The Greatest Victory

by MindifISlytherIn07

*WARNING FOR DARK TOPICS* Hermione finds herself over 60 years into the past, with a riddle to solve and a Riddle to handle. "1931… I'm in 1931… 1931." She kept repeating the date as if expecting it to suddenly make sense, as she walked down the corridors and towards the closest exit that came to mind, the One-Eyed Witch Passage leading to Honeydukes.

1. Chapter 1 - The Beginning

*WARNINGS*

Hello everyone, before you start reading, I would like to point out that this story may contain future mention (albeit not detailed) of issues that may be disturbing for some. There will be references to child abuse, sex, alcohol abuse, death etc.

Having said that, if you are easily impressionable, avoid venturing because I think it will be a fairly dark story.

OBVIOUSLY, I don't own Harry Potter or the characters from the book but only the plot of this story.

Please review and let me know if the rest of the story is worth publishing.

This time I have a more or less clear idea of the story to tell and of the themes I would like to address, later on I could also explain why.

Happy reading, M.

Chapter 1: The beginning

"I am the true master of the Elder Wand." Beads of sweat dripped down Harry's neck, a vein in his temple throbbed.

The silence in the Great Hall at that point was so thick and heavy that it could be cut with a blade.

The whole room had been gasping and holding its breath while Harry, miraculously back from the dead, and Lord Voldemort, kept walking in circles around the room.

Everyone could feel the tension in the air tighten like a string and about to snap. Any moment now. Any second.

Hermione's forehead was slick with sweat and her shirt was soaked and stuck to her body as if it were a second layer of skin.

Her hands were drenched in blood, Fred's blood mostly, as her brain kept reminding her at regular intervals. Ron next to her was so tense he might have exploded into pieces if he had tried to move a single muscle.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

"You fooled me." Voldemort said in an amused tone, he relaxed his shoulders and lowered his wand, "This really backfired spectacularly."

The crowd's eyes were wide with surprise when what remained of the man exploded into loud laughter. From where she stood, Hermione could see Harry open and close his mouth, taken aback by Voldemort's reaction to his defeat, and undecided about what to do with the wand pointed at his enemy.

"Now ... now I see." Voldemort laughed, looking around shaken by an almost hysterical laugh, his eyes full of tears, his reptilian lips curved in an expression that Hermione had never imagined she would see on that monster's face.

Lord Voldemort has gone completely mad, she thought, watching the man bend over in laughter in front of his enemy. Harry was bewildered, to say the least.

"Oh, but it all makes sense, boy, in ways that you wouldn't be able to understand! It goes beyond the predictable, vain death of those idiots parents of yours… beyond their sacrifice, beyond Dumbledore's stupid schemes." Voldemort said wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and stifling laughter.

"Dumbledore beat you!" Harry roared so loud even Hermione flinched back.

Riddle straightened his back, suddenly sobering up, and drawing a sharp gasp from the crowd, " DUMBLEDORE WAS A FOOL!" he roared just as loud, "You talk about Dumbledore as if he were your patron saint, your useful mastermind… tsk." Voldemort raised his wand again and Harry's hand tightened around his, "Let me guess, he revealed all his secrets to you? He sat down and revealed everything about me, about my childhood, about you and your parents, about the wand, the Deathly Hollows... or perhaps ... or perhaps is it accurate to say that you had to find out his plans on your own, the hardest possible way?"

Hermione saw Harry waver for a moment, his forehead frowning in a questioning expression, his confidence dissipating slightly. She knew how he had felt about Dumbledore in the past months, what surprised her was that Voldemort seemed to know too. Was this something he had seen while accessing Harry's mind? Was he trying to distract him? Buy some time?

"What are you saying, Riddle?"

"Oh, Potter, you see, there are things that Dumbledore has conveniently omitted, things that he hasn't told you and oh, to my great joy, there are things that the crazy old man didn't even know. It would be worth bringing him back from hell, only to see his face at the end of this story."

"You're just ranting, Riddle, drop the wand and give up."

"It's too late for that, Potter, try to keep up, boy." Voldemort snapped viciously and they resumed their circles, "But before we finish our little adventure, let me tell you,", again the feeling that the end was nearing made the air tense, Hermione could hardly breathe, her heart pounded heavily in her chest and her hand was convulsively tightening around her wand, Voldemort's eyes seemed to look for something in the crowd and stopped in hers for just a second, he winked at her before returning to face Harry.

Had Lord Voldemort just winked at her? Hermione gulped and frowned, was she imagining things? Was she losing her marbles altogether or simply exhausted?

"Whatever Dumbledore told you about me, it wasn't accurate. He's not the one who knew me best and maybe, maybe it's even his fault that your life has been so miserable, Potter. He has dazed you with his stories about love, but what do you know about love? What did he know? Did you know that Dumbledore loved a mad criminal who almost overturned the Statute of Secrecy? Did you know he locked the love of his life in a cell and he didn't even flinch when I wiped said love of his life out of existence?"

"It's odd that you would want to talk about love."

"Is it, boy? I guess you think you hold the universal definition of the word then, just like dear Dumbledore thought."

"Love is a power you can't understand Riddle, and I believe I proved that to you tonight. You've never been loved and you don't get it, you…"

"You think you know everything." Hissed Voldemort cutting Harry short, his tone had gotten low and dangerous and Hermione had to strain her ear to distinguish the words, for a moment there she thought they were about to switch to Parseltongue, "What do you know about who loved me and who didn't? What do you know about me?" there was something like fire burning behind Riddle's eyes and it felt odd, as if he was restraining himself from saying something else altogether.

Harry seemed to be short on arguments, but he regained his words after a few attempts ending in stammers.

"You were conceived with a love potion, you grew up alone ... an orphan..."

"So did you."

"My parents loved me, they loved me enough to give their lives for me. My friends, they love me and I love them, which is how I managed to protect them tonight, and vice-versa."

"Friends…" Voldemort seemed amused by an inside joke that no one else could get.

"Whatever!" Harry exploded, visibly strained after the events of the night. The boy had died and then risen from the dead, he had gone through FiendFyre, Horcruxes, the death of several loved ones, Hermione couldn't really blame him from being anxious to end this madness, she believed they all were by now, "This has nothing to do with ..."

"Oh this has everything to do with, but you don't get to see it just yet!"

Harry was shaking in rage, ready to hit now.

Voldemort took one last glance around, Hermione found herself wishing he'd look in her direction once more just so she could confirm him doing it the first time too, instead, she saw him nodding almost imperceptibly to a Death Eater in the front row, perhaps Rookwood?

Each of Hermione's muscles strained immediately in anticipation, but the Death Eater did not move and a moment later Voldemort was speaking again, demanding everyone's attention.

"Raise your wand, boy, and may the best or the fastest win, let's get it over with this prophecy. Mark my words though: tomorrow... tomorrow my victory will be final, and I will live, Potter, don't fool yourself thinking that things could be different, this story has a much older beginning than you."

"You won't survive, unless you drop the wand Riddle. We've gotten rid of your Horcruxes… your tale of horror and distruction ends tonight, whether you like it or not."

Voldemort simply shrugged. Shrugged. He looked almost human while doing so.

A red glow suddenly exploded across the enchanted sky of the Great Hall as dawn appeared on the windowsills.

The light hit the two men in the center of the room simultaneously. Hermione raised a hand to block the glow of dawn from blinding her.

"Avada Kedavra"

"Expelliarmus"

And that was it.

The Elder Wand flew high as the one who had held it up to a moment ago fell backwards and crashed on the cold stone floor.

Harry stood with two wands in his hand looking at the empty shell of the monster that had haunted him for a lifetime.

Evil himself died before them, with the same banality as a pigeon crashing into the glass of a skyscraper. It was almost disappointing.

And then hell broke loose around them.

Hermione was pushed back by Slughorn, whom she hadn't noticed standing right next to her, just in time to avoid the red flash of a passing hex.

The battle between the winners and the losers began to rage with renewed fury, a second later Hermione was disarming Macnair, alongside her, Ron and Molly were dueling with Selwyn.

"Granger! Down!" Hermione crouched, dodging the club of a huge troll by the skin of her teeth. The club ended up hitting a werewolf that hadn't been as fast.

"They are running away! Don't let them escape!" Shacklebolt shouted trying to overcome the screams of battle and the crackling of spells.

"'Mione!" Harry appeared next to her out of nowhere, still holding two wands in his hands, still clearly shocked by the death of his nemesis. Hermione felt her heart squeeze with a thousand different feelings.

