Hermione sighed and shut the thick copy of A History of Flying that had been opened before her. She'd just read a passage about how the game of Quidditch evolved, and she'd been struck with a memory of reading that same passage as a third-year student.
'You see, Hermione? Quidditch is historically significant. What do you have to say about the silly little game now?' Ron Weasley had grinned mockingly at Hermione, and she'd stuck her tongue out at him.
'Speaking of Quidditch,' Harry had said, 'I've got practise in ten minutes. Got to run, or I shall be late.'
'We'll put your books away for you, Harry,' Ron had said, and Hermione had nodded in agreement. Harry had smiled warmly down at his friends and thanked them, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the quiet library.
Now, Hermione glanced up to see that the bookshelves looked very much the same as they would fifty years in the future. Hogwarts was, in many ways, an artefact unto itself. Things changed very slowly in the wizarding world, Hermione knew. Indeed, sometimes she forgot that she was in the year 1944, because Hogwarts felt so familiar despite the time shift. The only major tangible difference was the painful absence of Harry and Ron, and the presence of -
"Tom Riddle just walked in," Betty Cattermole hissed across the table to Hermione. The blonde girl spruced her curls and cleared her throat lightly. She sighed and said under her breath, "Oh, he's very handsome, isn't he? He's coming right this way! Look busy."
Hermione turned over her shoulder and saw Tom striding confidently toward their table. As he approached, he locked his eyes onto Hermione's and smoothly pulled his wand from his robe. She panicked for a brief moment, wondering if he was going to hex her for some reason. She hadn't spoken to him in over a week, for things had felt terribly awkward in the wake of their encounter on the bookshelves. As Tom continued walking toward Hermione, he moved his wand in a little circular motion and murmured,
"Eludebas syringa."
Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise as vivdly purple lilacs appeared before Tom. He elegantly took the stems of the flowers from midair and moved them down to his side. Maggie Prewett gasped softly at the sight of the Conjured flowers. Hermione felt her cheeks flush warm with embarrassment and something else as he pulled up at their table.
"Good afternoon Miss Cattermole, Miss Prewett... Hermione." Tom nodded at each of the girls in turn, and Hermione noted the formality with which he greeted Maggie and Betty compared to the first name basis Hermione had been granted. Tom flicked up his eyebrows and said rather distantly, "Lovely day, isn't it? Too lovely, perhaps, for three young ladies to be trapped in the library."
"We've got essays due for History of Magic," Maggie Prewett explained, her voice coming out rushed and too loud. Tom smirked a bit at her and nodded once.
"How studious you all are. Professor Binns will no doubt be extraordinarily appreciative of your efforts."
It was a joke, Hermione realised at once. Professor Binns was a ghost, after all, and never showed the least interest in any student, much less how much work had been put into an assignment. She rolled her eyes up at Tom and said,
"Ha - ha, Tom. Who are the flowers for?" She pinched her lips in a challenging fashion, and Tom glanced down to the lilacs in his hand. He held them up and offered them to Hermione. His face was quite serious as he said,
"They're for you, of course."
Of course. Hermione felt an odd flutter in her stomach as she took the lilac bouquet from Tom's hand. Their fingers brushed against one another when she did, and she thought back to what his fingers had felt like inside her body. She coughed a little, trying to mask the way her cheeks had flushed red, and she mumbled,
"Thank you, Tom. They're lovely."
Betty and Maggie were watching the exchange with rapt attention. Betty, Hermione noticed, looked positively green with envy, whilst Maggie simply looked a bit perplexed.
"Hermione, I wonder if you would honour me by taking a walk about the grounds on this beautiful afternoon."
Tom curled up one side of his mouth as he asked Hermione the question, and she marveled at his lack of insistence. The other times he'd 'invited' her for a walk, he'd been quite pushy about it, but now he was talking about being honoured by her presence. Hermione nodded numbly and said,
"I would like that."
"We'll put your books away for you, Hermione," Maggie Prewett said very quickly, and Hermione looked to see that she and Betty were both flashing her marveled expressions. Hermione nodded and smiled, remembering how she'd offered the same thing to Harry once upon a time. Maggie continued, "I shall bring your work back to Gryffindor Tower. You go! Enjoy yourself."
Hermione murmured her thanks and turned back over her shoulder to see that Tom was holding out a hand to her. Her lips parted in wonder as she took his hand and rose from her chair, bringing the lilac bouquet with her. She expected Tom to release her hand once she'd stood, that he was only helping her up to encourage their departure. But he never let go of her hand, instead pulling her gently toward the doors of the library. Hermione spared one final glance over her shoulder toward Betty and Maggie and saw that they were grinning foolishly at her and nodding their encouragement.
Hermione sighed a little, wondering if Betty and Maggie would be so supportive if they knew what was going to happen to Tom Riddle in the coming decades. She knew full well what was to become of him, but it didn't stop her from holding his hand down the many flights of stairs until they reached the entrance to a courtyard.
Tom guided Hermione to a stone bench and encouraged her to sit down upon it. Hermione did, placing her lilac bouquet carefully upon her lap. Tom sat smoothly beside her and said,
"It truly is beautiful weather today, isn't it?"
"You didn't bring me out here to talk about the sunshine, did you, Tom?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him disbelievingly. He smiled coldly and shook his head.
"No, of course not." Then he lowered his eyes and sighed a little, as if he were trying to figure out what to say. He glanced around them and ensured they were quite alone, and then he raised his dark eyes to meet Hermione's. She shivered at the depth of his gaze and tried not to look away. Tom's voice was steady and detached when he spoke. "At dinner this evening, Headmaster Dippet will announce that Ladon Scamander has gone missing. A search party will almost certainly organised, but they won't find him."
Hermione's blood suddenly went cold in her veins. Her breath and heart seemed to stop, and her skin prickled with fear. She struggled to speak, and when she did, it was with a fiercely trembling whisper.
"What did you do, Tom?"
