parliament two days after Fletcher arrived at school. A few of the muggleborn and halfblood seventh years who had already turned eighteen had left when the news reached the school. Fletcher didn't turn seventeen until December, so he hadn't even thought about enlisting until after he finished school. He should have known that Leon would rush headfirst into danger.

He should have known…

Closing his playbook, Fletcher's fingers brushed over the letter. The parchment was wrinkled in places, as if it had gotten wet only to dry again. He wondered what Leon's mother thought of his conscription. She'd lost his father during the Great War. Fletcher doubted she wanted to lose her son.

Don't think like that, Fletcher mentally scolded himself. The war would be over soon. It had to be. He didn't want to think about Leon and the thousands of other young men fighting the nazis without the help of magic—with only guns and other muggle weapons that Fletcher learned about but had a hard time understanding. He didn't want to think about it, but he had to. This was the world he lived in.

Suddenly, quidditch seemed much less important.

Forever yours,

Leon

.

.

She ran into Trudy at the drug store. The same woman that Jean Granger had talked to nearly forty years in the future, Trudy was a bright eyed woman only a few years younger than Jean, who enjoyed reading and knitting. She was also a squib. Having been born to a pureblood family she didn't like to talk about, Trudy had run away and started a life of her own in Scotland. She had chosen to remain unmarried, and instead dedicated her time to writing. She had ideas that were radical for the thirties, which was part of the reason Jean liked her. She also adored Hermione, Lavender and the boys, and let them have free reign on her extensive library.

"Well, well, well," said Trudy, crossing her arms over her chest, "if it isn't Jean Granger. I haven't seen ye since ye dropped yer girls off at school. How are ye holdin' up, Jean?"

The truth was that Jean missed her daughters – even the one who wasn't really her blood. She didn't think letting go of them would be this hard. After all, her parents had sent her off to school when she was their age, and they'd seemed to love it. Jean, on the other hand, hated it. Very much so. Quinn teased her about it — calling her an overprotective mother hen. He was right when he said that the girls would be fine. If Jean was sure of one thing it was that her daughters were capable young women.

"I'm doing as well as can be expected." Jean offered Trudy a smile. "Dropping Fletcher and Sebastian off wasn't this hard."

"If I were to guess, I'd say that's because the wains weren't yer own flesh and blood like Hermione." Trudy shrugged. "Plus, I can imagine it's nice to get Sebastian out o' the house for a while."

Jean chuckled. It was the truth. She loved both of the boys like they were her own flesh and blood, but they could be difficult at times. Hermione, on the other hand, rarely ever made a fuss. That, of course, meant that she was too eager to do well, which was a different sort of problem. Lavender spent her days dreaming up different worlds to explore in her minds, which meant that Jean often had to tell her to do something twice. Apparently, there was no such thing as a perfect child.

"I suppose you're right."

"O' course I'm right. I may not know much about raisin' children but I know a thing or two about them." Trudy chuckled as a sudden thought came to mind. "Ye will never believe this, Jean, but I got a letter from the king the other day sayin' that I am a prime candidate for hosting a couple o' wee ones from London. Can ye believe that? Me?"

"Really?"

Despite knowing that it would happen, Jean was surprised. She had heard stories from her aunt about being sent into the countryside during the second world war, but she had never thought that it would apply to her own life. That was before she'd travelled back in time, though. Since then, she had been preparing for the second world war. She needed to be ready and able to help. She idly wondered if she could help by taking in some refugees from London. The blitz would start soon. She wanted to help.

"Yeah. Me. Lookin' after kids." Trudy shook her head. "What has this world come to?"

Jean didn't know how to tell Trudy that the worst was yet to come. Instead, she said, "I don't know, Trudy. I don't know."

.

.

Hermione awoke the morning of her birthday to the whispers of her roommates. The drapes around her four poster bed were shut to the outside world, so she had no way of knowing if it was light outside yet. What she did know was that Rowan Johnson needed to stop talking that instant unless she wanted Hermione to hex her.

"Shouldn't we wake her?" Rowan tried to whisper. The key word being tried. Rowan, Hermione had learned, didn't seem to know how to whisper.

"I don't know. It's her birthday, but…" Adeline Brown trailed off.

"But?"

"I don't know if she'd like us to wake her up. She's not exactly friendly." Rowan snorted at that. Hermione frowned. She knew that she wasn't the easiest person to get along with but she didn't think she was unfriendly.

One bed over, Minerva groaned. "For crying out loud." The curtains around Hermione's bed were suddenly snatched back, allowing the early morning light to stream in. The ginger girl glanced down at Hermione. "She's already awake, girls."

A second later, Rowan and Adeline appeared behind the tall girl. Rowan was nearly as tall as Minerva with a golden hair that most would consider beautiful. Adeline was shorter than Hermione with a dark complexion. Cradled in her hands she held a basket covered in cloth. Hermione stared at the three girls, her eyes wide.

"Um...hi."