"Harry! You did it!" Hermione screamed, squeezing Harry quickly before returning to focus on the crowd around them, Voldemort might have died but the battle was apparently far from over, to the great dismay of each of Hermione's aching muscle.

A chilling scream made both their heads snap towards the Entrance Hall. Hermione gasped out loud, Harry growled then they both sprang towards Greyback, who was dragging Professor Trelawney into the park.

As they both crossed the front door Rookwood passed them by, running towards the Black Forest, followed by Professor McGonagall, who was bleeding profusely from a gash on her forehead.

"Go, Mione, go! I have Greyback!" Without another word Hermione bolted in the opposite direction to Harry, following the professor instead.

Hermione ran as fast as she could and quickly caught up with McGonegall, her lungs burned and her muscles were driven by the sheer hope that all this would end soon.

Rookwood crossed the edge of the forest disappearing from view, McGonegall followed him a moment later and Hermione was right behind her, but as soon as she crossed the first line of trees she came to an alt.

For a moment the three stood still in the small clearing where Rookwood had stopped and turned to face his pursuers, all three were panting loudly and held their wands pointed in front of them.

"He's dead, Rookwood, You-know-who is dead. Drop your wand and surrender." Hermione intimated, regaining her breath before the others. Rookwood made no sign of wanting to follow the order but looked to the older woman as weighing up the threat she might pose.

Following Rookwood's gaze, Hermione quickly peeked at McGonagall, the woman was pale and the blood kept dripping from her forehead, soaking her dark cloak. Her wand was pointed but aimed slightly too low to pose a real threat. She would have missed the shot.

"Well, well, if it's not our Golden Girl." Rookwood then said, evidently listing McGonegall as a minor problem, and giving full attention to Hermione.

"I have something for you, Golden Girl, a present if you will." He mused.

"If that's a threat, you better pray that your curse will strike me on first try because I'm not in the mood to play..."

But Hermione winced, giving away how frightened she actually was, when Rookwood raised his free hand to show her its empty palm before proceeding to the inside pocket of his cloak. Rookwood grinned.

"Tense are we?" he snarled.

"Stop where you are!" McGonegall hissed, but Rookwood ignored her completely.

"She said stay!" Hermione shouted, but the man already had his hand in his pocket and she hadn't struck him.

"Or what? You'll kill me? I saw you throwing Expelliarmus and stunners while your friends fell in the battle... not exactly a killer, are you?" he snorted, Hermione was literally trembling with tension, her eyes kept bouncing from McGonegall, standing barely still a few steps away from her, to Rookwood's hand, sunk in his cloak, "Honestly, I wonder what's so special about you ... but it's not for me to say." he continued, then he pulled out his hand, holding it up closed in a fist.

"What is that? Mrs. Granger, run..." McGonegall murmured shaking her head to keep the blood away from her eyes. But Hermione's focus was on Rookwood's grin.

Did all this have anything to do with the sign that Rookwood and Voldemort had exchanged moments before the end? As if seeing the question behind her eyes, Rookwood's grin widened. Was this a trap? Had he lured her in the woods? Why? Why her?

Rookwood's fist hatched only slightly and a small object came down, unrolling from a long chain of gold and dangling between them.

"NO!" McGonegall probably intended to scream, but her voice came out in a strangled whisper. Hermione's mouth went dry instantly when her eyes focused on the nature of the dangling pendant in front of her.

"You can't ... Rookwood, you can't! Listen to me, it's over, don't..." Hermione stammered in agitation but was interrupted by the hoarse laugh of the man dressed in black.

"You can't, you can't, listen to me," he mocked, "Hush, girl, I have orders to follow."

"Is that what he ordered you? Is that why he gave you that signal? Did He know you would lose and gave you a Time-Turner? You can't go back and save him, Rookwood, I won't let you do it."

"Where did you get that? They were all destroyed that night ..." McGonegall asked in a choked tone, eyes wide and glued to the small and extremely dangerous item.

"My Lord gave it to me." The man shrugged, "One of ours saved it before you could destroy the rest of them in the Department of Mysteries. A very special piece, indeed…"

Hermione knew she had to hit before the man could make another move, before he could use the Time-Turner to change the tide of war.

Her lips parted, ready to spit out a spell, any spell that could separate Rookwood from the Time-Turner, but her mind was suddenly blank and her mouth as dry as if she had bitten into a piece of chalk.

Then, suddenly, three things happened so fast that Hermione barely reacted to them.

A red flash hit a point not far from her, Hermione heard McGonegall's body drop to the ground and someone, Avery? Malfoy?, yelled "DO IT NOW."

When she turned to hit Rookwood she found herself being pulled into an awkward hug instead.

Moody's voice screaming "Constant Vigilance" rumbled in her ears for a moment, while she mentally scolded herself for her carelessness.

Hermione frantically struggled to get away from Rookwood but he squeezed her harder against his chest, pressed something into her palm so hard that he punctured the skin and drew blood, and then whispered "Enjoy your stay."

Hermione felt a familiar energy pull fiercely behind her navel, she blinked pushing herself off the Death Eater's chest and landing on her arse.

Without missing a beat, she raised her wand pointing it up, but Rookwood was no longer there, neither he, the other Death Eater nor McGonegall were there.

Hermione was alone, sitting on the ground of the Black Forest, surrounded by total silence.

Part of her knew exactly what she was going to find in her bloody hand, but she still had to look down to fully believe it.

The Time-Turner laid in Hermione's hand, the glass of the small hourglass was shattered in her palm, the pink sand was slipping in the wounds that the glass had caused. At the other end of the gold chain there was what looked like another pendant, one that Hermione had not noticed before, perhaps because that side of the necklace had always remained in Rookwood's hand during their confrontation.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed scrambling back on her feet and turning back towards the school. Had Rookwood gone back with her? Had he already rushed back to the battle? How far back had they travelled? How long did Hermione have to stop Rookwood from intervening in Harry and Voldemort's duel?

Panic pervaded every muscle in Hermione's body, she shove the remains of the Time-Turner in her pocket and started running back towards the castle.

This could not happen, she could not let it happen. Pushed by the purest dread, Hermione broke into the park a few seconds later, surely breaking some record, and she stopped abruptly, analyzing the scene in front of her.

The castle was completely intact, the windows were illuminated from the inside and there was no trace of Voldemort's army on the horizon. The battle had not yet begun. How long before the attack? Hermione began to head toward the castle at a slower pace, trying to trace back the events of that night, to trace back her own movements so as not to run the risk of meeting herself mid-battle.

Her mind raced through the events and she muttered times and places under her breath as she made her way.

"Then the Room of Requirements with Malfoy and… and… the fourth floor… Fred…" she listed, also counting the casualties she might have been able to avoid, on the tip of her fingers.

As she got to the entrance staircase, she instinctively looked at the watch on her wrist, it still showed ten past six in the morning but the hands were now frozen still.

It was safe to say that Rookwood had dragged her back in time at ten past six, it also made sense considering that Voldemort had dropped dead at dawn… but the castle had been attacked before midnight, probably around ten in the evening.

Hermione froze, her jaw dropped.

A Time Turner could not bring a person more than 5 hours back in time, however, even if Hermione had gone back in time the whole 5 hours, she would still have had to find herself in the middle of the battle. Something was not right.

With growing dread, Hermione peered up onto the sky, it didn't seem to be later than seven in the evening.

Swallowing loudly, she ignored her presentiments and hurriedly cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself before entering the castle.

The entrance hall was deserted, there was a relaxed chattering coming from the huge wooden door leading to the Great Hall, where Voldemort's body would lay in just a few hours, Hermione told herself, but even she had trouble believing it by now.

There was something off about the castle that she just couldn't place and that she refused to aknowledge.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard approaching steps and she flattened against a wall and waited.

Finally a couple of girls emerged from a staircase and as soon as Hermione's eyes landed on their obviously vintage-looking uniforms she knew, without a doubt, this was far more than 5 hours into the past. Her head became light and she felt suddenly very dizzy.

When am I? She wondered refusing to faint and fiercely blinking away the dark dots flashing in her field of vision.

The girls chuckled cheerfully and then disappeared into the Great Hall.

When… what year was it? How could she find out without getting caught?

Maybe she would find a newspaper or a calendar in the Gryffindor common room, with that thought in mind, and gripping to any sanity she could appeal to, Hermione moved to the nearest staircase. Before she could even set foot there the sound of a door being closed stopped her dead in her tracks.

A pudgy woman in a familiar white nurse uniform walked out of the infirmary, followed by a short boy, who could have been a second year student top.