"What I had to do," he answered, without the slightest hint of remorse. Hermione's eyes burned and she felt abruptly nauseated. She knew full well what Tom Riddle - Voldemort - could and would do to those who had crossed his path. She was not about to sit here and demand to know why he'd apparently killed Ladon Scamander. That wouldn't do any good. And, anyway, she wasn't sure she wanted to know his thought process on the matter. Instead, she licked her bottom lip carefully and asked,
"Will you tell what happened?"
Tom reached to take Hermione's hand in his. She flinched and yanked her hand away, as if she'd been burned by his touch. She was not about to sit on a bench and hold hands with a murderer. Tom watched her recoil, and he sat up straighter before he said,
"I confronted him about the night of the Slug Club party."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Tom," Hermione moaned softly, shaking her head. "I've moved past that incident. Why couldn't you?"
"I saw what he meant to do to you," Tom insisted, and his voice sounded lethal with anger. "I saw it in his mind. Do you doubt my ability to do that?"
"No. Of course I don't." Hermione huffed a bit as she remembered the ease and force with which Tom had wormed his way into her memories.
"He was going to do awful things to you, Hermione, and I could not allow that. He lied to you about being Imperiused so that you would trust him again. He still had terrible plans for you, and he had every intention of carrying them out."
"But why?" Hermione demanded. She frowned as a tear fell stubbornly from her eye, and she swiped it away roughly. "He seemed so kind, so gentle. Charming. I simply can't believe -"
"You are lying, Hermione, to yourself and to me, if you insist that it is impossible for monsters to be charming." Tom seemed very cross then, and Hermione closed her mouth. She knew he was speaking not only of Ladon Scamander but of himself. She shut her eyes for a moment and shook her head.
"So, you confronted him," she prompted. Then, opening her eyes, she shrugged and asked, "And then what?"
"And then," Tom began, through clenched teeth, "I demanded he swear never to speak to you again, much less put a hand upon you. But the fool refused. Not out loud, of course. He lied to me and made his promise - out of fear. But I could see straight through his mind, into his plans, which he had no intention of terminating. There was no other option, Hermione."
Hermione whirled over her shoulder and lowered her head, feeling terribly ill all of a sudden. She actually gagged a bit and feared she would vomit, but she heard Tom mutter,
"Vertigine Terminatur."
Hermione's dizzy nausea abated at once, and she turned back to scowl at Tom. "Please do not try to calm me now, Tom," she said hotly. "I ought to feel ill, you know. Hearing about this."
"I have no desire to see you be sick upon the grass," Tom intoned rather boredly. "Shall I tell you what happened next?"
Hermione gritted her teeth and nodded reluctantly. Tom cleared his throat a bit and said softly, "I did cast the Imperius Curse on him then, to lure him out into the Forbidden Forest. And then there was a green flash of light and Scamander fell to the forest floor. I Vanished his body into nonbeing, so there is nothing to find. He will appear to have simply gone missing."
Hermione's mind whizzed and juddered as she realised something awful. "Hang on," she said quickly, shaking her head in disbelief. "Ladon Scamander was - was supposed to be - the father of Rolf Scamander. He was - would be - a student at Hogwarts with me. If you've killed Ladon Scamander, then how could there be a Rolf?"
"Well, I suppose there won't be a Rolf Scamander," Tom shrugged. "Unless the boy meant something significant -"
"But that isn't the point, Tom!" Hermione nearly shrieked, flying to her feet and beginning to pace anxiously before the bench. The lilac bouquet was flung from her lap onto the grass, and Tom frowned disapprovingly down at the flowers. Hermione clutched at her hair and gasped, "It doesn't matter how 'insignificant' a person is. You've changed the timeline, don't you see? I have a real memory of Ladon Scamander's son Rolf, who wouldn't be born for over thirty years. But you've eraseda person, Tom! Don't you see? By killing Ladon, you've changed the reality of the future. Someone who was supposed to be there - someone who was there for me - won't be now, because of what you've done. You weren't supposed to the change the timeline. Nothing was meant to change..."
"Don't you suppose I've thought of that?" Tom hissed, and Hermione stopped in her tracks to look down at him in horror. He scowled up at her and continued, "You have memories of things that happened to you in the first eighteen years of your life. That does not mean that the timeline can not be altered. Your timeline continues here, you understand? Your own life is linear, but you've jumped around a bit. That's all."
"But, Tom, there will be terrible consequences -" Hermione began, her heart thudding in her chest. Tom shook his head firmly and interrupted her.
"You showed me myself sending you back, Hermione. I was a grey-faced monster; something terrible had happened to me. I intend to carve a more successful path this time."
"No. No, Tom. It isn't all about you. You've erased Rolf Scamander from the future."
"And perhaps in eliminating Ladon Scamander, I've saved dozens of lives. The boy was clearly deranged. You have no idea what Ladon did between now and when you came back in time, do you?"
"No," Hermione admitted, wringing her hands in front of her. "But I'm certain he didn't murder anyone..."
"Are you?" Tom demanded. "Are you certain?"
Hermione felt as though she were going to faint. Tom was right, in a way, that changing the timeline as she remembered it did not necessarily mean the elimination of the future. More significantly, there may be positive things that came of timeline changes. But Hermione felt terribly ill at ease, thinking of that.
"What do you suppose happened in the moment after I sent you back in time?" Tom posited after a long moment. Hermione shrugged helplessly and shook her head. Tom said with feigned patience, "The first eighteen years of your life happened to you as you remember them, Hermione. That doesn't mean they have to happen that way for everyone else. Myself included."
Hermione stared at Tom for a very long time, feeling rather terrified. He had no remorse about killing a boy. He had no remorse about eliminating real human beings from potentially existing. And he appeared to care only about the trajectory of his success. Hermione stared at the lilacs on the grass and shook her head, letting tears flow freely from her eyes.
"You're right," she said quietly, "Monsters can be very, very charming."
She dashed from the courtyard without another word, determined that she would never speak to Tom Riddle again.
Lord Voldemort stared at Hermione, feeling his lips part in shock. She was aged, appearing approximately seventy years in age. So, he wondered, did that mean that she'd been alive all this time? That she had been with him?