"Happy birthday!" Rowan exclaimed, unable to contain herself a second longer.

"How'd you know it was my birthday? I didn't tell any of you." Two sets of eyes glanced briefly to Minerva, who looked like she was fighting off a grin. Hermione frowned. That probably wasn't good news. For all that she was a model student, Minerva had a mischievous streak a mile long.

"I may have cornered your cousin and threatened him." Minerva shrugged.

"Which cousin?"

"Sebastian."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Even though he was younger, Sebastian was much more intimidating than Fletcher, who would have happily volunteered the information. Lavender was probably planning a party as they spoke. Threatening Sebastian took guts. Hermione couldn't fight the grin from her face. Maybe the sorting hat had chosen the right house to place Minerva in.

"You should have seen it," began Rowan, "She was incredible. Our Minerva just walked up to him in the middle of the common room and demanded to know. I mean, this is a Gryffindor chaser we're talking about. Even untested, he's easily in the top half of the popularity food chain. Not to mention the fact that he's quite attractive."

Adeline rolled her eyes. "Do you ever think of anything other than boys, Ro?"

Rowan's expression was entirely innocent. "What's wrong with that?"

Adeline shook her head. She turned back to Hermione and placed the basket on her bed. "My brother's cat had kittens." Pulling back the cloth, she opened it to reveal four kittens all snuggled close together: one grey, one white, one brown, and one orange. "Technically, we all get one, but we decided that you should get the first pick since it's your birthday."

Hermione's jaw dropped. At home, Jean and Quinn had always ensured that her birthday was a special event, but she'd never had anyone outside of her family to share it with—she'd never had friends. As she stared at the three girls surrounding her, she realized that was what they were: friends. She may have been closer to Minerva, but Rowan and Adeline both wanted to be her friend. And, to Hermione's surprise, she wanted to be their friend. Two girls who preferred boys and fashion to books and classwork, yet Hermione wanted to get to know them.

"Thank you." She held Adeline's gaze.

The other girl blushed. "It's nothing." She offered Hermione the basket, and she took it.

Staring down into the depths of the wicker basket, Hermione studied each of the kittens. She'd never had a pet back home. She'd never been an animal person to begin with. The family owl, Cox, hated her, so she returned the favor. But staring at the four kittens huddled close to each other, Hermione realized that she wanted a pet.

Reaching down, she picked up the orange kitten and leveled it with her face. The kitten stared back at her through unimpressed eyes—as if it had examined her and decided that she wasn't worth its time. Hermione smiled. "I'll take this one."

The basket returned to Adeline and the other three girls chose their companions. Minerva took the grey one, which she named Bilbo, after one of her favorite fictional characters. Rowan took the white one, which she named Lady. Adeline took the brown one, which she named Hamilton.

"I used to live across the pond," she explained. "I was a bit obsessed with Martha Washington and Abigail Adams."

"That doesn't explain why you named your cat Hamilton," Minerva pointed out.

"Martha Washington named one of her cats Hamilton."

Minerva shrugged, seeming to accept this as another one of Adeline's eccentricities. She turned to Hermione. "What are you naming your kitten?"

Hermione studied the unimpressed kitten before her. He looked grumpy. "Crookshanks," she decided, "I'll call him Crookshanks." She wasn't sure where the name came from, but, for some reason, it felt right.

.

.

Lavender was waiting for Hermione when she exited her last class for the day – Charms. Considering that Hermione knew Lavender had just come from Transfiguration, which was located four floors and three moving staircases up, Hermione could only guess that she'd skipped the class entirely – something that Hermione could never imagine doing. Even if she hadn't valued her own education, she was too scared of Professor Dumbledore to skip.

"Did you skip Transfiguration?" Hermione queried as they started down the hallway together.

"No." Lavender shrugged. "But I might have paid Black a sickle to pretend to get sick so I could sneak out of class early."

"How very Slytherin of you."

Lavender frowned at Hermione's comment. She glanced over the stack of library books Hermione held in her hands. "Some light reading?" she joked as they began climbing up the stairs.

"Very funny. Have you even been to the library yet?"

"Nope." Lavender shook her head. "And I don't plan on going any time soon. There are plenty of other places to study. Not that I plan on studying much."

Hermione groaned. "Honestly, Lav."

They turned the corner and climbed another set of stairs. Hermione frowned. Where was Lavender taking her? "Since it's your birthday, I will agree to join one of your study groups."

Hermione felt herself smile. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

They emerged from the stairwell onto the fourth floor. Hermione could see Bash and Fletch waiting in the middle of the corridor. Bash leaned against a mirror as if he had no worries in the world. Fletch looked considerably more worried, occasionally glancing around the empty hallway. Fletch grinned when he saw Hermione and Lavender approaching.

"There's the lady of the day." He reached for Hermione, wrapping her up in a hug. Hermione felt herself melt into his arms. It had been so long since someone hugged her. She missed her mother's casual hugs. "Happy birthday."