To her horror, Hermione confirmed that it wasn't Madam Pomfrey, and that wasn't a good sign at all.

"You're lucky Professor Dumbledore has been summoned to London and the headmaster is busy in France, boy! You could have lost more points than I deducted."

"Oh please, Mrs. Byrne, don't tell the headmaster!" moped the boy.

"We'll see! Stealing brooms from the shed and flying in the middle of a pack of Therstal! I swear that Gryffindor bravery grows more borderline stupidity every year!"

Their voices faded as they entered the Great Hall, leaving Hermione alone again.

Hermione changed her route from the staircase to the infirmary, deciding that it was closer and safer than the Common Room, and that she could use some Dittany for her still bleeding hand while she was at it.

Hermione entered the aseptic, fortunately empty, and familiar-looking room. She was happy to find that generic healing potions and gauzes were still where they used to be, and after hissing in pain at the Dittany's violent healing action, she looked around for a clue on today's date.

"Bingo." Hermione whispered to herself when her gaze fell on an issue of the Evening Prophet, laid open on the nurse's desk. With trembling hands Hermione turned the pages back to the first.

"Come on, Hermione, be brave ... how bad could it be? You fought a war… this… this is nothing compared to war." she convinced herself, then as if stripping a band-aid, she let her gaze land on the date at the top of the front page.

It felt like a slap in the face, or maybe a punch in the stomach. Perhaps both.

The shock knocked the air out of Hermione's lungs and she froze.

May 2, 1931.

Hermione spun on her heels, grasping her throat for air.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her head spun dangerously and she felt sick in her stomach.

1931? How was that even possible? What had gone wrong? This surely could not have been Rookwood's plan ...

A noise from outside reminded her that she could not stay here or she would be discovered and would not have known how to explain her presence, 67 years in the past.

67 years...

Feeling disoriented and out of place despite the absurd familiarity with the castle, Hermione reinforced the Disillusionment Charm on herself with shaky hands and left the infirmary. She tripped over her feet, which were suddenly heavy and uncooperative, multiple times in the process.

"1931… I'm in 1931… 1931." She kept repeating the date as if expecting it to suddenly make sense, while she walked down the corridors in the direction of the closest exit that came to mind, The One-Eyed Witch Passage leading to Honeydukes.

She reached the third floor, trying breathing exercises, focusing on the steps in order to keep her mind from the thought of having been thrown in a distant era, of which she knew very little and in which, she had no allies nor friends. Damn, she wasn't even born yet.

Once she had entered the secret passageway and the witch hump had closed behind her, when Hermione was alone and confident that she could not be seen, she finally succumbed to the despair that was gripping her chest since much earlier than that evening.

Tears began to streak down Hermione's face and she fell to her knees, overwhelmed by all of the pain she had had to endure since she had been on the run with Harry and Ron. Sniffling and screaming shamelessly, she let her frustration wash off of her together with sadness, fright, mourn and a load of negative feelings she had ignored for way too long.

When she felt like she had no more tears to cry, she curled on herself in a corner and kept crying a tear-less cry, sobbing, hiccupping and letting snot run down her chin. She hid her face behind her hands like she used to do when she was a child. Her hands were still stained with Fred Weasley's blood, the same Fred Weasley, she kept reminding herself, who was not yet born according to the calendar.

Hermione fell asleep in the small secret corridor that led to Honeydukes, exhausted, hungry and sad, while thinking of her parents in Australia, about Harry, Ron, Ginny and the others, trying to wrap her head around the thought that, most likely, she would never see her friends again nor celebrate the end of the war with them.

When Hermione woke up it was early in the morning. She spent a couple of minute blinking blankly at her surroundings before remembering where she was... or when.

Deciding that it was not entirely wise to stay in the secret passageway crying herself to death, Hermione cleaned herself up, and transfigured her clothes into something more akin to what she had seen the two girls wearing in the Entrance Hall the previous night.

Once satisfied by the results, she occluded her mind to her most negative feelings and sat gathering her thoughts.

"Okay, Hermione, think…" she murmured, "1931 ... Dumbledore... I could ask Dumbledore's help…" she reasoned, it was a bit risky to get in touch with people she would meet in the future, but Dumbledore seemed like the safest option, probably the only one too.

But Dumbledore was in London, or so had said the nurse.

"Okay, then, contacting Dumbledore slips to number two on my list. I need a different goal..." Because that was how Hermione worked, as long as there was a goal to reach, she could concentrate on that and forget her struggles and sufferings.

This strategy had worked with her school career, as well as for the year spent on the run searching for horcruxes and collecting clues.

Hermione might have been sent to the past for some unclear reason, but she wasn't going to sit there and despair. No.

Hermione Granger didn't sit around. So she resorted to the usual goal-setting method to try to stay afloat in the chaos Rookwood had tried to drown her

By the time she had crawled out of the passageway and sneaked back into Hogsmeade, Hermione had three items on her list of 'to dos' and her mind set on achieving them.

Getting to London, which was both far enough away for her not to run the risk of meeting people whose stories she could compromise, and familiar enough for her to still know how to move around. Get her story straight. Look for Dumbledore and ask his help.

Once in Hogsmeade, Hermione learned from the big clock in the small square of the Three Broomsticks Inn, that it was eight in the morning of May 3rd, 1931, and she also learned by looking around the small village that most of the shops were familiar to her.

Beaming at the notion, Hermione immediately headed towards the perimeter of the village, towards the Hog's Head, determined to use the pub's Floo to reach London, but it was only once she had crossed the threshold of the pub that Hermione realized she hadn't thought of a few possible scenarios.

Behind the counter stood a large man, almost as tall as Hagrid, and with a beard just as shaggy and dark. The man who was certainly not Aberforth Dumbledore, looked at her with a frown.

"I'm… I'm… Hullo." Hermione said shily pulling her skirt down and sliding her wand up her her sleeve.

"Blimey, i dedn't know Dippet was lettin lassies dis far into de vellage..." said a young man popping out from behind the counter with a crate of butterbeers. Hermione almost gasped out loud at his sudden apparition and he seemed satisfied by her reaction because he chuckled darkly.

The man had striking red hair that gave Hermione half a heart attack, but when she got a better look at him, she found that was the only trait that made him vaguely similar to a Weasley, "You can show yooehrself out, lass, 'Ahg's 'Ead is no marriage bar." Added the red-head turning to wink at the tall and silent guy sitting next to him.

"Excuse me?" Hermione stammered, while blinking in confusion at the young man, now storing butterbeers in a bucket of ice.

"Marriage bar, lass! You wahn't find no 'oehsband 'ere, I'm taken you see?" with that, he wriggled his ring finger "And 'Arahld 'ere, 'e's naht de cahmmentment kida lad." He tilted his head toward Harold, who turned out to be the black haired wizard, still silently staring at her.

"Well, what if I'm not looking for a husband, then?" asked Hermione crossing her arms on her chest and looking around for the fireplace, just to make sure the floo station she remembered was still in place. The pub looked only slightly different from its future version, there were fewer tables and it looked like the hygiene standards were lower than what she remembered. All in all, the place was pretty much the same and the Floo was right where she had last seen it.

"Well, bites me, what else would a lass be lookin fahr?" mocked the red-haired man, raising a brow at her and leaning forward on the counter with a mischievous grin. Harold behind him, groaned and apparently lost his interest in their shenanigans, because he went back shuffling a deck of tarot Hermione had failed to notice up until then.

"Anything else, really," said Hermione rolling her eyes. She briefly wondered how would a 1930s woman react to a malicious Irish bartender and guessed that this was probably not it, "A job or further education, that might come more in handy than an husband. Even a piece of bread would be more interesting right now. I, however, was hoping to use your floo network, if that's possible, sir."

"I swear, dese Dippet lassies,'ll end op spensters, all o' dem." Snorted the bartender, and Hermione felt herself breath again when the man shoulder relaxed and he winked at her, "Da floo, is fahr customers only, lass." He added tapping a finger on a greasy sign on the counter and eyeing her from head to toe with an expression that clearly stated 'and you're not a customer'.

"Well," said Hermione instinctively tapping the empty spot where her purse should have been, "But I don't have money on me, though if you'd let me use the…"

"Aye… I see…" Interrupted the man, a smug grin spreading on his thin lips, "dis is where a 'oehsband might 'ave come in 'andy, lass." He laughed at Hermione's pout.

"Or a job really…" muttered Hermione.

"What was dat, sweetie?" laughed the red-head.

