Authors note:
Hey, this is the very first fic I have ever written so please give it a chance. I appreciate ALL comments and reviews (even negative ones) so don't be afraid to let me know what you think!
Tom Riddle will not be a good person (obviously) so do not expect him to be kind. He is a morally grey character for a reason. This will be a slow burn fix so keep that in mind.
Thank you and enjoy!
Hermione Granger was not accustomed to ignorance. Especially when it came to magic. Having read all of Hogwarts library at least three times, she was very well-versed in all things magical. But she currently had absolutely no idea how she got here. Hermione was as ignorant as one could possibly get.
It seemed like only seconds ago she was fighting against Voldemort's death eaters. It was strange in hindsight, the ones who sent her here were not particularly aggressive and they had caught her off guard. It was the final battle with Voldemort, Hermione and Ron had just returned from the Chamber of Secrets where Hermione had destroyed the Helga Hufflepuff's cup - Voldemort's Horcrux - with a basilisk fang.
The men that had attacked her were not dressed the same as the other death eaters and they seemed almost reluctant in their actions. One of the men had held her down and the other had cut her arm open with a particularly powerful slicing hex and had used her spilt blood to paint a symbol on the wall. It was an ancient rune she'd never seen before. One that was certainly not a part of the Hogwarts curriculum. The man had then muttered a few incantations that she also did not recognise… that's when Hermione's body started to glow a faint gold. Every atom in her body felt like it was vibrating and suddenly she felt a powerful pulling sensation. It was similar to her third year when she'd been using her time-turner to attend extra classes, only much more powerful.
Her vision had burned white and she woke up in an un-destroyed Hogwarts. A quiet, safe Hogwarts. She did not wake up in a war-ravaged castle. There were no dead bodies strewn carelessly on the cold floors. No painful screams of terror. No sobbing or wailing or begging of children too young to understand that no mercy would be given.
At that time, Hermione had already suspected time-travel, though she did not quite yet know the extent of it. She had hurried to the room of requirement, requesting a comfortable, safe place. The room she received was the Gryffindor common room. There she rested and healed her injuries. She had become quite adept at healing spells while on the run with Ron and Harry. The curses she'd been hit with were dark, they left permanent marks on her body. Jagged dark purple lines marred her skin. Those, while heartbreaking, were the least of her problems. Hermione was tired, terrified and confused. So she did what she was best at, she planned.
First, she needed to know what year she had unwillingly traveled to. The library always had some spare copies of the Daily Prophet which would display the date. When the moon was bright and she was sure Hogwarts was sleeping, she snuck carefully out of the room of requirement. By casting a disillusionment charm and a silencing spell to soften her footsteps, Hermione had made it to the library and stolen the day's paper. The date was May 2nd, 1944. Fifty four years in the past. Hermione could not fathom it. How did this happen? What ritual did those death eaters perform? Fifty four years. She was half a bloody century in the past. To her knowledge, no one had ever time-traveled that far in the past before. There was not even a single recorded case of anyone traveling further than a year. This was impossible.
Hermione returned to the room of requirement disheartened. She was not even born yet. Her parents were not even born yet. She realized in a horrifying moment that Voldemort was alive in 1944. He was a student at Hogwarts. Tom Riddle was here right now, in the same castle as she was. Sleeping in the same vicinity as she was. Hermione had felt the defeated need to cry just then. She didn't. She hasn't in a long time. It felt somewhat wrong to cry. She was in a relatively safe place at the moment. Away from the war. But was she safe? Tom Riddle may be a teenager but she would be a fool to underestimate him. He was still powerful, and getting more so every passing minute. She had to do something. After another full day of self-pity and sulking, she decided it was time to implement her plan.
The first step was to enroll in Hogwarts. It was the best possible place to find information, and she had no other place to go that would provide the protection that Dumbledore did. He may only be the transfiguration teacher in this time period, and much younger than she has ever known him, but he was still Dumbledore. And she still trusted him.
She went to Hogsmeade and sent an owl to the headmaster in this time, Armando Dippet. Coming up with a fake story was surprisingly easy enough. Hermione Greene was born in London but had moved to France as a child and had been homeschooled all her life. Grindelwald had recently, if she remembered the date correctly, attacked the European ministry and many wizards and witches had died. Hermione Greene had tragically lost both her parents. Having heard of the kindness and hospitality of Hogwarts, she had decided to flee the country and come to Hogsmeade. The letter contained this story as well as a request to enroll in her seventh year. He had accepted.
Currently, Hermione was sitting in headmaster Dippet's office. The same office that was, or perhaps will be, Dumbledore's. It lacked the familiar comfort that Dumbledore's office used to have. It was startlingly bare, a vast contrast to the hundreds of trinkets Dumbledore had. And there was no bowl of Honeydukes sweets on the table. She could really use a lemon drop right about now.
"Well, all that's left is your sorting and we can do that right here if you like. I personally think that Ravenclaw is by far the best house. But I suppose I am biased" Dippet gestured to his blue and bronze wizarding robes. Hermione laughed falsely. As the grimy, grumbling sorting hat sat atop her head, she wondered whether it would know about her current predicament. That question was answered rather quickly.
'Ah, quite unusual. Never seen this before…far from home you are. Was already sorted into gryffindor, or will be sorted, I should say. Hmmm what to sort you now… very intelligent you are. Kind and brave too… yes plenty of bravery. But cunning and ambitious as well. You would do well in any house, but in which will you thrive? Which will help the mission you have been sent on?
What? What mission was I sent on? Why am I here?
Better be… "SLYTHERIN".
Hermione was surprised. And honestly, she was frightened. Tom Riddle and his death eaters would be in the same house as her. They would be sharing classes and a common room. And she would be expected to interact with them. While they were not the death eaters she knew in her time, they were the fathers or grandfathers of people who had taken everything from her, and had killed many people she loved. She didn't know how she could ever pretend to be okay.
The sorting hat had mentioned a mission that she had been sent on. That confirmed her suspicions that the attack which had caused all this was not random at all. There was a purpose to coming here. And it most definitely had to do with Tom Riddle. It could not be a coincidence that of all time periods to end up, she would be thrown into this one. The mission that the sorting hat mentioned must either be killing the future dark lord or changing him in some way. Hermione wondered if she was targeted specifically for this.
"Slytherin, what a wonderful house that is! I will have someone get Professor Slughorn for you. He is Slytherin's head of house and will help you get settled in" Dippet exclaimed joyously. He seemed to be constantly thrilled which she found marginally annoying in her sour mood.
About half an hour later she had finally finished sorting out the details of her rather abrupt enrollment with professor Slughorn. There were some spare slytherin robes in which she can magically adjust the measurements and some old tattered textbooks she could use. Slughorn had asked to see her O.WL. results and in a moment of panic she had told him that it was destroyed when her family were attacked by Grindelwal's followers. A rather flimsy excuse but Slughorn had gotten misty eyed and sympathetic, which fortunately made him drop the subject. He had decided to test her skill level himself in order to correctly place her in classes. She had passed his impromptu exam with flying colors. In fact, it was exceptionally easy. Afterwards, Slughorn had beamed at her and showered her in praise. "I guess Tom will have some competition this year" Slughorn had muttered to himself. He had not changed very much from her time. Slughorm was more jovial, had a slightly less bulging belly and some straw-colored hair on his head. But otherwise, he remained the same.