Bash quirked an eyebrow at Lavender. "Were ye takin' the scenic route? What took ye so long?"

Lavender shoved Bash. "Shut up, Bash, and do the thing."

Hermione glanced from Bash to Lavender. "What thing?"

Bash smirked. It was the same mischievous smirk that Hermione had seen on his face a hundred times since they were children. The I-know-something-ye-don't smirk that drove her craze. "This." As Hermione watched, Bash reached out and ran his finger through a groove of the golden frame. The mirror swung open. Behind it was a tunnel, stretching for miles into the darkness.

Hermione blinked. "You never told me there were secret passageways in Hogwarts! How did you even find this?"

"I didn't," Bash said. "Fletch did his third year. Since then he's been trying to map them all out. Isn't that right, Fletch?"

Fletch shook his head at his brother before focusing on Hermione. "We figured since Dad and Aunt Jean aren't allowed to come to Hogwarts for yer birthday, we could meet them at Hogsmeade. So, what d'ye say?"

Hermione grinned. "This is the best birthday gift ever."

.

.

.

October 1939

Lavender didn't have to be a seer to know that Fletcher hadn't eaten. His face was pale as he sat at the Slytherin table, his fingers turning white as he clutched his fork, trying to bend the metal. Grabbing a croissant from a nearby platter, Lavender waltzed down the table and slapped the pastry in front of her cousin.

Fletcher jumped, startled out of his thoughts. There was something wrong with him. She could feel it in her bones. He was hiding something – some secret that he didn't want any of them to discover. She hadn't had any dreams about him, or tried to read his tea leave, but she still knew that something was going on. Her intuition was rarely ever wrong.

But Lavender also knew that she wouldn't get the truth from him. Fletcher liked to keep secrets. He always had, and that was the reason Lavender thought the sorting hat had placed him in Slytherin.

"It's the big Slytherin versus Gryffindor game," Lavender said, "You should eat."

Fletcher swallowed. "I don't think I can."

"If you don't eat, you'll fall off of your broom in the middle of the match and crack your skull open."

"Is that a prophecy or just you riffing?" Fletcher asked as he grabbed the croissant and tore into it. Lavender considered his question. Sometimes, she said things that later became true. She could never tell which of her thoughts were prophecies and which were her own. It was annoying.

Lavender didn't like being a seer. Most wizards believed in divination — the art of seeing into the future through magical means — but the amount of wizards who believed in seers was significantly smaller. Like muggles, wizards had a history of persecuting those who were different from them — those with powers they did not have. Historically, seers were the one who'd been hunted and exiled. Quinn had sat her down and explained the Wizarding world's complicated history with seers before Lavender had left for Hogwarts. "It's better to keep yer gift quiet," Quinn had said. "If anyone finds out what ye are, Lav, ye'll be in danger." Lavender followed Quinn's instructions, keeping her gift quiet and never telling the few friends she had whenever she had a bad feeling or dreamed of a future.

"Just riffing," Lavender answered, glancing cautiously around the great hall to see if anyone had heard Fletcher. Her eyes shot down the Slytherin table, connecting with the dark-haired boy sitting beside Malfoy a few meters away. Panic rose in her chest as Lavender held his gaze. Had he heard Fletcher's off-hand comment? Was he going to tell someone? Lavender didn't know what Dippet would do if he discovered one of his students had a third eye. Surely that was grounds for expulsion.

Then Malfoy nudged the boy's shoulders and he glanced away. Lavender felt a huge weight lift off of her chest. He was probably staring at Fletch, wondering what his plans were for winning — not at her. Yes, that had to be it. After all, she was a first year with limited friends. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls wouldn't talk to her on account of her being a Slytherin. Only a handful of the Slytherin boys could look past their own blood prejudices to befriend a girl whose blood status was unsure. Her only friends were Minerva and Hermione. Lavender almost laughed at the irony. Back home, Lavender had been the popular one — the girl who made friends easily and who boys tripped over themselves for. Now, because of one stupid hat, people didn't want to go near Lavender.

Wasn't being sorted into Slytherin supposed to be for her own good? She failed to see how it was.

"I've gotta meet Mione and Minnie," Lavender said. "I promised them I would watch the game with them." She stood, hesitating. "Fletch, you know that if anything's wrong, you can talk to me. Right?"

Fletcher smiled. "Of course, I do."

Lavender waited for him to share whatever was on his mind, but he said nothing. "Alright. Good luck." With that, she left Fletcher Wood behind.

.

.

"Isn't Sebastian Wood so dreamy?" Rowan Johnson sighed, leaning up against the barrier between the bleachers and the pitch.

Minerva McGonagall frowned. She didn't understand Rowen's obsession with the boy. Yes, in a certain light he could be seen as attractive, with his sandy-blond curls and sparkling blue eyes, but then he opened his mouth and any semblance of attraction she felt towards the boy melted away. Minerva knew too many boys like Sebastian Wood back home: arrogant and athletic and unwilling to believe a girl could beat them at the sport they love. Minerva liked Hermione and even Lavender, but she found herself frowning whenever their older brother was mentioned. With the other two chasers being sixth year boys, he would be her competition next year. He was the one to beat, and Minerva would beat him. She had to.