"She said she's goin to 'ex your sorry arse if you keep messin wit 'er, Fennegan." Hermione startled and gasped for she hadn't noticed the blonde girl sitting in a far back corner amongst a bunch of jugs that were magically scrubbing themselves clean, until then. The girl smiled at her and Hermione blushed stammering that 'well of course she wasn't going to hex anyone' but she got completely ignored while Finnegan, laughed gleefully at the woman's word.

"ahh! Now, dat sounds more like sahmethin me wife would say!" he said disappearing behind the counter to then reappear with a second crate of beers.

"Then I'd watch me tongue if I were you, I've heard she's a fierce little thing, de wife." The woman raised a warning finger at the man and he made a show of looking around in fear of getting caught.

Hermione's eyes kept going from the man to the woman and she felt a bit left out when they both boasted in laughter.

"Excuse 'im, lass, he's naht de sharpest tool in de shed, me 'oehsband. If I'd known, I'd gotten meself de job or de bread instead too. But I guess it is a bet late fahr me now, isn't?" said the woman patting her swollen belly. Hermione smiled faintly but before she could say anything else the woman was gesturing for her to sit at the table with her, "I'll make you a deal, lass" she said, "keep me cahmpany over breakfast and I'll let you use de floo." Hermione blushed even more and nodded taking a seat at the woman's table and all the while wondering if the one in the woman's belly was going to be Seamus Finnegan's father or uncle.

"Ahye, wife! you'll be de deat o' me!" whined Finnegan already heading to the kitchen, Hermione smiled at him and he grinned and winked again.

"Serves you right, 'oehsband, now fry some eggs for me friends and me." Taunted the woman.

"Friends? Yer don't even know 'er name, yet you're breakin' bread wi' de lass, an' offerin' floo trips!" Scoffed Finnegan from the kitchen.

The woman growled in reply and the leaned in closer to Hermione, "What's your name, lass?" she asked placing one of her small hands over Hermione's.

"Hermione, ma'am," Hermione hesitated, was it safe to use her own name? It was probably safer than pretending to be any other pureblood she had ever known, she wasn't easily going to pass as a Weasley for sure, and it might have only caused more problems, so after a couple of seconds she opted for "Hermione Granger, and thank you so much for helping me, ma'am."

"Oh don't you ma'am me, 'Eermione!" The woman yelled Hermione's name and glanced at the kitchen with an amused smirk on her face, she then patted on Hermione's hand, "It is nice to meet you and of course, women should always 'elp demselves, leave fights and coehnnery to men!" Hermione's smile widened at those words and she found herself relaxing slightly for the first time since she had been thrown back in time.

"Me name is Meabh Finnegan, 'Eermione, call me Meabh."

"Nice to meet you too."

"And who are you running frahm, or to, 'Ermione? Is it perhaps a lover?" Meabh asked with mocking ease, smiling sweetly when Hermione gave her a panicked look, "Aye, lass, you don't 'ave to say if you don't want to. I was just curious to see such a prahper lady like you bargin into de wahrst pub in de vellage and demandin to use de floo..."

"Who said I'm a proper lady?" Asked Hermione, mostly buying time to get her story straight, damning her choice of sitting down to chill with people she barely knew.

"Well, forgive me nosiness 'Eermione, you're wearin dat unifahrm, o' course I'd dink you were a wealthy sahmeone, not everyahne 'as de money to attend Hogwarts, these days." Shrugged Meabh. Right, Hermione had assumed that Hogwarts had always been accessible to anyone, but now that Meabh mentioned it, she had read somewhere that during the Great Depression and other periods of deep poverty, not being able to offer everyone a free education, the school had let in those who could afford it, allowing everyone else to study in their spare time and take exams when work and life allowed them to.

The realization provided her with an excellent alibi.

"Well, I'm afraid it's fairer to say that I WAS a wealthy someone. I'm trying to go back to London and I don't even have the money for the trip now. I learned that my family can no longer pay for my books… I was asked to find a job and help at home." she said then, being careful to appear distraught by her own circumstances.

Meabh seemed to believe her and hurriedly patted Hermione on the shoulder. The smell of fried eggs and buttered potatoes began to spread from the kitchen.

"Oh, me dear, I am very sorry. You will see, things will get better, this drought cannot last forever."

"Did you say you're going to London?" Finnegan asked, returning from the kitchen with a filthy tea towel resting on his shoulder and two steaming plates full of potatoes, eggs and toast.

"I'm trying to." Hermione nodded, feeling her stomach howl and her eyes fill with tears when the man placed one of the plates in front of her, "Thanks, I really… I'm just… thanks." She stammered.

Finnegan blushed a little and leaned against the table next to theirs, where the jugs were still scrubbing themselves.

"Do they even feed you in that school? You look like you could use a meal every now n'then." The man said and it was Hermione's turn to blush. She might have not been a victim of the Great Depression, but she sure looked like one.

Hermione had spent a terrible year and she knew she looked quite the mess, her hair was fuzzy and dull, her skin was dry and pulled barely over her bones, her cheeks were hollow and she had permanent dark circles around her eyes. The only reason Harry and Ron had stopped taunting her about her unkept appearance was that they didn't look any better.

During the last days before the battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had given herself the final blow, surviving off a soluble coffee and candy based diet. There hadn't been much time for cooking and grocery shopping.

Hermione's throat closed in a tight knot as she felt her home sickness strike again. Harry and Ron. Damn she had to avoid thinking about them right now.

Meabh interpreted Hermione's sudden sniffling as her husband's fault.

"Why, does it sooehnd like sahmethin to tell a lady? You oaf!?" she snorted.

"What did I say!?" Yelled Finnegan blushing a darker shade of red and looking more like the Finnegan in Hermione's future than ever.

"Aye, Ignore 'im, 'Eermione, sahmetimes I'm truly cahnfused on what I ever saw in 'im!" Then she stabbed into her food while glaring at her husband, challenging him to say something else.

Finnegan rolled his eyes to the ceiling muttering something about mood swings and women, but was smart enough to change the subject when both Hermione and Meabh's eyes snapped their heads to glare at him.

"I take it you know 'ow to handle London, do you, lass? It's not that safe over dere these days."

Hermione, who had started to nibble on a piece of toast tentatively, not sure about the new limits of her stomach, gave the man a questioning look. Her knowledge of London in the 1930s was indeed very limited and perhaps this would have been an excellent opportunity to know what she should have expected.

"Well," Finnegan shrugged and dragged a stool from under a table dropping on it, "You may 'ave 'eard frahm your parents already, but de situation 'as wahrsened in big cities. People are desperate, ready for anythin for a piece o' bread. Dere are many more Moehggles who 'ave come from de country 'opin to make mahney. De magical neighbahrhoods are very few by now." He sighed.

"When they're not reduced to streets... like Diagahn Alley and Nocturn in Leadenhall Market, and Prime Rose Lane in Soho." Added Meabh with a sad note to her previously cheerful voice. Her husband leaned forward to take her hand and she quickly smiled away her pout.

"There are very few jobs in the city, not that it's all the better here," said Harold, the huge shaggy man behind the counter, who until then had done nothing but shuffle his tarot cards and rearrange them on the sticky surface of the counter, "I would hire you, but we are also trying to sell the business and move out. There aren't many customers around here now that most of the students are gone. Haven't received many offers up until now though." Hermione nodded to the man that she hadn't expected to speak at all.

Secretly she thought that Aberforth would acquire The Hog's Head shortly, she wished she could tell Harold and cheer him up, as he had been kind enough to consider hiring her knowing pretty much nothing about her, but she refrained from revealing more than necessary.

These people were extremely welcoming and kind and she would have found a way to pay them back sooner or later, but she had to stick to her goals for now.

"If your family needs 'elp, dey're likely to send you to work for some Moehggles," Meabh then warned her, "And even if you get a job in Wizarding London, I'm afraid us lassies don't get any 'f de good jobs, nor de well-paid ones, it would 'ave 'elped if you 'ad some brahther."

"I bet it would have, sadly it is just me." Hermione said skewering the potatoes on her plate and swallowing a buttered bite almost moaning to the sensation of the warm food landing in her stomach.

Once they had had breakfast and Hermione had spent a good half hour chatting with Maebh about more cheerful and futile things, she decided it was time to leave. Hermione wished the Finnigans good luck for their baby, thanked Harold to the point of exhaustion for offering her breakfast and letting her use the Floo, and promised that she would return sooner or later to repay their kindness.

