Chapter 11

It had been a long and eventful morning, full of the typical 'hurry up and wait' mentality that befell nearly any place of medicine. The light was bright through the high windows, and Hermione gazed out into the bright blue sky, dotted with little slivers of white clouds. From her vantage point at the far end of the room she could see out three of the narrow windows, her own little slices of the outside world.

The occasional leaf, colored russet or golden yellow floated past on a mild breeze; remind her that Time had not stood still while she had slumbered. Her fingers clutched reflexively at the white sheets that covered her weakened body, wishing that she could be outside in that sunlight. Anywhere but these walls of white screens that closed her in. She had asked that they be left open, her request denied. Apparently people suffering, healing, from Dark Magic needed their rest.

Hermione felt as though she had rested enough for a lifetime. It was like a prison, closing in on her in her solitude. She could distantly hear other student running up and down the halls, the entire world still treading on without her. But how was it possible? Her mind wrestled with the images of the fallen that danced like marionettes behind her eyelids.

The only thing that she had managed to piece together was the elusive identity of the man from her bedside the night before, Tom. Though she had lain awake most of the night pondering it (for it seemed far safer then thinking on any of the alternative whys, what's, and wheres…) the answer hand finally filtered into her foggy mind. The little boy she had seen in her dream, the one who had wanted so badly to be a doctor.

Save for the woman who had attended to her wounds was obviously magical, and entirely indisposed to answer any of her questions. Apparently she would be questioned later in the day, before it was determined weather or not she could be trusted. It was a very small consolation that the woman hadn't seemed pleased by the turn of events at all. Hermione had never taken well to being an invalid, even as a child she had pushed away the though that she was ill. There was simply too much in the world that needed to be done, and she couldn't waste the time lying around being sick.

But in this, she couldn't argue. She had seen first hand the delicate spider web of insidious blackness that laced from her hip and over her stomach. Though the wound from the Sectumsempra had been healed without a trace of a scar, this was the mark of a more vile nature. Hermione shivered, pulling the wool blanket a little higher over her body.

It didn't feel like her body anymore. Thinned by everything she had put it through, her muscles no longer answering her commands as they once had. She looked down at her hands; one still lay over her stomach, as though she could stop that blackness spreading by force of will alone. No, it was the body of someone who was not Hermione Granger; though the Mediwitch had assured her that the feeling was entirely normal.

All she wanted to do was run away.

A voice to the side of her bed dragged her attention away from the slowly moving clouds, visible through the window. Lunch had come and gone, though it mattered little when she had no appetite to keep down food. She had tried, but to her it all tasted like cardboard and ashes. In the end, she had pushed the soup away after barely choking back a few bites.

"Miss Hermione?" The voice repeated, as she turned her face to the vaguely familiar cadence. The face that looked back at her, made her suddenly ill- and glad that she hadn't managed to eat anything. The grey beard and shining blue eyes, the half-moon shaped spectacles that slid a bit down the long nose; so much younger, so much more alive. The twist in her stomach was a physical pain, her breath unable to pass the choking feeling in her throat.

The old Hermione screamed in the back of her mind, joy and relief that was almost palpable. Urging her to reach out to this face from her past, the one thing from this strangeness that she truly recognized. No matter that he was altered from her memory, he was real. The old Hermione plead and screeched with despair as it was pushed back into the box; begged for her to see reason, to have mercy; that nothing good could come of this cold shell. It mattered not, the ironclad defenses slipping into place with frightening speed.

She nodded slightly, her face as impassive as it ever was. No sign of the tormented voice remained to mar the perfection of this façade, self preservation the thriving and overruling emotion. The younger Dumbledore motioned towards the rickety chair still set beside the little hospital bed, as though to ask if he might sit down. Hermione shrugged apathetically, and he sat anyway.

"It's good to see you're awake. I hope you're as comfortable as possible, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." This younger Dumbledore said, eyes a strange blend of searching curiosity and the light hearted sparkle that had been so absent in the final days of his life. Hermione just nodded again not trusting herself entirely to speak; the voice of her own Humanity was still too loud in her mind.

He shifted a little, lifting up the small, red book that Tom had dropped onto the chair the night before. Raising a single grey, quizzical eyebrow, he set it on the bedside table before turning his attention back to the young woman that had been interred in this school- he had been sent to find out how exactly she had come to appear here; despite the fact that apparition was impossible on Hogwarts grounds. It would obviously be harder if she wasn't willing (or able, he supposed) to give him a conclusive answer.

"You can understand, I'm sure, why we would be fascinated to know why a young lady such as yourself would materialize in the middle of our Great Hall, suffering from quite the collection of nasty wounds. Apparition is impossible, so your appearance has been the source for rather a lot of rumors in the staff room. Would you like to explain it to me?" He asked kindly, folding his hands in his lap comfortably.

Hermione let out a little breath that she didn't realize she had been holding. Whatever happened, they were still going to listen to her side of the story before passing judgment. Of course, that brought up the troubling fact that she wasn't entirely sure what her side of the story was. I'm sorry, but I don't have a clue. Probably wouldn't go over very well.

A few moments passed as she turned the facts over in her mind, as fuzzy and indistinct as they were- they were really all she had. Lying would be far too complicated, and the truth a mystery even to her. Honesty then, to the best of her ability, she decided grimly. It wasn't so much the best option, as he lesser of the available evils.

"I don't even know where I am, or what day it is… I wish I could help you, but I don't even think I can help myself right now."

Hermione hated the way her voice cracked on the last syllable. An admission of weakness that she really couldn't afford. She fixed her gaze on the windows, staring out into the endless blue of the sky until she could feel her tension ebbing, and her breathing returning to its usual rhythm. The old Hermione would have been grateful that he had given her those minutes; the new one couldn't bring herself to care.