"Please don't, Ro," Hermione groaned to Minerva's left. "I do not want to hear you talk about how handsome my cousin is all afternoon."

Beside Hermione, Lavender snorted. "Yeah. We already had to listen to your rantings during the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game, and he wasn't even playing."

Rowan frowned at Lavender. Minerva liked to believe she could see the gears turning in the Gryffindor girl's mind. When the roommates were hanging out together, Rowen was the prettiest of them with her golden hair and upturned nose. And Rowan knew it. She was proud of her looks. She'd repeated over and over again how her mother had raised her to ensure she was beautiful. It was obvious that Rowan valued her beauty over her brains. After all, her beauty was what would land her a husband, and, to quote Rowan herself, "every good pureblood girl should be engaged by the time they left Hogwarts." She always said that comment with her nose in the air, all too aware that Adelaide, Hermione, and Minerva were only halfbloods.

On the few occasions Hermione's sister joined the group, everything changed. Regardless of Lavender's blood-statues, she was beautiful. She had an ethereal look to her, with her violet eyes and caramel coloring. She was tall too. Not in a lanky way like Minerva, but gracefully tall. In the years to come, when alliances would begin to be forged, Lavender would be the one to turn heads in their small group, and Rowan seemed to know it. Maybe that was why Rowan had zeroed her sights in on Sebastian Wood. To Sebastian, Lavender wasn't an option. Rowan could have him all to herself.

If she could catch him first, that was.

"I don't get what the big deal is with boys." Adelaide tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. "I mean, they're gross, and smelly, and funny-looking."

"They're not all bad," Lavender said.

Hermione whirled to face the girl. Her mouth dropped. "You like someone."

Lavender chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes remaining glued to the players zooming about the quidditch pitch. "No. I don't."

"Yes, you do." Hermione pointed a finger at her sister. "You have the same exact look on your face that you had when you kissed Gene MacAra last summer."

"You kissed someone!?" Rowan squealed. Beside her, Adelaide frowned at the thought of kissing a boy.

"I only kissed him because Bash dared me to," Lavender said. "And he only dared me because you told him about my crush. So, forgive me if I don't tell you who I like. I don't want Bash to find out."

"So, it's someone who Bash would disapprove of," Hermione deduced.

"Bash would disapprove of anyone," Lavender pointed out. "He disapproved of Gene, and he's the one who dared me to kiss him."

"Touché." Hermione nodded. "But don't think I'm going to forget about this. I have to make sure that whoever it is is worthy enough for my little sister."

"Eight months," Lavender said. "I am eight months younger than you. I'm hardly your little sister. I'm taller than you."

"She's got you there, Mione," Minerva agreed. Hermione was the shortest of their group, which she sometimes complained about. Personally, Minerva found it entertaining. The shortest girl was best friends with the two tallest. They could be a vaudeville act.

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.

They were sitting in his favorite spot. Over the past year and a half, the library had become a refuge for Tom. In the beginning, it had been a place where he could escape the blood politics of the Slytherin common room. Now, it served as a place where he could catch a moment of peace and quiet away from Abraxas and Antonin.

Today, however, they were in his spot.

Three first years—the hatstall and her frumpy friend sat alongside Lavender Wood.

Tom frowned. He didn't particularly like Wood. She didn't seem very Slytherin to him. She probably would have been better sorted into Gryffindor like her friends. The problem with Lavender Wood was that she was too easy to read. All that it took were a couple of glances towards Abraxas during dinner, and Tom had discovered her crush on his friend. He had been slightly surprised too. They were only twelve, but girls already tended to favor Tom's dark looks over Abraxas's light ones. Tom, of course, had started using his looks to his advantage. Abraxas, on the other hand, was entirely uncomfortable with his, which spoke to how much of an ass his father was. In the end, Tom didn't care either way who Lavender Wood had a crush on, but it would have been useful if he could just flash her a smile and get her to move.

He'd have to find another way.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tom was aware that he could – he should – find another spot, but he wasn't about to let them win. That had been his spot through thick and thin, and he was determined to get it back.

Lavender Wood flicked her pink glass pen across a roll of parchment, putting the finishing touches on her essay. She then slid the essay over to her Gryffindor friend, asking her to read over it. The short girl took out her quill and began scratching through the lines. "Honestly, Lav," she chuckled, "You should write every essay with a dictionary beside you. You're abismal at spelling."

"Maybe I will," Lavender harrumphed.

Standing, she left the study nook, vanishing into the reference section of the library. Tom followed her, looking for an opportunity to approach her. He'd have to be subtle in his persuasion. He'd have to convince her that moving was in her best interest. Perhaps he could use Abraxas–

"Are you going to stand there all day or do you need something?" Suddenly, Lavender Wood was standing in front of Tom, her arms crossed over her chest, eyeing him suspiciously.