With all the pleasantries over, Hermione finally stepped into the fireplace, accepting a handful of floo powder from a bag Harold offered her.

She cleared her throat and then froze with her hand still raised.

What was she supposed to say? Grimmauld Place was not an option. Diagon Alley, maybe… the Ministry? Where would she most likely find Dumbledore? Just as she was counting her odds though, Maebh cut through her train of thoughts.

"What's wrong, lass?" Asked Maebh, "Lost your tongue?".

"Well…" Hermione blushed to the tip of her ears, "You see, I've never travelled back home with the Floo and I'm not quite sure where should I get off to get home…" she half-lied.

"And to dink you were so fierce and cahnfident when you strahlled in 'ere demandin to use de Floo." Finnegan laughed and then hissed loudly when his wife nudged him hard in the ribs.

"Well of course, dear," said Maebh shushing the giggling men in the background, and summoning a large map, "Let see," She muttered flattening the creases on the parchment, "Where do you live in London, 'Eermione? "

"D…" Hermione paused. She couldn't really say Diagon Alley now, could she? It wasn't the wealthiest neighborhood in London but she figured it was still quite exclusive, especially now that magical communities in the city were shrinking.

She hesitated for just a second more while her brain worked quickly through all the books she had ever read and every documentary she had ever watched.

"So?"

Eventually Hermione shook herself and spat out the name of the first street that came to mind, driven both by the notion that at that time the poorest neighborhoods of London were certainly in the East End area, by the insane number of times she he had read Jack The Ripper and from something else in the back of her mind, that at the moment, she could not quite figure out.

"Dorset Street." She blurted out and immediately squeezed her eyes shut in regret. She could hear Ron laughing at her somewhere in the recess of her mind. Why of all places had she picked that one? It wasn't even close to Diagon Alley… Brightest witch my arse, she bitterly thought.

From the worried and then confused look that Meabh gave her, Hermione wondered if she hadn't chosen a street that sounded just too poor for someone who had attended Hogwarts until the day before.

On the other hand, she knew by then, that no one in that room would have asked her more questions about it, the confirmation came when Finnegan shrugged and approached his wife to peek at the map over her shoulder.

"Well, aren't you lucky, lass. Dere's a wizardly bakery a few streets frahm Dahrset dat serves as a poehblic floo station. You can pahp out dere, Soho Bread and Flour at no.12, dat is." Said Finnegan.

"Thank you, I'll do that then." Hermione smiled widely at the three people watching her, then she dropped the floo powder and spelled the address carefully. The world swirled under her feet.

"She dedn't strike as sahmeone frahm Dahrset street." murmured Meabh when Hermione was already too far to hear.

"She dedn't strike as sahmeone frahm this century." Commented Finnegan sliding a hand around his wife and rubbing her belly with the other one.

"The cards said to trust her, regardless of her lies." Shrugged Harold.

"Oh, Harod… you and those bloody tarots!"

Hermione appeared in a cloud of dust and soot inside a small and dirty bakery, at the corner between George St. and Baker St.

To her greatest relief, the owner of the bakery, an old man with eyes veiled by a thick layer of cataract, intent on kneading bread in doubtful hygienic conditions, made no sign of acknowledging her presence, and she did not bother attracting his attention.

After transfiguring her clothes into something similar to what she was already wearing, but rid of the Hogwarts coats of arms, and, after tying the remains of the Time-Turner around her neck, promising herself to study them later, Hermione hurried out of the shop and into the street.

Seeing London in 1931 was one of the most absurd experiences Hermione had ever had. The roads were about the same but looked completely different at the same time. The people rushing up and down the streets in that neighborhood were mostly very poor and some glanced curiously at Hermione, who was not wearing anything fancy but was still too well-dressed compared to her surroundings.

Hermione watched a small group of women hurrying towards a small shop, all wearing patterned clothes, obtained from what appeared to be feed sack materials, given the stitching and the heavy canvas texture of the fabrics.

A small group of children were playing unsupervised on a street corner and asking for money to passersby. They were dirty and all dressed in identical overalls, which Hermione found quite odd. Some of them did not have shoes while others lacked teeth instead, all of them looked way older than they should have.

Hermione moved through Baker St. very quickly, with no real destination in mind except a quiet place where she could change her clothes into something that would be even less noticeable before making her way to Diagon Alley, which was all the way to the other side of town.

Maybe she could even apparate and save herself some of the effort, if her surroundings would have allowed it.

She turned into a side alley that seemed rather deserted and walked at a brisk pace, holding her wand tightly between her fingers and vowing to deliver a piece of her mind to Rookwood for getting her into this absurd situation if she'd ever managed to get back.

What did the Death Eater have in mind? Why send her so far back in time? And why do it when the battle was already lost?

Unless this had been a huge mistake ... unless Rookwood had really intended to just go back a few hours himself, and save his Lord from death.

How was it even possible to travel back this far with a Time-Turner?

And why had Rookwood whispered those words to her? "Enjoy your stay." That surely didn't sound as him sending her back by mistake.

Hermione pursed her lips in a thin line as the events of the day before poured into her mind, crowding it with theories, ifs and buts.

The alley ended in a run-down iron gate at which Hermione came to a stop. She looked around to check that no one could see her as she changed her clothes once again, wondering how long the fabric would hold up to her alterations before tearing for good. But before she could do much more than point the wand, her eyes landed on the sign that hung half detached from the iron gate.

Hermione's heart shot into her throat, her breath was cut off and she staggered back, leaning against a filthy brick wall.

Wool's Orphanage, she read incredulously several times, with huge and frightened eyes.

This couldn't be. It just couldn't.

Hermione tuned out from her surroundings, her eyes kept sliding along the sign, her heart started racing in her chest at unprecedented speed and she felt like her breakfast was trying to make a comeback.

The conversation she had had with Harry and Ron one evening started buzzing in her brain and she felt like an idiot for not remembering those words before.

"The result of a love potion ... well no wonder he is incapable of certain feelings."

"Yes that, and maybe the Orphanage where he grew up has something to do with it, in Dumbledore's memories it didn't look like a particularly happy place..." Harry said with a shrug, folding the empty packet of crisps that had been their dinner.

"Sure, what did you say it was called?" Ron asked, sliding the horcrux into the collar of his shirt and out of sight.

"Wool's Orphanage, I think it was in a fairly infamous neighborhood, the surroundings were not promising, perhaps near ..."

"Dorset Street." Hermione murmured covering her mouth with one hand and gulping down not to gag. What a fucking fool she had been. Of course Dorset Street sounded so familiar. That's where Voldemort had grown up.

Voldemort who was not yet dead. Voldemort who was not even Voldemort yet, but Tom Riddle. An orphan of about, what? 5? A five years old boy at most. Not the most powerful dark wizard of all times.

A child and not a soul-split monster.

Hermione's mind raced fast between thoughts.

Was that why Rookwood had sent her back? To kill Riddle before he became Voldemort? Why exactly in 1931? Why her? How did he know she would end up finding him? Did Hermione seem like someone willing to kill a child? There were surely more motivated people that night on the battle field... Why should Rookwood have had an interest in eliminating the Dark Lord?

Maybe he thought that if Voldemort had never been, well, Voldemort, then even the Death Eaters would have had a chance at a more normal life? Was this what a Death Eater could wish for? But 'I have orders to follow', Rookwood had said ... what orders? Whose?

Could she really kill Voldemort ahead of time? Could the past really be changed? What would have been the consequences for Hermione's future? They certainly would have been catastrophic ... but what if they would have been still less catastrophic than Voldemort's actual ascent as she knew it? What if this could be a chance to give Harry a normal life ... to save Lily and James Potter, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody, Dumbledore, Dobby ... all those who had been affected by the horrors of war, including herself.

Her head was bursting and the number of questions kept growing, she was so distracted by her own shock that she was taken by surprise when a childish voice with a strong cockney accent cut through her thoughts.

"Mrs. Cole said thet eff'n she finds t'other whore out hyar, she will let Mr. Wool take care of it, an 'thet it won't be pleasant."

It took her a moment to realize that the voice came from a bony kid who stood barefoot among some garbage bins. The boy had light eyes and blond hair that were cut very short and badly. He wore overalls identical to what Hermione had seen on the children who played in Baker Street just before, and like them, his expression made him look way older than he was.

Orphans. That's why they all wore the same uniform.

"What?" She asked pulling herself up along the brick wall she had collapsed on.

"Yor a whore, right, ain't yer, guv? Mrs. Cole said she don't want yer workin 'near the bloomin' gates." he repeated the message, as if there was nothing more normal than using such language at that age.