"You've just sent me back, haven't you?" Hermione smiled at him, her chestnut eyes crinkling warmly. She swept toward him, her elegant robes sweeping behind her a bit as she did.
Voldemort nodded hesitantly at her. "How are you -" he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.
"Timeline shifts," she said simply, giving him a little nod. "The reality was altered by choices you made, Tom."
Voldemort cringed at the sound of his old first name. No one had called him Tom - without seeing a flash of green light in retaliation - for decades. At least, not that he remembered. He glanced down at his pinkish hands and turned them over in wonder.
"My skin," he noted softly. "It was grey and scaled. I was... barely human."
"I remember," Hermione nodded, and Voldemort could read the understanding on her face. She continued, "I also remember fifty years with you in this body. You made different choices, Tom."
Voldemort was suddenly overcome with a strong desire to kiss Hermione, to test whether she was real. He strode briskly toward her, his movements feeling light and easy. He paused in front of her and frowned down into her kind-looking face.
"You were taken from me," he announced delicately. "Only a few years after you came to Hogwarts. You were gone, forever, and I spent the next fifty years knowing I would never see you as an old woman. Knowing that all I would get was tonight, in this room, sending you back to spend a precious few years -"
"Not this time," Hermione insisted, shaking her head. "You got everything you wanted this time, Tom. Power, and wealth, and authority. And this time you never lost it."
Lord Voldemort was delighted to find in the subsequent long moment that she still tasted beautifully - lemon and vanilla - and that she smelled of lilacs in a late spring rain.
By the beginning of June, Hermione had very nearly forgotten what it had felt like to want Tom Riddle. She'd nearly forgotten the taste of him, the feel of his body on and inside of hers. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to accept Conjured lilacs from him, and what it meant to bury her face in his borrowed suit jacket.
She'd nearly forgotten that she was in the same building as the person who would become the most feared Dark wizard of all time. She'd nearly forgotten all of it, until the final week of classes.
She had become so busy studying for and taking final exams that she'd entirely forgotten that she had nowhere to go for the summer holidays. One very warm Wednesday morning, as she handed in her Transfiguration final exam to Professor Dumbledore, she lingered before his desk.
"Excuse me, Professor," she began cautiously, and Professor Dumbledore looked up from the parchment he was marking.
"Yes, Miss Villeneuve?"
Hermione had noticed over the past several months that Professor Dumbledore treated her with almost calculated distance, when he interacted with her at all. It almost seemed to Hermione as though Professor Dumbledore avoided her. This felt odd, given how she knew she would interact with him later in his life. She cleared her throat and said in a quiet murmur,
"Professor, sir, I was wondering if I might speak with you about the summer holidays. You see, it's - erm, my aunt and uncle, sir... they're going on holiday to Switzerland, and..."
Dumbledore smiled knowingly and nodded. "It is exceedingly rare for anyone to go on holiday at the moment, Miss Villeneuve. Even witches and wizards. Owing to the scale of the Muggle war, international movement is nearly impossible."
He peered over his spectacles at her, as if to make the point that he knew full well she hadn't spent any time outside Hogwarts in this era. Hermione felt her cheeks colour and she stammered,
"W-well, they're going away. My aunt and uncle. And... erm... it's just -"
"Since you have nowhere to go for the summer holidays, Miss Villeneuve, I believe you will find Headmaster Dippet's announcement at dinner this evening both helpful and informative. If you've finished your exam, my dear, then you are dismissed. It has been an honour and a pleasure to instruct you in Transfigurations. Enjoy your summer."
He looked back down at his parchment then, and Hermione knew she'd been sent away. She sighed lightly and murmured thanks to Dumbledore before turning and striding out of the classroom.
He was right. That night at dinner, Hermione was pleasantly surprised by the words Headmaster Dippet spoke after getting the students' attention.
"Due to the increasing severity of the Muggle conflict," Headmaster Dippet began, "The staff and I have determined that it would be in many students' best interest to make Hogwarts available for lodging over the summer holidays. Many of you, I know, do not feel safe and secure in returning to your homes this summer. Because it is Unplottable and has myriad Muggle repelling charms, however, I can assure you that Hogwarts is a safe haven. Owls have been sent to all guardians notifying them of this offer. If you wish to write to your parents to discuss the possibility of staying at Hogwarts for the summer, please feel free to use the school owls in the owlery. All you need do to stay is to notify your Head of House. Now... no more talk of such bleak things. Enjoy your meals."
There was a flutter of conversation as Headmaster Dippet sat back down and the students processed the idea of lodging at Hogwarts without the burden of lessons. Many seemed excited by the offer.
"Well, Hermione," Betty Cattermole prompted, "Will you be staying?"
The blonde girl popped a bit of bread into her mouth and chewed delicately. Hermione twirled her soup spoon in the stew before her and pursed her lips.
"I truly haven't got a choice," she admitted, "even though I know he'll be here, too. He won't want to go back to his orphanage."
"Who? Tom? Tom Riddle?" Maggie Prewett glanced behind Hermione to the Slytherin table and frowned. She flicked her eyes back to Hermione and said, "I can't imagine he'd create a problem for you, Hermione. You haven't even spoken to him in weeks and weeks. I'm certain he's got the message that you don't want to date him. Though the rest of us are still very confused about that."
They ate in thoughtful quiet for a few long minutes, and then Betty Cattermole said quietly,
"I find it rather presumptuous for Headmaster Dippet to proclaim Hogwarts as a 'safe haven.' After all, just in the past twelve months, we've lost two students to murder. First Myrtle, and now poor Ladon Scamander."
Hermione felt a clench of regret in her stomach. Tom had been right, all those weeks ago. Headmaster Dippet had indeed ordered a search party to find Ladon. Hermione had joined in because she thought it might look suspicious if she did not. Unsurprisingly, after five days of searching, they had been unable to find any trace of Ladon. Hermione knew that Professor Dumbledore must have questioned Tom Riddle on the matter, but as far as Hermione could tell nothing was done to pursue any suspicion against Tom. Headmaster Dippet had announced after ten long days that Ladon had likely been killed in some terrible accident - or possible something more sinister - but that his body was unlikely to ever be found. Hermione could only imagine the terrible headache that must have come from giving that news to the powerful Newt Scamander.