Tom summoned his most charming smile. "I noticed you from across the library. I'm Tom-"

"Riddle. I know." Lavender nodded. "Why were you following me?"

"Well, as I already said, you are quite a charming young woman and I couldn't help but admire…" Tom trailed off. The first year peered at him with her perceptive violet gaze. She wasn't believing a single word he said, Tom realized. For the first time in a long time, he had come across a person he couldn't charm into doing his bidding. "Why don't you believe me?" he asked. "Is it because of your brother?"

"Sebastian? Merlin, no. He doesn't like anyone in Slytherin outside of me and Fletch." Lavender shook her head. "No. I'm just good at telling when people are lying. So, Riddle, what do you want?"

Tom released a sigh, dropping his polite mask. He was irritated at this girl. He could charm teachers and students into thinking that he was the best behaved boy at Hogwarts, but he couldn't convince a first year because she was 'good at telling when people are lying.' It was annoying. "If you must know, you are studying in my spot with your little Gryffindor friends."

"Hermione and Minerva," Lavender corrected.

"Why would I care what two random Gryffindor firsties are named?"

"Because they're the brightest witches our age," Lavender answered plainly.

Tom still failed to see why that mattered. Even if they were the smartest witches in their generation, they were still witches. The wizarding world didn't really care for women. The career paths that were available to them were limited. They couldn't hold high-up ministry positions. Even Hogwarts didn't allow women to teach. Slytherin and Hufflepuff were the only houses with girls on their quidditch teams. It was all rather backwards, in Tom's opinion. It made him glad he wasn't a witch.

Hermione and Minerva may have been the brightest witches in their generation, but Lavender Wood was the witch who saw through Tom Riddle's carefully crafted mask. That made her far more interesting –– and dangerous –– than the other two. After all, she was the Slytherin. There had to be a reason for that.

"I want my spot back," Tom said. "In exchange, I could introduce you to Malfoy."

"No."

Tom gaped at the girl. "No. I thought you liked him."

"I do like him," Lavender said. "But we're young. I'm playing the long game. I want something else from you."

"What?" Tom asked through gritted teeth.

Lavender seemed to consider him for a moment. Those perceptive eyes stared into his own. Tom found himself wanting to know what they saw. "Let's just say you'll owe me one." She stuck out her hand. "What d'you say? Deal?"

Tom stared at her. Was his study place really worth owing her one? She looked harmless, but looks could be deceiving. There was no way of telling what she'd want from him in the future. On the other hand, she was a Wood, and the Woods seemed to have the same strong moral code. Whatever she asked for was unlikely to cause harm to Tom's future.

"Deal." A feeling washed over Tom as he shook the girl's hand. It felt like a train was pulling out of a station. He just started something –– something important.

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.

Jack-O-Lanterns floated in the ceiling, their candles flickering against the night sky as Abraxas Malfoy trudged into the Great Hall. He was tired. Despite it being a holiday, Fletcher Wood had had them running drills all afternoon. Abraxas's arm hurt from swinging his bat around so much. He dropped onto the bench beside Antonin and started filling his plate with food.

"You look like crap," Antonin said.

"I feel like crap." Abraxas grabbed a chicken half, putting the entire thing on his plate. He was starving. "I think Wood's punishing us for something."

"What?"

"No clue."

Abraxas didn't miss the look Antonin shot Tom, curious and questioning. Tom nodded. Antonin pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet out of his bag and slid it over to Abraxas. He lazily glanced over the page Antonin had opened it to. Shimmering on the page was a list of all of the witches and wizards from prominent families who had gotten engaged that month. Abraxas had seen it a thousand times. He had read his cousin's announcements in it a year earlier.

"What are you…" Abraxas trailed off as he noticed a familiar name.

Lord Napoleon Sullivan Malfoy will be united with Juliette Celina Anne Rosier on the 7th of July, 1940.

Abraxas saw red. His mother died when he was barely a child, but he remembered how completely in love his parents were with each other. Napoleon had been ridiculed by his pureblood classmates for taking a Veela as his wife. He would have been disowned had he not been the only male heir. Now, he was marrying one of those purebloods –– a Rosier. Abraxas felt heat rise to his face. He could feel his classmates staring at him. They probably pitied him. With his father getting remarried, it was only a matter of time before another heir came along –– a fully-wizard heir who could replace Abraxas.

Standing abruptly, Abraxas fled the Great Hall. His friends watched him leave. "Shouldn't we go after him?" asked Antonin.

"And do what?" Tom asked. "Neither of us has enough experience with family to be helpful. It's best he figure this one out on his own."

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.