"Well, I'll let you know I'm not a… well a prostitute."

"That's wot evry 'oore says." the boy grinned a toothless grin, then before Hermione could do anything but open and close her mouth producing only a faint outraged sound, he ran past the gate and towards the orphanage without giving her a second look.

Few seconds after the boy had crossed the threshold of the building, an austere-looking woman appeared in his place.

What a little snitch, Hermione thought, patting the creases out of her clothes in the hope of looking less shabby and hiding her wand, as the woman advanced threateningly towards the gate.

The woman, whom Hermione imagined to be Mrs. Cole, came to a stop and gave her a head-to-toe look.

"You don't look like a whore." Well, thank you very much, Hermione thought, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I'm not, just like I told the boy."

"You're too old to be an orphan, and to poor to adopt one of these... Are you here for a mistress? Or for Martha's job?" Mrs. Cole was proving to be a very practical woman, and in those days, Hermione could understand why.

"I'm afraid no one sends me, Madam." Said Hermione.

"Then it must be for the job, come inside, and close the gate. Hurry up, I don't have all day." With those words Mrs. Cole, or the one who Hermione believed to be Mrs. Cole since the woman had not deemed it necessary to introduce herself, returned to the building at a brisk pace, leaving Hermione gaping at the half-closed gate.

She was at a crossroads.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and then back to the front.

She could go away, find a job elsewhere, use the money to contact Dumbledore and study a way to get back to her own time, without intruding into history... or she could enter the orphanage and try to guess if Rookwood had sent her there with a specific purpose, attempt to change the lives of almost everyone she knew in the future, including herself, if that was even possible.

What to do?

Hermione took a step back. What did she think she could do? Kill Riddle, just like that? Kill a child in cold blood? Was she really even considering… she should have ran away. She shouldn't have left Hogwarts in the first place… she could probably find a way back and live in the Room of Requirements until Dumbledore was back… In fact why hadn't she thought of it sooner?

"Are you coming in or not?" Hermione started, Mrs. Cole's head was peeking out the door with a scowl. The blonde boy came out of the building and ran past Hermione pushing her out of his way uncerimoniously and disappearing down the alley and into the main street.

"SO?"

"Coming." Hermione hurried to enter and close the gate behind her.

The orphanage was in better condition than what Hermione had expected. The building was old and quite dilapidated on the outside, but the interior was clean and tidy enough all things considered.

"I am Mrs. Cole, you are?"

"Granger, Hermione Granger." Hermione said following Mrs. Cole past a small entrance into a large dining room.

"How old are you, Mrs. Granger?"

"Seventeen"

"Spinster?" Hermione blinked a few times before the question could make sense to her. Then she made a non-committal sound, which Mrs. Cole had to interpret as a yes, because she gave her a quick encouraging pat on the shoulder before guiding her into the large room.

In the center of the room was a long solid wooden table and an indefinite number of mismatched chairs were lined around it. There was an unlit fireplace and above it the only picture in the room, a portrait of a plump lady with a hideous little dog in her lap.

"This is the dining room, the children set and clear the table by themselves but the little ones must be looked after during meals," said Mrs. Cole, moving quickly towards a wooden door beyond which Hermione discovered there was a small kitchen.

"Mr. Wool and the cook take care of the kitchen, but you may have to prepare a meal from time to time, in that case, always remember to close everything with padlocks, these bloody children devour everything they find unattended, worse than locusts if you are not careful, a plague, I tell you. "

Hermione frowned at the woman's words, the children she had seen in Baker street were so visibly undernourished that she certainly could not blame them for trying to steal an extra ration on the first occasion, but she refrained from voicing her thoughts.

"The bathroom," said Mrs. Cole opening another door along the narrow corridor where she had led Hermione; Hermione peeked into the room, there was only the essentials, a sink, a toilet and a bathtub full of wooden basins, "We wash them once a day, in the evening, the more children you can wring in the tub, the sooner you'll be done. The little ones can play in the basins, and for the love of God, cut their hair weekly over the summer. We had our experience with lice and I don't intend to repeat it. " added Mrs. Cole hastily, instinctively running a hand through her hair.

"How many children are there exactly?" Hermione asked, following Mrs. Cole out of the bathroom and nodding when the woman pointed a finger at a closed door murmuring 'Mr. Wool's room' and then another saying 'my room'.

"There are nine at the moment, seven boys and two girls." Mrs. Cole then said, leading the way over a flight of stairs, "This is the boy's room," the woman opened the door on a rectangular room, with a large window overlooking the courtyard and the entrance gate.

Twelve beds were tucked along the wall, seven of which had been visibly slept in, the others were lacking sheets, and their lumpy mattresses laid turned on their sides. The room did not smell as bad as it could have but there was a faint scent of sweat, dirty socks and crayons.

"The beds need to be beaten and made, you can start here. The girls sleep in the bedroom on the other side of the corridor but they are old enough to make their own beds." Hermione nodded, wondering which of those seven beds was the one that housed the one who would exterminate half the people she knew in the future.

"Before you start cleaning, I'll show you to your room. Well it's still Martha's room but when she comes back from the market, I'll give her the news and she'll clean it up for you tonight."

"Martha… is leaving?" Hermione asked, following the woman towards the last room, a square space with a bed, a desk and a large chest of drawers to which she nodded in appreciation.

"She has found employment in a factory, working hours are longer but wages are better than what we could offer." Shrugged Mrs. Cole.

"And how much could you offer?" Hermione asked.

At these words Mrs. Cole tensed slightly, as if until then it hadn't occurred to her that Hermione might have had a bad salary, she pursed her lips in a thin line and looked at Hermione for a long moment.

"£ 0.19 a day, no more, if you're not interested you can say it right away, although I doubt that you would find better these days."

"Well, Martha has found something better." Mrs. Cole held Hermione's gaze, a dark shadow on her stiff features, "I'll accept, if I can have a small sum in advance to buy a change of clothes." There was no need to inform Mrs. Cole about the real purpose for those money, which Hermione hoped to use to contact Dumbledore.

"Very well, you can start making the boys' beds, then sweep the stairs and clean the windows. By then Martha will be back and you'll go and collect the children from Baker Street together, that is where they spend most of the day when no one has use for them."

"Use?" Asked Hermione with a confused frown. Mrs. Cole looked at her as if wondering if she weren't maybe a bit slow.

"Use… yes. They work here and there, make themselves useful, life is expensive, Mrs. Granger. Anyhow, Martha will guide you throughout the day. I will parry with Mr. Wool to ask him for the money up front. But I can't promise you anything."

With that, Mrs. Cole disappeared downstairs leaving Hermione alone in Martha's room, which was apparently going to be hers by evening. What was she getting herself into?

Cleaning the boys' room and the windows upstairs took Hermione a little over a minute thanks to a couple of charms she had learned from Mrs. Weasley, but Hermione spent an extra half an hour staring out the window and trying to figure out what she would have told Dumbledore.

Meanwhile, she felt anxiety and anticipation grow heavy in her chest.

Soon, she would meet the children and find herself face to face with the Dark Lord in the making. She knew it was silly, but she kept imagining a pale boy with a snake face and big ruby-red eyes. The thought had her trembling. How odd would it be to see Tom Riddle alive again? Only the day before Hermione had seen his corpse hit the stone floor of the Great Hall.

When Hermione finished sweeping the stairs an hour later, a job she had had to do without the help of her wand, Martha had not yet returned and Mrs. Cole was nowhere to be found. Hermione went to sit on the stairs outside the orphanage waiting for either one of the women to show up.

She sat down on the first step, looking at the desolate landscape around her. The air reeked of the garbage rotting under the morning sun right outside the gate. She could see women walking up and down the street outside the alley that led to the orphanage and imagined those were the prostitutes that Mrs. Cole wanted to keep away from the property. Not the perfect spot for an Orphanage really.

Suddenly reminded of something, Hermione pulled out the Time Turner from under her shirt and stared at the broken piece in her palm.

Had Rookwood modified it? Had Voldemort modified it? Was she really going to try and change history? Hermione let her finger pull at the golden chain around her neck until the other pendant, the one Rookwood hadn't allowed her to see, slid in her palm. She looked at the round smooth charm and let her thumb brush over its surface.

Hermione gasped when words started appearing, finely engraved in the gold.

The greatest victory over death will be life - Forever yours - L.M.

Hermione read the words over and over, afraid that they'd vanish, which they did after a while, only to appear again when she ran her thumb over the charm once more.

L.M. Who was this L.M.?