She felt rather ill again as she pondered the knowledge that a boy had died because of her. Yes, it was true that Ladon had been predatory with her, but she would never have wished for him to die because of it. Tom Riddle had hardly ingratiated himself to Hermione by killing a fellow student 'for her.' Quite the opposite, in fact - Hermione feared and loathed Tom more than ever after thinking over what had happened.
Now she had to come to grips with the notion that they would both be holed up in Hogwarts for the duration of summer holidays. She was certain that Tom would stay. Why would he go back to a Muggle orphanage when it was an option to stay here? Hermione stirred her stew as it grew cold and sighed deeply.
"Well, I appreciate the headmaster's offer," said Maggie Prewett, "but I shall be going home for the holidays. I miss my mum and dad, and I miss my bedroom there. It may or may not be safer at Hogwarts, but I won't be returning until August."
"Nor shall I." Betty Cattermole shook her head resolutely. "My family lives in the country. It's far safer there than in London or any other large city... and I suspect it's safer than it is here, as well."
Hermione nodded at them and brought a lukewarm spoonful of stew to her mouth. If she didn't have Maggie and Betty this summer, with whom was she supposed to socialise?
Without realising she'd done it, Hermione turned her head over her shoulder and looked to the Slytherin table. Tom was staring at her whilst his cronies conversed animatedly around him. He flicked up the corner of his lips to her, and he nodded once, slowly.
Hermione felt her cheeks colour and grow warm. It was bound to be a strange summer.
Tom Riddle was more than a little disappointed in his 'friends.' He'd instructed them all to send owls home and inform their parents that they would be staying at Hogwarts for the summer holidays. Although Tom relished the thought of peace and quiet and solitude, he thought it best to keep his followers nearby. The holidays would allow him nearly three months of free time in which to pull his herd in closer.
He was unpleasantly surprised when several owls arrived one morning to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
"My mum says I've got to come home," Orion Black frowned. He glanced up at Tom nervously. "She says if I'm not on the Hogwarts Express, she'll pull me out of school for good."
"My parents said essentially the same thing," sighed Avery, slamming his letter down upon the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed a bit. Tom gritted his teeth in frustration and turned to the other boy who'd received an owl.
"Malfoy?" he prompted in a grimace. Abraxas Malfoy, the silver-haired, bulky boy a year younger than Tom, folded his letter and shook his head apologetically. Tom growled under his breath and said, "Fine. Go home, the lot of you. Enjoy your holidays."
"Tom, I hope you can see that we haven't a choice -" began Abraxas Malfoy, and Avery nodded his agreement. But the boys both stopped short when Tom shot them each a withering glare. He curled his lip up in disgust.
"There is always a choice to grow up," he informed them. "Shall you obey Mummy and Daddy your entire lives? Or do you intend to carve your own paths?"
His inquisition did little to help the situation. Three days later, the student body made its way down to Hogsmeade to board the Hogwarts Express. Tom watched the scene from the Viaduct, where he could peer down the glen. He chewed upon his bottom lip for a while, stopping only when he tasted blood. He reached for his wand from his suit jacket and pointed it at his lip.
"Episkey," he murmured, and the abrasions upon his lip promptly healed up. Tom fiddled with the Gaunt family ring upon his right ring finger, sparing a brief moment to remember how he'd obtained the trinket. In his mind, he could see his filthy Muggle relatives collapsing in death, and he felt his heart race a bit at the memory.
"Mr. Riddle! I thought I might find you here."
Tom whirled over his shoulder and saw Armando Dippet striding down the Viaduct. Tom moved away from the open window and bowed a bit in feigned reverence.
"Headmaster Dippet," he acknowledged. "I wanted to thank you again for keeping the school open during the holidays..."
"Indeed. I had a suspicion you might be pleased with that announcement." Dippet smiled a bit. Tom knew he'd always been one of Dippet's favourite students, and it showed in the warmth in the usually-distant wizard's expression. Dippet pulled a rolled bit of parchment from his robes and passed it over to Tom. "This is your appointment to Head Boy for the coming school year," Dippet informed him.
Tom cocked an eyebrow as he broke the wax seal upon the scroll and read it in full. He smirked a little and nodded in approval. Tom was utterly unsurprised to have been named Head Boy - who else would they appoint? - but he was pleased nonetheless.
"Thank you, Headmaster." He rolled the parchment back up and tucked it away. "Who is to be the Head Girl, if I might ask?"
"Ah, yes. That will be Miss Margaret Prewett," Dippet said, looking a bit hesistant. Tom frowned.
Maggie Prewett? The red-haired Gryffindor was a pureblood, but she was meek and seemed rather useless. She was bright enough, Tom supposed, but surely there had been a better choice available.
"I had thought, Headmaster - and please correct me if I'm wrong - that Miss Hermione Villeneuve had the highest girls' marks this year?"
"Oh, yes." Dippet nodded emphatically. Tom scowled as Dippet continued, "But you see, Tom... a great deal goes into selecting the Head Girl. Miss Villeneuve has only been a student at Hogwarts for a very short time. As Headmaster, I would face enormous backlash for naming a brand-new student as Head Girl when there are a great many talented, compassionate young ladies here. Miss Prewett has never once earned herself detention or any other disciplinary action. Her marks have been consistently high over the past six years. And she is considered a 'motherly' figure among younger girls. Professor Dumbledore and I thought her a good choice. I hope you'll concur."
Tom swept the scowl from his face and immediately replaced it with a false little smile of agreement. Internally, he was furious that Hermione wouldn't be appointed Head Girl. It would make accessing her that much easier. Still, Tom knew he had an entire summer to get what he wanted. And Tom Riddle always got what he wanted.