The library was quiet as Hermione finished packing up her bags. Most of the students had already left for the Halloween feast, but Hermione had lingered a little longer. She didn't really like crowds. Being surrounded by her classmates in a social setting didn't give her energy the way it did Lavender, it made her nervous. So, she lingered, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for her sister and best friend as to why she could miss the Halloween feast. She wasn't finding any, so she packed her bags and left the library.

Someone was crying. Curious as to who it was, Hermione followed the sound. A few doors down, the door to a classroom was cracked open. The sobs were coming from inside. Hermione peered through the doorway. A boy sat atop a desk in the middle of the room, quietly sobbing into his sleeves. Hermione recognized him. He was a Slytherin in the year ahead of her –– one of the ones Bash disliked. Now, watching him cry, Hermione couldn't understand how Sebastian could hate him. He was a boy, just like Bash.

Slipping inside the room, Hermione fished a handkerchief from her pocket. It was one of her favorites, embroidered by Jean with Hermione's initials. Slowly, she approached the boy and held out her handkerchief.

The boy took the handkerchief without comment. He glanced up at Hermione. For a moment, his eyes held her's. Hermione offered him a small smile. He frowned. He's far too pretty to be a boy, Hermione thought. Tears still rolled down his cheeks –– pale, porcelain cheeks without a blemish.

Hermione suddenly felt as if she was invading on a private moment. "Um...right. I'm Hermione. Just, um, just drop the handkerchief by Gryffindor tower when you're done with it. I'm sorry for intruding." Without waiting for him to respond, Hermione whirled on her heel and left.

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November 1939

Red eyes.

Red eyes peered at her through the darkness. They stared through the emptiness, right into Lavender's very soul. There was no life behind those eyes – no kindness, no fear, no love – just hatred.

A name.

A terrifying, chilling, horrible name. A name that Lavender knew would strike fear into the hearts of any who heard it. A name that would go down in textbooks to mean evil. The name of a man who would try to conquer death:

Voldemort.

Lavender shot upright in her bed. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She could feel the eyes of the monster from her dream upon her. His evil, joyless grin in the darkness. Lavender placed a hand over her heart to still its beating. Was this the future? Lavender didn't think about the grand scheme of things if she could help it, but, if this was the future, then she wasn't sure she wanted it.

Flopping back down on her bed, Lavender stared up at the ceiling. She counted the ceiling tiles, waiting to drift back to sleep, but sleep never came. Eventually, she gave up. Grabbing her robe from the stand, Lavender snuck into the common room.

As it was the early hours of the morning, Lavender expected to find the common room empty. After all, this wasn't Ravenclaw, where students would pull all-nighters in hopes of getting the perfect grade. This was Slytherin, where students found other methods to get the grade. What Lavender wasn't expecting was to find Fletcher sitting beside the fire, a letter clutched in his hand.

Her bare feet padded against the cold stone floor as Lavender walked up to her brother and sat down beside him. She studied him. For the first time in months, she could clearly make out the expressions on Fletcher's face. Not the ones he let show through –– the one he wanted everyone to see –– but the real, honest expressions. She was shocked to find grief there.

"Couldn't sleep?" Fletcher asked, slamming the mask back into place.

Lavender shook her head. "I had a vision of a...bleak future." A monster was more accurate, but Lavender didn't want to worry Fletcher, not when he so clearly had his own problems. "If you were Quinn, this is the part where you'd tell me that there are many possible different futures and I can shape them how I see fit."

"But I'm not Da." Lavender leaned her head against Fletcher's shoulder. "Was it about the war?"

"No." In all honesty, Lavender hadn't thought about the war going on in the muggle world. It seemed so distant from the magic that she was learning at Hogwarts. It felt like the sort of thing that happened in a book –– not in real life –– and certainly not to them. "Have you been thinking about the war?"

"All the damn time." Fletcher sighed. "It doesn't seem fair."

"What?"

"All those people we know are out there fightin' and what are we doin'? Nothing. We're wizards. We have magic. We have a chance to change things for the better, but the ministry would rather stay out of it. The Prophet is sayin' that what happened in the muggle world doesn't affect us –– as if Grindelwald isn't using the same rhetoric as Hitler. It's all the same. Us and them. I have magic. I could help. I'm-"

"Sixteen," Lavender finished. "Even if you wanted to, you're too young to fight. Besides, Mum and Dad would kill you."

"Yer right, of course." Fletcher leaned his head against Lavender's. "Jean would kill me. I'll forget about it." Even as he promised to leave it alone, Lavender got the feeling that Fletcher and the war were somehow tied together. He could no less forget about it than stop being a wizard. The thought filled Lavender's stomach with dread.

.

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December 1939

Jean Granger had spent the Christmas of 1977 in a cold, empty London flat, eating a tasteless sandwich from Tesco with a husband she hadn't known was cheating on her yet. When she jumped back in time, that all changed. Christmas at the Wood house was always a production. They started off the morning with stockings. Presents were reserved for after Christmas breakfast, which was cooked by Quinn, Bash, and Lavender, as the other three members of the household were terrible cooks. Then, they would spend the rest of the afternoon hanging about until it was time to go to Trudy's annual Christmas dinner. This Christmas was no exception.