Lucius Malfoy? The name fit, but it made little sense. Hermione frowned at the words. What did this mean?

"Yer must be the new 'elp! Oi!" Hermione sprung up from where she was sitting, immediately stuffing the Time-Turner back into the collar of her shirt. Her eyes landed on a cheerful looking girl that couldn't have been much older than her, she wore a peach-colored dress that had seen better days, she had a canvas bag hung on one arm and the blond and bony child that Hermione had seen that morning, wrapped around the other, which explained how the woman knew who Hermione was and why was she there.

"I am indeed. Hermione Granger, you must be Martha then?" The girl shook the child off her arm and smiled brightly at Hermione.

"The one and only! I believe this one owes yer an apology, almost scared yer oray this mornin'. How did yer even fink she could be a 'oore, Dennis? Such a yung not so bad lady she is! Right!"

The boy shrug and gave Hermione a defiant glance before looking away offering a reluctant apology and dodging Martha's hand when it came down to strike his head.

"A scoundrel that one is, truly. Yer better wotch out wen it comes ter Dennis Bishop, especially if 'e teams up wiv Billy Stubbs." Said Martha shaking her head and watching as the boy run past the gate and back to the main street cussing loudly.

Hermione made a mental note to do just as Martha suggested and quickly memorized the boy's name, it sounded awfully familiar.

"I believe Mrs. Cole 'as shown yer the house, init? Let me put the grocery dahn, and I'll show yer 'ow ter handle these tossers. Where are yer from, right, Hermione? I can't place yor accent." Martha led the way to the kitchen and started unloading the groceries, mostly canned goods, potatoes and bread, a small sack of flour and eggs.

Hermione fidgeted under the threshold, studying Martha's movements, growing more and more anxious as the moment to meet the children approached.

"Surrey countryside." Hermione murmured blending the words together and quickly changing the subject, "Mrs. Cole said you're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed." Smiled Martha, "Yer came just at the bloody right time, I would 'ave left in two days but I'll 'appily leave yer me room tonight." Hermione nodded.

"Mrs. Cole also said the children are out most of the morning, but didn't mention the activities for the rest of the day." She added.

"Oh yes, Mrs. Cole barely knows wot we do all day, she spends most of 'ers in 'er room," Martha looked around cautiously, then mimicked the action of drinking from a glass and repeated the action several times rolling her blue eyes to the ceiling, Hermione nodded in understanding, "The children go out ter work in the mornin', allright. The wee ones 'ardly leave Baker Street all day. Pick up the ones yer find nearby by lunch. The bleedin' cook will feed them and yorself. After lunch the older ones go hammer and tack to work, the yunger ones stay 'ere and learn ter read and count. Late afternoon the priest passes by for mass and ter test their readin' and countin'. In the bleedin' evenin' they must be washed, fed and put ter bed."

"And what does Mr. Wool do?" Hermione asked as she watched Martha checking that all the kitchen padlocks were properly locked. The girl trembled slightly at the mention of Mr. Wool.

"He shouldn't be a problem if yer keep oray. Just do not stand in 'is way, right, wotever 'e might do ter discipline the children. Do not talk back eever, he 'ates it, init? If they wee ones give yer Barney Rubbles, just mention Guvnor Wool and yer will spot that even the most indomitable of them brats will listen ter yer. But, Hermione, right, if it's not strictly necessary, avoid involvin' Guvnor Wool ... avoid 'im. Right." Hermione took a while to read through the girl strong accent and odd rhyming, but the meaning of Martha's words was all in all clear: keep away from Mr. Wool.

Hermione nodded, thinking that she probably wasn't going to stay in this bloody depressing place long enough to have to worry about Mr. Wool.

"Well then, right, before the cook gets 'ere and starts rumbling' at us, let's go and find them wee pests." Said Martha locking the kitchen with a practical move and leading the way back outside and into the street.

They retraced the stretch of road that Hermione had traveled that morning, and by the time they reached the small group of children Hermione had noticed in the morning, her heart was bursting into her chest and she could barely keep up with Martha's monologue on how handle this or that child.

"Is this' ow yer work, then, guv? Yer gits! Struth!" Martha's words were followed by a series of youthful squeals, while the children scampered towards them, studying Hermione with curious glances.

Hermione looked at them one by one wondering if she would be able to recognize HIM before someone introduced him, but none of their faces rang a bell.

"Fa is th 'lass?" asked a girl whose Scottish accent would have been a real challenge for Hermione.

"She will take care of yer wen I'm gone tomorrow. So introduce yorself, right, and try ter make a good first impression! Honest guv!" Martha announced pulling the girl to herself and violently buttoning the collar of the shirt under her overalls, as if to emphasize the concept.

"Aam Olivia Bruce." the girl said then, holding her glare on Martha, intent on arranging her dress and yanking the poor child left and right in the process. Olivia could not have been more than 10 years old but Hermione wouldn't have known the exact age because, apparently, Olivia didn't know either. All the girl knew was that she 'hadn't bled yet' which caused Hermione to blush faintly and the boys to roll their eyes and nudge each other's in the ribs.

Behind Olivia stood the blonde boy that Hermione knew to be Dennis. He confirmed it by offering her his name and then turned to the next in line with a grin. Hermione discovered that the next boy was the infamous Billy Stubbs, a black-haired boy with small, dark eyes, and a flattened face.

He immediately gave Hermione the impression of a more dull and shabby version of Pansy Parkinson, but she smiled anyway when the boy grinned his name in her face and then whispered something to Dennis that made them both laugh and bought him a slap from Martha.

Dennis and Billy were both 11, Martha told her, as if it were one more reason to keep an eye on them.

At that point the second girl came forward, holding the hand of a much younger child, who could hardly have been 3 years old. The girl introduced herself as Amy Benson and then introduced the youngest as Eric Whalley. Amy was a tall, thin girl with a face full of freckles and brown straight hair that barely touched her shoulders.

She wasn't exactly beautiful but there was something about her that caught the eye. Hermione told herself to pay attention to her, although Amy had posed herself as kind and almost saccharine in the way she handled Eric, there was something behind her eyes that Hermione didn't want to take too lightly.

The last child to approach made Hermione's heart backflip in her chest as she thought for a moment that it was you-know-who himself. Despite fitting the description of Riddle that Harry had given her, light eyes and dark hair, the boy introduced himself as Charles Evans, and although he seemed much younger, he said he was about 8 years if not more.

"Where are the bloody uvvers then?" asked Martha picking up Eric from Amy's arms ignoring his attempts at reaching Hermione's hair, "Donald and Richard, where are them two right good for nuffink?" Hermione frown when no mention of a Tom Riddle was made, but she didn't say anything, just looked from Martha to the children, who were now exchanging looks.

Finally Billy came forward and provided the answer.

"Donald and Richard are at the baker's shop, they deliver for old Wilson all day today." There was a beat of silence then, the children exchanged another round of odd glances and then looked at Martha silently trying to communicate something with their eyes.

"One is missing." Hermione said then, breaking the silence and looking around and pretending to count the children again.

"And what do you know?" Dennis asked, ignoring Martha's murderous gaze.

"Mrs. Cole said there were nine children, Dennis, I count six, eight with Richard and Donald. So it seems that one is missing, isn't it?" Hermione replied in a firm but gentle tone. Dennis studied her silently with malevolent eyes but said no more, it was Amy who spoke instead.

"Mr. Wool took Tom earlier today." the little girl said, spitting out Tom and Wool's names as fast as possible and adding the rest of the sentence quickly, as if to put distance between herself and the two filthy words.

"Oh." Martha said, a tense note in her voice, "Well, we should loaf of bread back and set the table before we anger the chuffin 'cook and Mrs. Cole, right, let's show' ow good yor to Mrs. Hermione" and with that Martha led the small line of children, with Eric in her arms and Hermione by her side, back toward the alley.

"What does it mean Mr. Wool took him earlier today?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"It means just that. Yer don't ask questions to or about Guvnor Wool, right, Hermione! And Tom usually deserves wot 'e gets, right, believe me. Yer'll see." Martha shrugged dismissing the subject, but Hermione saw the small wrinkle on the girl's forehead and kept wondering if the cause of it was the idea of Tom or that of Mr. Wool.

By dinner time there was still no trace of Tom Riddle nor Mr. Wool and Hermione got so caught up in the daily chores that she quickly forgot all about them. The children were a handful.

She helped with the setting of the table and fed Eric, who had a talent for choking on pretty much anything. He gave Hermione a heart attack when he turned blue choking on the same piece of bread twice. Her genuine fright seemed to amuse the other children who slowly relaxed to her presence.