Lord Voldemort stared across the dining room table at the aged, elegant woman Hermione Granger had become. He drummed his fingers upon the wooden surface before him and chewed rather anxiously upon his bottom lip. Hermione looked too serene, as if she understood everything Voldemort did not. It was infuriating.
"I know you must feel rather confused at the moment," Hermione acknowledged. "I was not certain if this is what would happen, or whether the timelines would fuse and allow you to remember what's changed. It seems that you simply moved from one reality to another. You can ask me anything you wish to."
Voldemort frowned deeply, to hear Hermione giving him permission to do anything. Nonetheless, he needed knowledge that she seemed to have. "How is it that I've maintained this form?" Voldemort demanded, his voice sounding cold to his own ears. Hermione flinched at his tone, and he sat back curiously in his chair. She stared him straight in his eyes as she informed him,
"The things you did wrong the last time... the mistakes you made that lost you your body... I did not allow you to make them."
Voldemort hissed through his teeth at her, feeling enraged that she would have been the one to keep him from making mistakes. What did she mean? That he'd never cursed Harry Potter? That he'd never spent years in Albania, drifting about like a ghost?
"You kept me from making mistakes?" He demanded, and Hermione nodded patiently.
"I had rather a vested interest in your success this time around," she admitted, and her wrinkled old cheeks coloured a bit as she spoke. Then she reached into her robes and pulled something out, something dull and gold, and she held it out to him. He noticed that her hand didn't tremble at all as she opened her fingers and showed him the Gaunt family ring. "I'd almost forgotten," she said carefully, "that I was keeping for you. For this moment."
Voldemort reached out and snatched the ring from Hermione. She pulled her hand back slowly, as if she were completely unsurprised by his jolting movements. Voldemort examined the ring carefully, wondering how it was Hermione was unscathed by the jewelry. He distinctly remembered cursing it...
"It's not a Horcrux," Hermione said matter-of-factly, shaking her head. "Not this time. It's just a ring."
"But I remember -" Voldemort began, sounding enraged. Hermione interjected and shook her head calmly.
"Not this time, Tom," she said again. "This time you didn't need such things, and you're much stronger for it. Believe me."
Hermione strode from the library, her rucksack heavy with borrowed books. She saw him coming down the corridor, and she nearly whirled around to go back into the library. She groaned a bit at the sight of Tom Riddle. It had only been a few hours since the other students had left for the summer, and already he was tracking her down.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," he greeted her smoothly as he approached. Hermione felt hot anger flushing up her neck into her cheeks. She gritted her teeth and scowled at him.
"It's Villeneuve," she insisted, and Tom flashed her a maddeningly handsome grin.
"Is it? Even for the holidays?" He sighed lightly and reached for the strap of Hermione's rucksack. "Please, allow me to carry your heavy books back to Gryffindor Tower."
"No, thank you," Hermione growled, recoiling away from his hand. She reached for her wand and pointed it at her rucksack. She cast a nonverbal feather-light charm, and the bag felt much lighter on her shoulder. She looked pointedly up to Tom as if daring him to comment. He did, of course.
"Clever," he admitted. "But, then, you're always quite clever, aren't you?" He sighed again and shook his head. "You make it rather difficult for a young man to practise chivalry."
"I have no need for chivalry," Hermione lied, and she began to stride quickly away from Tom. He snatched at her arm and whirled her back around. Hermione yanked out of his grasp so hard that she nearly stumbled backwords. She furrowed her brows at him and said, "Let me go, Tom."
"I have tried being charming with you," Tom said in frustration. Hermione jutted her chin up, trying to give the illusion that she wasn't afraid of him. But her smug expression only seemed to irritate Tom further, and he said, "I gave you flowers - three times. I lent you my suit jacket; I danced with you and told you how pretty you looked in your dress. I even -"
"You did no such thing." Hermione shook her head and tried to stifle the amused look upon her face. Tom seethed with anger in response, and then his voice shook when he spoke.
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione gave him a condescending little sigh and shifted upon her feet. "You never told me I looked pretty in my dress for the Slug Club party. You may have thought I did, but you never told me so."
Tom was silent for a moment, his breath coming quickly through his nostrils as he appeared to try and steady himself. He squared his jaw. "Well, you did. You did look pretty. I have tried being a knight in shining armour for you, Hermione. I gave you pretty little flowers and I killed a boy to save your virtue. When that didn't work, I tried being gruff and insistent. That didn't work, either. Tell me, Miss Granger, what does it take to get what I want? I always get what I want."
Hermione felt indignation boiling up in her throat. She pursed her lips at Tom and shook her head. "You know," she said haughtily, "It's quite hideous when you do that. When you brag and boast about always getting your way. You sound like a petulant child."
"Oh, I do, do I?" Tom leered down at her and shook his head, seemingly in disbelief at her gall. He muttered under his breath, "This is precisely why I ought to hate you." Then he cocked his head to the side and demanded, "Tell me, then, Miss Granger, how a man like myself is meant to speak."
Hermione shook her head resolutely and shut her eyes. "I am hardly about to begin giving practical advice to you, of all people. Your success is of no interest to me." She turned on her heel and made to walk away from him again, but then she heard Tom say in a cracked whisper,
"Please, Hermione."
She was so surprised to hear him speak that way that she stared at him in wonder for a long moment. Tom pinched his lips, shrugged, and shook his head. He looked angry and helpless at the same time.
"I have tried being charming, and I have tried being cruel. I can not - can not - accept this failure. Tell me, Hermione, what I need to do to make your knees go weak."
Hermione's mouth fell open, and she wrapped her arms about herself protectively. She frowned and mumbled, "Kindness. True and genuine kindness would make me want a man. But I sincerely doubt that you have the ability to summon actual kindness, Tom. So I suppose, at least around you, my knees won't be going weak any time soon."
Tom Riddle was silent for a long moment then, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Hermione watched as he bit down so hard on his bottom lip that she thought it might bleed. She winced at the sight of Tom struggling to stay in control.