Leaning against the kitchen doorway with a cup of tea cradled in her hands, Jean watched Quinn and the kids bake Christmas breakfast. Lavender and Sebastian had been up since the early hours of the morning, working on baking as many different types of bread as they could. It was always a competition between the two of them –– one that Jean and Quinn got to judge –– to see who could make the best Christmas morning bread. This year, Lavender was watching her iced buns in the oven, while Bash was placing the final touches on his cream puffs. Fletcher and Hermione were clustered around the counter, watching Lavender and Bash work. Quinn was frying up sausages in a cast iron pan.

"Keep yer hands to yerself." Sebastian slapped Hermione's fingers away from his whipped filling. "There's hardly enough to go around as is. They go in the puffs, not in yer greedy little mouth."

"Awe, Bash. What happened to house loyalty? Can't you share a little with a fellow Gryffindor?"

"There's no such thing as house loyalty in this kitchen." Bash grinned. "Here it's just me and her." He pointed his whisk at Lavender. "It's the great scottish bakeoff."

"That I am going to win," Lavender said matter-of-factly.

Bash laughed. "Ye wish."

Quinn rolled his eyes at the kid's dramatics. "Ye're not gonna be winnin' anything if ye don't set the table, kids." Quinn pointed his spatula at the empty table. "Ye're especially not gonna be eatin' anything."

"On it," Hermione and Fletcher said at the same time. Hermione raced towards the china cabinet, but Fletcher beat her to it. With a flick of his wand, he had the plates flying out of the cabinet and onto the table.

"Just because ye can do magic now, doesn't mean ye need to use it for every little thing," Quinn scolded his oldest son. "Ye'll find that most of life doesn't need magic to make it great." Jean couldn't help but smile at Quinn's comment. She took a sip of her tea as she watched the scene unfold before her. She loved Christmas in the highlands.

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.

Malfoy Manor was a huge gothic-style building with more dark corners to hide away in than even Hogwarts. Over the course of his childhood, Abraxas had discovered all of them –– places to hide from the rest of the world, from the peering eyes of his father's friends, from the backhanded compliments handed out by pureblood ladies.

His favorite was in the back of the house, just beyond the kitchens. Located in a small room that had once been a closet, Abraxas had secretly refurbished the room to be comfortable, containing an armchair, several of his favorite books, and a few wizarding games. It was a place all of his own –– a place even his father didn't know about. Only Abraxas's favorite house elf, Dobby, knew about his hiding space, and he had agreed to keep it a secret.

But that meant that Dobby always knew where to find him.

When the Rosier's arrived on Christmas, Abraxas was hiding in his secret room, hoping that his father might believe he had a headache rather than force him to meet his new stepmother and step siblings. He had no such luck. The moment Dobby apparated into his cupboard, Abraxas knew that he would spend the rest of the night making small talk with Juliette Rosier and her two bratty children.

"Dobby is sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Abraxas brushed off the elf's apology. Dobby had an irritating habit of blaming everything on himself. "I was an idiot to hope for anything else." Standing, Abraxas straightened his suit and left the house elf behind.

His father was exactly where Dobby said he would be: in the parlor entertaining the Rosiers. Abraxas took a moment to study the group before making himself known. Lord Napoleon Malfoy was not a tall man or a handsome one, but he was impressive nonetheless. He had the same cold eyes and dark hair as the rest of the Malfoy lot. He had a sharpness about him that had somehow mixed into Abraxas's features.

Where Abraxas's father was composed of harsh angles, the widowed Lady Juliette Rosier was soft. With golden hair that shined with the gloss of a few anti-aging spells, she looked every bit like a delicate flower. Her daughter, Gabrielle, seemed to take after her. One year younger than Abraxas, she shared the same verdant eyes and golden hair as her mother. She looked like she never spoke over a whisper.

It was the son, Evan, that shocked Abraxas. Save for his green eyes, Evan didn't share a single feature with his mother and sister. His dark hair was slicked back like Tom's. Unlike Tom, however, Evan's didn't seem to be naturally curly. Abraxas had a hard time imagining Evan wrangling his hair into shape every morning. Abraxas gaped at the other boy, who was two years his senior. Standing amongst the Rosiers and Lord Malfoy, Evan looked like Napoleon's true son. Together, the four of them made a very nice picture.

And Abraxas would ruin it.

"I must apologize for keeping you waiting, Lady Rosier," Abraxas said, stepping into the parlor. "I'm afraid I take quite a long time to get ready." It was a lie, but she didn't need to know that. Behind him, Napoleon frowned at his son. Screw him, Abraxas thought. He was the one who decided to get remarried to the french widow.

Lady Rosier laughed. It sounded practiced. "No worries, my dear. Gabrielle is exactly the same. Isn't that right, Gabrielle?"