It was as though the apathy had worked its way into the marrow of her bones, spreading the numbness through every pore of her body until there was nothing left but the malaise. As though the misty Nothing had become a part of her, symbiotically linked to her like a leeching parasite.

"Well that much I can tell you. You are at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it is the 15th of September, 1945. And a Friday, if it makes any difference."

A less composed person would have panicked. A less composed person would have not accepted this truth. A rational person, a sane and balanced person, would have cried or screamed or reacted in some way. Hermione just nodded, swallowing back the flickers of human worry that burned deep in her chest. Something had gone wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

"I don't know how I got here."

"Do you have anyone we should contact? I'm sure your family must be very worried about you."

"No… I don't. I don't have anywhere else to go."

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, leaving her pale as chalk and gripping the sheets tightly between her fingers. What would she do if they turned her out? Where would she go, in this time where she had yet to be born? These walls were the only thing keeping her safe, holding back the tidal waves of memory and while she was here, she could pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Don't worry about that for now; we won't let anything happen, my dear." Dumbledore said with a kindly smile, patting her clenched hands gingerly. Merlin only knew who she was, but he was no cruel monster to throw her out to the mercies. No, he decided at that moment, there must be something we can do.

Tom made his way down the hallways, blocking from his mind any second thoughts and doubts about what he was doing. Dinner had been a rushed affair, under the watchful gaze of Abraxas Malfoy and his goons. They had lost their favorite whipping boy, and it seemed that they were going o have to take a more vested interest in order to get him back under their thumb.

Disgust twisted his stomach, that they could even think for one moment that he was anything less then their superior. No rank would ever keep them from their sport, as Tom curled his nails roughly into the centre of his palms. His worn book bag hitched against the Head Boy pin attached to his robes, thumped once heavily against his knee as he walked.

Not that he felt he needed a better excuse to visit the Infirmary, the woman had his book, and he intended to retrieve it before it got misplaced or swept away by some other student. The hallway was silent as he drew nearer to the double doors, nobody here for the night except the former Snow White. Tom shook his head to dispel the thought- it didn't matter, he would get his book, and never have to bother with her again.

She was alive, and so he had gotten an answer to his curiosity. Experiment done, and there was nothing left to do but tie up loose ends.

What he didn't expect to find when he entered the dimly lit room, was to find Hermione sitting propped up in bed, the little book resting open against her knees. Her face was relaxed, a little smile playing about her pale lips as she read the familiar phrases and passages. Tom stood in the doorway, still as a statue, just watching.

Read me the part about the Tweedles again? Came a little voice, echoing through his memory. He shuddered, clasping his hands tight to his side. His nails leaving little crescent moon shapes in the flesh of his palm, pain enough to drive the unwanted memory back to its rightful and forgotten place. Stepping forward through the doors, a little too quickly across the floor, as if to escape his own mind.

Hermione looked up as he drew nearer, the gently muffled footsteps pulling her away from the chapter she was reading. She noticed that he seemed a little flushed tonight, thought it could have been nothing more then the play of the evening light on his fair skin. Closing the cover carefully, she raised her hand in a silent hello.

"Good evening… I just came to collect my book." He said abruptly, pulling up short beside the no longer surrounded bed. The curtains would be pulled back at lights-out, though for the moment it seemed the Mediwitch had deemed her well enough to have some real light.

"Oh, of course." She said after a pause, looking down at the little red book in her lap. Her thumb moved over the slightly raised title, as a blind person reading the tiny patterns of Braille. It had been so familiar, reading the story was like being a little girl again. Home where things were safe and uncomplicated… Not half a century before she was even born, with almost no idea how she had gotten there.

A slight twist of guilt bothered Tom, as he stood there watching her glance down at the book. For a moment, she looked so small and lost, and for whatever reason he didn't want to think about right now, Tom Riddle didn't want her to feel that way. Not when it was such a simple thing for him to just leave the book with her. A child's tale when you have much more important things you should be focused on.

"No, keep it… I should be studying anyway." He said after a moment. It wasn't as gracious as it could have been, but it was a genuine offer for all it lacked in grace. A sardonic little voice pointed out that he was probably losing his touch. Or perhaps it was just something about this stranger that got under his skin. He deemed in unimportant, and pushed it aside.

"Oh no, it's yours- go ahead." She protested, lifting the book towards him.

"Really, I should be working. It's nothing, you keep it."

"I… What are you studying?" Hermione asked, letting her hand fall limply back to the bedclothes. It ached for her to be so close to the classrooms, that just down the hallway people were learning. And here she was, laid up like some sort of invalid. There was no part of her that was strong enough to lock away her desire to learn, it was more integral then her hope. It could not be denied, least of all by her.

As Tom gingerly took the seat by the bedside, he couldn't help but let a wry little smirk play around his mouth. It wasn't a particularly warm expression, but Hermione thought it suited him better then the stoic solemnity she had seen before now. His movements were enviably graceful, as though he was in perfect control of himself at all times.

Indeed, his practiced front was so effective that she honestly doubted weather or not the nerves she thought she had glimpsed the night before were real. That was all pushed to the back, as he folded his hands loosely in his lap and looked down at her. He didn't seem entirely at ease, but was making the best of it.

"We're working on counter spells, actually…"

- ---

Hey guys! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapters, and here is a bit of actual interaction ) and just for the record, there is a sequel planned for when this is done, if people are still interested!

Ryn, blindfaith, Lilith and Nerys.

Wow guys, only 4 reviews for last chapter… yikes.