"I am angry," he admitted in a whisper that could freeze an open flame. He stared at Hermione, narrowing his cold dark eyes. He nodded then and continued, "I am angry because I have spent weeks attempting to rid my mind of you. In my waking hours, I have succeeded, for the most part. But you haunt my dreams, Hermione. When I sleep, when I am least in control of myself, I smell the spring rain on your skin and I taste the sweetness upon your lips. And I wake frustrated and... angry."
Hermione quivered a bit where she stood, feeling more intimidated by Tom now than she ever had. She feared - truly feared - that he might kill her just to rid himself of her. She asked quietly, "What can I do to make you less angry, Tom?"
"Stop saying 'no' to me." He took a step toward Hermione, and she resisted the urge to back away from him. He reached to cup her jaw in his hand, and she tried not to flinch. An odd feeling of want coiled in her lower belly, making Hermione feel dirty and wanton. She shook her head and whispered,
"I don't - I can't... I know too much about you, Tom. I can't be with you in any capacity. I'm sorry."
"Stop saying 'no' to me," Tom commanded her again. Hermione met his gaze and sighed quite against her will, feeling her face meld into his cool hand. She tingled and shook with anxiety as Tom took another half step toward her. She stood her ground as he lowered his face toward hers. "Hermione... I have no idea why I sent you back in time. My best guess is simply that I wanted you here. And I always get what I want. You understand?"
Hermione wanted to shake her head, to rip her face out of his hand and slap his cheek and scream at him. She wanted to hate him, to destroy him so that he could never become the monster she knew he would.
But then something cracked inside her, in her mind and her heart and, very deeply, in her soul. She stared up into his dark eyes and felt her hatred dissolve. She suddenly realised that his rise to power was an inevitability, or at least it was the path that he seemed destined to follow. If she could not leave this timeline, then at the very least she could help steer it.
Hermione swallowed heavily and tried to shake her head against Tom's hand again, to step away and rid herself of him. But then he lowered his face further until his lips brushed up against hers. He ghosted a kiss against her mouth and pulled back a half inch. His murmuring breath was warm and delicious as he said,
"Please, Hermione... stop saying 'no' to me. Please."
She had never expected to hear him beg anyone for anything - least of all to beg her for intimacy. But Hermione found herself acutely unable to deny him any longer, and she nodded reluctantly against his palm.
His lips crushed hers, then, as if he'd set loose a dragon inside himself. Hermione was grateful when he pushed her backward against a stone wall. She had felt rather unable to stand as he kissed her - her head had whirled at once, and her ears had started ringing, and her knees had gone weak.
Lord Voldemort stood over the Hogwarts Pensieve, gliding his fingertip along its silver edge. He stared down into the murky grey cloud within it for a long moment. Then, turning to Hermione, he asked,
"Where is Albus Dumbledore?"
She met his eyes and pinched her thin, aged lips. She shook her head gravely and said, "Professor Dumbledore was rather... in the way, I'm afraid. I did not enjoy seeing you... well, it doesn't matter now. It was years ago." She cleared her throat delicately, and Voldemort watched in wonder as her eyes welled up a bit. She finally shook her head a bit faster and laughed nervously. "In any case, Tom... I've brought you to this Pensieve because I've been putting memories in it for years. I thought it likely that you would not remember much, if anything, due to the radical shifts in timelines that occurred. So I've been extracting memories I thought would help orient you."
Voldemort dragged his top teeth across his bottom lip and nodded into the clouds of the Pensieve. Then, realising that Hermione had known the password to the Headmaster's office, he turned to her again and frowned.
"The current headmaster has allowed you to use the Hogwarts Pensieve consistently?" He knew he looked rather skeptical, and Hermione smiled warmly at him, as if he were a child. That irked him, but he kept his face impassive.
"I'm the headmistress of Hogwarts, Tom," Hermione informed him matter-of-factly. "I have been for twenty-five years."
Voldemort felt a chill spike through his veins at the thought of that. She had already declared herself his ally tonight; did that mean that he'd had control of Hogwarts through her for over two decades?
"And where is Harry Potter?" he demanded lightly, drumming his warm fingers upon the cool rim of the Pensieve. Hermione's little smile disappeared then, and the wrinkle between her eyebrows deepened as she looked as though she might cry.
"Ah... yes. The Potter boy..." she began carefully. Voldemort startled to hear Hermione Granger - of all people - refer to 'The Potter boy' instead of 'my old friend Harry.' He narrowed his eyes at her and frowned, waiting for her to clarify what had happened. Hermione finally met his eyes and said softly, "I told you of the Prophecy years before Harry was born. You took it upon yourself to... eliminate... James Potter before he married Lily Evans. Before Harry was born. I should have hated you for it, and there was a difficult year between us after that happened. But then I realised that by keeping Harry from being born in the first place, you were inadvertently being merciful. After all, you killed James Potter in my original timeline, too. This way, by doing it earlier, you erased a life instead of directly taking one. Still..."
She paused, taking a little shaking breath. She moved to stand at the headmaster's desk - her desk - and she pulled out her wand. She stared down at her desk as she told Voldemort,
"I've worked for ages on a spell to pull my memories from the Pensieve and implant them in your head permanently. I thought perhaps I might simply have you use Legilimency tonight, but then you'd be viewing the memories. I have actually worked out a way for them to be ingrained in your mind as though they were your own." She raised her glistening eyes to him and smiled sadly. "As if you remembered the past fifty years, Tom."
Voldemort stepped away from the Pensieve and stalked slowly toward Hermione. He nodded and pronounced tightly, "I am grateful for your loyalty. Before I take the memories, I must ask one thing, Hermione. Have you come to... care for me... after all these years?"
He was not entirely certain why he asked her that, or why he phrased it the way he did. No one in Tom Riddle's life - or Voldemort's - had ever genuinely cared for him. He had been loathed, admired, feared, and followed. But 'cared for'? Never. And he did not want to learn the answer to his question through memories. He needed to know first.
Hermione swallowed heavily, and Voldemort watched with curiosity as a solitary tear leaked from her eye and wormed its way down her slightly wrinkled cheek. Hermione reached up to swipe away the tear, and she nodded resolutely.