"Yes, Maman," Gabrielle said. Abraxas's eyes flitted from Gabrielle to Evan. Deciding she was the better choice, he sat on the couch beside her. She offered him a smile. "I'm sure we'll be the best of friends in no time." There was no falseness behind her words, but there was no sincerity either. They simply seemed to hover there, waiting for Abraxas to say something in return.

He remained silent.

"Of course they will be," Napoleon said. "After all, Gabrielle will be joining Abraxas at Hogwarts next semester."

Abraxas's eyes flitted to his soon-to-be stepsister's. She smiled demurely at the comment but didn't seem too happy about the prospect. Why would she be? The Rosiers could trace their roots all the way back to the normans. The lot hadn't even left France when the muggles were chopping off everyone's heads. Gabrielle probably wanted nothing to do with Hogwarts, just like how Abraxas wanted nothing to do with the Rosiers.

"What about Evan?" Abraxas asked.

"Oh, I'm not going," Evan bragged. "My professors at Beauxbatons said that I was too valuable an asset to the school to waste."

Abraxas didn't miss the hidden insult directed at Gabrielle. He wondered if Gabrielle hated her brother as much as he was starting to. If so, it was entirely possible that they would actually become friends. After all, Abraxas couldn't imagine having to spend all summer with the young Lord Rosier. He was a prat.

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.

Fletcher found Lavender sitting on the roof. The moment that he'd seen that her window was open, he knew that was where he would find her. Lavender had always been enchanted by the stars. Once, when she was five, she had told him that they talked to her. She hadn't mentioned it since. Regardless of whether or not it was true, Fletcher always knew he could find Lavender on the roof –– even if it was covered in snow.

"Hey," he said, taking a seat next to her on the snow.

"Hey." Lavender kept her eyes on the sky, tracing over the constellations that she knew by name.

"I just thought I'd say goodbye. I'll be gone by the time you wake up tomorrow."

At that, Lavender turned to face him. "You're spending New Years at Gale and Breeze's?"

Fletcher nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Officially, he was spending the week before school started back up at his friends' house. It was a tradition that they'd started during their second year. It was a tradition that Fletcher hated to break. But he was breaking it the same. Jean and Quinn thought that he was spending the night at the twins'. The twins thought that he had canceled because of a family emergency. By the time any of them found out the truth, it would be too late.

Beside him, Lavender nodded. "Okay. Stay safe."

Fletcher wondered if Lavender somehow knew what he was planning to do. It didn't seem impossible. He'd already said his goodbyes to Bash and Hermione. Quinn and Jean would be suspicious if he got too emotional. Lavender didn't look suspicious, however; she looked sad.

"I will."

"And promise to write."

"It's only for a week."

"Still…" Lavender stared at him with pleading eyes. Those same pleading eyes that he had never been able to refuse.

"I will." Fletcher nodded. "Don't worry. Everything'll be fine." Lavender didn't say anything in response. She just smiled –– a bittersweet smile as if she knew that this was the end. Maybe it was. This was the end of Fletcher Wood standing to the side and letting others control his life. He would finally do something that mattered, and nobody could stop him.

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The corridors of Hogwarts were dark as Tom Riddle wandered through them. They felt strange like this — lifeless — empty –– cold. And oddly appropriate.

Here, in the place that he loved so much, Tom was alone. None of his friends were here tonight. Not that he wanted them to be. Tom didn't like his birthday. It was the day that his mother died, abandoning him to the wolves. He hadn't celebrated them growing up, so it would be odd to celebrate them now. That hadn't stopped his friends from sending presents, however. There was a stack of books from Antonin and a new cauldron from Abraxas at the bottom of his bed when he awoke. It was the second-best birthday he'd ever had –– after the one where Dumbledore handed him his Hogwarts letter.

When he was a foolish child, Tom used to send off a birthday wish at midnight, as if a wish had more power because of the date one made it on. Every for the first seven years, it had been the same thing: I wish for someone to take me away from this place. In some ways, he had gotten that wish, but not in the way that really counted. He would still return to Wool's come summer, trapped inside with a bunch of muggle children who had hated him for being different and were not scared of him. Tom dreaded his return with each passing day.

The clock chimed midnight. Happy birthday to me, the thought echoes around the hollow chambers of his brain. He had stopped wishing long ago.

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Merlin. This chapter wasn't supposed to be this long. 16,000 words. That's practically a novella. Please tell me what you think of the longer chapters. I'm going to try to keep them shorter, but I'm afraid it may be only uphill from here. Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and commented on the prologue. It was incredibly encouraging to see that you guys seem to like this fic. I don't usually write for the Harry Potter fandom.

I'm going to try to keep on a monthly update schedule, but there are absolutely no guarantees. What I can guarantee is a lot – A LOT – of angst and miscommunication. I'm looking forward to exploring divination with Lavender and witches-rights with Hermione. I hope you are too.

Thank you to everyone for reading. Please let me know what you thought of the latest installment. I'll see you with the next update.