Later on she witnessed Martha's clumsy attempt to teach numbers and letters to the children, but god bless her, Martha seemed more confused than they were when it came to letters and numbers.

At around six in the evening Father Jones came by. He was a man in his forties with a pestilential breath and hair as greasy and dark as Snape's. The children apparently despised him, enough to stick closer to Hermione despite barely knowing her, even Dennis sat closer to Hermione, leaning slighly towards her for shelter when the priest leaned in too close.

Father Jones recited mass with a boring monotone voice and, when Donald and Richard, two smart-looking red-haired 15-year-old boys, returned to the orphanage, the priest asked everyone some general questions about the bible and then asked them to perform simple additions that the children deliberately took way too long to solve – in the hope, Hermione figured, that the priest wouldn't have time to ask them anything else after.

Hermione was excused from bath time, mainly because the bathroom was already quite crowded without her, so she witnessed the chaos of screams and running children from afar. Martha emerged from the bathroom an hour later with the look of someone who had wrestled a small herd of wild boars and murmuring that she would not miss this job at all come tomorrow.

After a quite crowded dinner, Hermione helped Martha washing dishes, pack her stuff and carry it to the entrance, she then retired to her new room, thanking Martha for her help and then letting the girl say goodbye to the children and to Mrs. Cole, who had emerged from her room brazenly drunk after dinner and had not uttered a word since.

Hermione dozed off curled up on the mattress with the remains of the time-turner splayed on her palm, straining her tired brain to understand what the phrase on the golden pendant could refer to.

It hadn't been long when the sound of creaking stairs outside her room made her sit in bed abruptly. Hermione pulled the wand from her sleeve, where she had kept it hidden all day and approached the door cautiously, trying to peek out from the keyhole but unable to see anything.

Again the stairs creaked and crunched under the weight of someone. Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door, this time with a firm and fast pull.

The corridor was dimly lit by the light of the moon filtering through a window. Hermione stepped out and gasped when she spotted the small figure standing not too far from her.

She was standing in front of a boy with wavy black hair and a diaphanous skin that resembled that of a porcelain doll. Such white and delicate skin that it seemed to sparkle in the dark, framing two frightened and at the same time threatening blue eyes.

Hermione's eyes widened as she found out that yes, she would have recognized Tom Marvolo Riddle at first sight. He was the most beautiful child she had ever laid eyes on, beautiful and oddly scary at the same time. His features were too perfect, too regular, it was all too much.

Tom, who had stopped with one foot on one step and the other on the one below, hurried up the stairs and leaned against the corridor wall, holding Hermione gaze without saying a word.

His was not a defiant glance, Hermione noted as her eyes strayed in his, looking for a red spark that just wasn't there.

Tom was acting rather warily.

To access the boys' room, the boy would have to turn his back on Hermione, who right now, was an unknown woman standing in a dark corridor, staring at him with huge eyes and armed with an odd stick. It was clear that Tom would not allow himself such weakness.

Somewhere in Hermione's mind flashed the thought that a normal five year old wouldn't be so cautious, which meant, he was either naturally overly cautious or had had to learn from experience.

His attentive and deep eyes studied every freckle on Hermione's nose, his small full lips remained tightly closed and he leaned his back against the wall keeping his hands behind his back and his head high.

Hermione blinked rapidly as the faces of the people she had seen die at the hands of that beautiful child flashed behind her eyes. That very child, who looked just like a doll, who now seemed to have nothing in common with the pale and serpentine monster that she had learned to hate, and would inevitably evolve into him.

Why was Hermione here? Enjoy your stay.

It was a split second decision, Fred's bloody face flashed in her mind together with Ginny's shattered expression, Harry's sweaty and scarred forehead, her bloodstained hands that morning ... Hermione leaned forward lightning quick. She grabbed Tom Riddle by the collar of his shirt and tugged him violently into her room, closing the door and slamming his small shoulders against it.

Tom made a surprised sound when she yanked him, but didn't move when she dropped her wand on the ground and clasped her hands around his throat, squeezing harder and harder.

Sirius falling behind the veil, Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix on the carpet in the living room of Malfoy Manor, the horrified face of Draco Malfoy, Dobby stabbed to death to fight a war that wasn't even his. All that pain was avoidable.

Hermione squeezed her hands in a deadly grip. Tom's eyes filled with tears, his lips parted and he gasped, but his little hands remained stubbornly soft at his sides. A throaty sound gurgled from the back of Hermione's throat as tears stung her eyes.

The only sound in the room was their gasping and breathing.

She could end it all now. Just like that. It was just that easy.

The Snatchers, Ron splinched in the woods, Dumbledore being killed on the Astronomy tower, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Moody, Tonks, Remus... Teddy Lupin was an orphan and she could have solved that problem too. She just needed to squeeze a little harder.

Tom's face had darkened and his eyes had filled with blood but he looked at her in silence, letting himself die in the hands of a woman he had never seen, with the resignation of a lamb in a slaughterhouse.

He was just a child. A child.

Suddenly Hermione released her grip on his small neck. Trembling violently she pushed herself away from his little body, that slid against the door and on the floor as soon as she let go. Hermione turned on her heels and vomited spectacularly all over herself and the floor.

She could hear the child panting and catch his breath from where he had collapsed on the floor.

Tom Riddle. No. Voldemort. Voldemort. The Dark Lord.

She repeated the name in her mind, over and over, desperately trying to find a way to see the monster he would become, but she couldn't. She couldn't kill him. The realization made her retch once more.

Feeling guilty towards everyone who would have fallen at his hand, Hermione wiped her face with her sleeve and turned to check on him.

Tom was still sitting on the floor, his back against the door, his porcelain neck visibly bruised even in the dark, his defensive eyes were locked in Hermione's and his chest was heaving quickly.

"Are you ... are you ok?" she asked, painfully aware of how stupid it would sound to be to be asked by the same person who had just tried to squeeze life out of him. Hermione took a step towards Tom and finally saw him react, he curled slightly on himself, as a cat who is ready to scratch back. His gaze closed and darkened.

"Sorry I... forgive me, I don't ... I don't know what got into me... " she tried to reach out to touch him, Tom didn't move, but when she touched his cheek he was scortching hot, seething with too much anger for that little body of his.

He turned his face away from her, his nostrils were flaring but his lips were still sealed.

"Tom? You are Tom, yes?" still nothing, Hermione picked up her wand taking advantage of the fact that he was looking elsewhere and slipped it almost completely up her sleeve, leaving just the tip of it out so that it would be easy to quickly grab it.

"Forgive me, Tom, I won't hurt you again. I won't. Can you please, please look at me. Are you hurt?" she took his face with both hands, panicking at his continued silence, wondering if she might have caused him some permanent damage.

"Tom, I'm Hermione, I'm your new caretaker, I will never hurt you again, can you understand me? Are you hurt, Tom?"

Tom finally turned to look at her again, obviously, he had established that she couldn't be trusted, but he probably also wanted out of there and figured answering was his best option.

He hesitated then looked into her worried eyes and simply shook his head no. Hermione deflated and saw him do the same when she backed away from his face and fell on her arse before him.

What did she look like in those horrified eyes right now? Was she any different from what Voldemort looked like in hers?

"Can I leave, now, miss?" He hissed through clenched teeth with a politeness that Hermione hadn't found in any of the other children earlier that day.

Hermione nodded slowly and then stared powerless and disgusted with herself as a 5 years old Tom Riddle, struggled to get back on his feet.

"Tom?" She called back as he reached the door handle. His shoulders stiffened and he turned to face her.

"Obliviate." Hermione exhaled the spell and saw his eyes become empty and distant. She quickly charmed away the bruises on his neck, then she opened the door and led the wobbling boy outside.

Hermione left him facing the door of his room then hurried back into her room, her heart bursting in her chest. Hermione locked the door and slid against it, resting her ear on the wooden surface. Waiting, waiting.

A few second later she heard Tom opening the boys' room door and then lock it again. Hermione released a shuddering breath she didn't know she had been holding and let the tears stream down her face, shaking nervously, crying hysterically untill she finally fell asleep.

I know... I know... it is a Tomione yet Tom is 5 years old. Just to be clear, Hermione won't do anything weird with a 5 years old... absolutely not. What I can say is that the story is supposed to be fairily long and the Romance might not develop immediately but it is there, I promise. Bear with me.

Review. Review.

Does anyone know how Beta Readers works? I was considering the option...