"I have loved you, Tom," she informed him, "Since the summer before our final year at Hogwarts. I will show you. You will know it."
Voldemort squared his jaw and ground his teeth a bit as he struggled to keep his face empty. "But I never... I would not 'love' you. Or anybody else," he argued, more to himself than to her. Hermione's sad smile widened and another lone tear worked its way from her eye. She nodded in agreement and whispered,
"No, Tom. You never told me you loved me. And I never thought you did. But you gave me lilacs every birthday, and a rare book every Christmas. And you married me and made me yours, more so than any of your followers. And you gave me this... something I never would have thought I'd have wanted."
She pulled back the sleeve of her emerald robes, revealing a twisted black mark upon her forearm. The Dark Mark. Voldemort felt his mouth fall open, quite against his will. Hermione Granger had taken the Dark Mark? He recoiled instinctively, fearing that the reality she was going to put into his head would be too radically different from what he remembered. He watched as Hermione raised her wand toward the Pensieve. She spared one last glance toward his face and her eyes shone as she said,
"I'm very glad you'll be with me again, Tom." Then she flashed her eyes toward the Pensieve and murmured, "Detrahendum memoria."
The first dinner in Hogwarts over summer holidays felt extremely odd to Hermione. She was unaccustomed to sitting at a long, empty table in a mostly vacant Great Hall. It was even more strange when a single platter of food appeared upon the Gryffindor table, sent up by the house-elves. Hermione frowned and tried to ignore how eerily quiet the Great Hall was as she spooned herself a portion of food.
She flicked her eyes up to the Head Table. The only professors who had stayed for the summer were Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Merrythought. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had been requested to stay in case of emergencies with the few female students who had stayed. In truth, Hermione was rather shocked at how few students chose to take advantage of the school being open for the summer. Particularly, she thought, since the D-Day invasion of France was to occur in just a week. It was shocking, really, how oblivious so many in the wizarding world seemed to be in the face of the largest Muggle conflict in history.
Then there was Grindelwald. The Dark wizard had spent the past few months gathering strength on the Continent, seizing upon the chaos created by the Muggle war in order to mask murders and sow fear. Hermione would have thought far more parents would have kept their children at Hogwarts out of caution. However, as she glanced around the Great Hall, she counted only twelve students who had stayed. There were four students at the Ravenclaw table - three boys and a girl, all of whom appeared to be second- or third-years. Five Hufflepuffs had stayed; there were two girls and three boys. None of them seemed older than fourth-years. Hermione was the only Gryffindor to keep the holidays at Hogwarts.
Then there were the Slytherins. There was Tom, of course. Surprisingly, Druella Rosier had also stayed behind. The girl was a rising seventh-year student, but she looked years older in Hermione's mind. She had black curls and heavy-lidded eyes, and she looked perpetually irritated. Hermione was acutely reminded, upon looking at the girl, of the daughter Hermione knew Druella would have - Bellatrix Lestrange.
Tom Riddle came striding into the Great Hall as Hermione flicked her head away from Druella Rosier's form. She met his eyes as he entered the room, his steps smooth and purposeful. She felt a bubbling and unsolicited flutter in her stomach when she saw him, and she thought back to how he'd kissed her this afternoon.
She'd surrendered, finally, to the notion that she could not stop the ascent of Lord Voldemort. To do so, she realised, would be just as harmful to myriad lives as if she were to 'ally' herself with Tom. Indeed, she had pondered, there had been a great many lives lost in fruitless struggles against Lord Voldemort. Perhaps, Hermione's brain had suggested quietly, it would actually be better to gently guide Tom's timeline and ease his rise to power. It would be less traumatic for the wizarding world, she thought, if a great deal of conflict was stopped before it began.
After a melancholy, silent meal, Hermione rose from the Gryffindor table.
"Miss Villeneuve? May I speak with you for a moment in private?"
Hermione whirled over her shoulder to see that Professor Dumbledore had come down from the staff table and was now only a few feet away. Hermione nodded nervously and followed Dumbledore from the Great Hall, feeling Tom's gaze searing skeptically upon her.
Dumbledore paused in the Entrance Hall, a few metres from the House points hourglasses. Hermione glanced toward them and realised this was where she'd spoken with Ladon Scamander weeks earlier, when the boy had declared he'd been Imperiused the night he'd come on to Hermione. She gulped, thinking of how Ladon's body had been Vanished into non-being by Tom, and was only broken from her reverie when Dumbledore said,
"Miss... Granger, is there something you wish to tell me about Tom Riddle?"
Hermione looked at the old wizard in alarm at the sound of her true name. She blinked a few times and then poised herself, shaking her head resolutely.
"No, sir... Did you have anything specific in mind?"
Dumbledore's pale eyes flashed a bit, and then he murmured, "You know what, if anything, is to become of that boy. Do not misunderstand me; I fully comprehend the dangers and risks of tampering with time. That being said... is there anything you wish to tell me that might save a great many lives, Miss Granger?"
She swallowed heavily again, knowing that Dumbledore was an accomplished Legilimens who could simply pry into her mind if he so chose. He was sly and calculating, too, Hermione knew. He would not ask her about Tom Riddle if he didn't have immense suspicions against the boy.
Well, he was right, Hermione admitted to herself. She thought she ought to 'give' Dumbledore something in order to keep him out of her mind. If he saw the truth she'd lived, she thought, nothing good would come of it.
"There is something I would like to tell you, sir," Hermione said, and she watched as Dumbledore breathed slowly in through his nose with feigned calm. She cleared her throat carefully and said, "You do have the ability to defeat Grindelwald, sir. The two of you... well, it was known as the Greatest Duel in History, sir. And you won. Will win. You are more powerful than Grindelwald, sir. That shall save a great many lives, I think."
Dumbledore's eyes flashed again, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Miss Villeneuve," he pronounced, reverting to Hermione's assumed name. "I shall not ask you any more questions about your time. I believe it to be terribly dangerous to do so. But please know that you are welcome at any time to discuss things with me which you believe I ought to know."
Hermione pinched her lips and nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'm off to the Gryffindor common room if there's nothing else you need, sir."
"Indeed. Enjoy your first night in Hogwarts unshackled by academics, my dear," he teased her knowingly, and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes a bit at him. She nodded and curled her lips up a little.
Hours later, Hermione was curled up in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, having spent a great deal of time reading Banishing The Shadows: A Very Brief History of Magical Illumination. The enormous (and ill-titled) tome sat upon her lap as she read. For a few hours, Hermione was engrossed in the text, but then her eyelids started to feel quite heavy. Before she knew what had happened, she was fast asleep, dreaming of her parents and Harry and Ron... People she would never see again, except in her mind.
"Hermione."
She jolted awake at the sound of her name, sitting up quickly upon the divan and sending the heavy book flying from her lap.
"Wh-what? Who?"
Disoriented by sleep, Hermione looked up to see Tom Riddle standing beside the divan. He had on dark flannel pyjamas, and had wrapped his body in a deep emerald-coloured dressing gown. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.
"Am I still dreaming?" she asked blankly. Tom curled his mouth into his crooked grin and folded his arms around his chest. He chuckled a bit.
"No, Hermione. You're not dreaming. As it turns out, it is remarkably simple to cajole a Hogwarts portrait into granting entry to 'forbidden' places."
Hermione sat straighter upon the divan, sighing a little as she realised that nowhere was truly 'forbidden' to Tom Riddle. She shook her head and huffed,
"Well, why have you come? What time is it, anyway? Oughtn't you be sleeping down in the dungeons?"
She said the last bit rather acerbically, but Tom merely chuckled again. He said, "I found myself unable to sleep until I asked you what it is Dumbledore wanted earlier."
Hermione felt her lips part as she tried to think of what to say to Tom. She could lie and tell him it had nothing to do with him, but she knew he was very good at detecting a lie. So she swallowed a bit and admitted,
"Professor Dumbledore wanted to know if there was any information about you - about your future - that I wanted to tell him."
Tom looked terribly annoyed as he sneered, "The old man has suspected me of being 'evil' for quite some time. He is becoming rather a nuisance, I should think. I find he is... getting in my way."
Hermione was horrified to hear the light tone in Tom's voice, fearing that this would be ammunition for him to kill Albus Dumbledore. She could only imagine the awful effects that would have on future timelines. Besides that, she still did not wish to think of Tom as a murderer, and to hear him speak as he was doing made an uncomfortable coil of fear gather in her abdomen.
"Well," she said primly, "I've told you what you wanted to know. Now, are you going to go back to the Slytherin dormitories like a good Head Boy, or shall I send for Professor Merrythought?"
"Neither of those options sound terribly appealing to me," Tom said in a bored voice. "I should like to stay the night here, I think."
"Here? In the Common Room?" Hermione's voice squeaked and her breath quivered as she looked him up and down and forced herself to be petulant with him. He smirked again and shook his head.
"No. Not in the Common Room. Where do you sleep, Hermione?"
She sighed and reached down to pick up her heavy book from the floor. She shut it and rose from the divan, tipping her chin up at Tom. "You can't come to my room, Tom."
"Why not?" He sounded as though he didn't much care, and he flicked his eyebrows up only a little bit. But Hermione knew he was daring her to challenge him further. She shifted a bit upon her feet and mumbled,
"You know as well as I do that bad things are bound to happen if you go upstairs with me."
"'Bad' things?" he repeated, frowning and shaking his head with artificial innocence. "I promise you, Hermione, I am no cur. At least not about those things. I merely wish to kiss you again. I rather enjoyed it this afternoon, if I'm honest."
Hermione huffed out a little breath in anger and pursed her lips. "You can kiss me here, if you wish," she insisted through clenched teeth. "Besides... don't you know that Godric Gryffindor enchanted the stairs to the girls' dormitories? It's a really complicated Glisseo; if a boy tries to go up there, it turns into a stone slide. You can't go to my room, Tom; it's -"
He silenced her ranting by cupping her jaw in his hand, snaking his fingers through her hair, and leaning down to press his lips against hers. Hermione moaned a bit at the feel of his mouth, and she nearly dropped the book she held as her instincts told her to touch him, to kiss him, to let him do whatever he wanted.
"Fine," Tom said as he pulled away from their kiss. "I shall respect your cursed stairwell and stay here. And I'll do everything down here that I had planned for up there. Godric Gryffindor neglected to consider the merits of an utterly empty Common Room at midnight."
Hermione gasped a bit at his brazen words, but once again her protests were silenced by the taste of him... and by the intoxicating aroma of rosewood, soap, cinnamon, and iron.
A week after Hermione had implanted her memories into Voldemort's mind, he sat again in the dining room of Malfoy Manor. Apparently, he'd commandeered the manse from the Malfoy family twenty years earlier, as punishment for a transgression by Lucius Malfoy. It had since been known as 'The Regia,' according to his new memories.
There were moments when Voldemort still could not believe what Hermione had taken from the Pensieve. When Hermione had given him back the memories of these past fifty years, he had not lost his recollection of his 'first timeline.' That is, he recalled what it meant to slither about the Albanian forest for years. He knew the utter agony of his rebounded Killing Curse against the Potter child. He could still feel what it meant to be trapped in his grey, inhuman form. All of that was vividly entombed in his brain.
But none of that had happened now.
He 'remembered,' thanks to Hermione's spell, all that had come to pass, and he was amazed. He had managed to make the entire wizarding world fall in line, into obedience to him, by the year 1965. Ever since then, he'd been the indisputed leader of wizarding Britain, and had apparently developed aspirations of spreading his empire.
And how had he arrived to that point? She had assisted him, every blasted step of the way. She would make suggestions upon his actions, and Voldemort would obey them, knowing that she was well-informed. She had trusted him in a way he would have never expected. More alarmingly, he seemed to put a great deal more trust in Hermione than he'd put in any other person in his life.
And all, he thought, because he let her fall in love with him that final summer at Hogwarts.