Disclaimer: Not mine, which is good.

            He reappeared in the dungeons instantly. And with a spurt of hope, he noticed that Dumbledore's body was not in the room.

"Harry Potter, sir," came a trembling voice behind him.

"Dobby?"

"Yes, sir." The elf was his hands desperately, and tears threatened to leak from his eyes.

"Dobby, what is it?"

"It's Miss Riddle, sir. Miss has taken control of Hogwarts!"

"So I failed." Harry muttered. "I still have something to correct."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Dobby."

"Something has happened here sir, but Dobby does not know what. Only that things aren't as they should be."

"No, no they aren't. I'm sorry. But I'll fix it. Now, listen, Dobby. I want you to leave Hogwarts."

"Sir?"

"Just do it, Dobby."

"Yes, sir."

Harry left the dungeons then. If Riddle was in control of the school, then Dumbledore was still dead. Which meant he still had to correct something. And he knew what it was: He had to stop Voldemort from using the Turners. But first, he wanted to try to deal with riddle. He couldn't abandon hope that there was still a chance to talk to her as Hermione, before he time-traveled again. If he failed, he didn't want his last memories of her to be of Slytherin behavior.

The halls were silent and empty. Normally, no matter what the hour, there was a ghost, Mrs. Norris, or a person in sight. But not now. The only thing he saw as he walked was his shadow in te flickering candlelight.

He wandered on, going up and down staircases, thinking. He had o stop Voldemort from using the Turners, but when was that? Sometime in July or August, probably. They'd noticed Moody's disappearance about a month ago. So Voldemort had been using the Year Turner then. So he would have to go farther back.

Lucius Malfoy had died about two months ago. Maybe he had been killed by Voldemort himself. Because of the Year-Turner. It made sense. Go back before the body was found, say a week. That would give time for it to have been dumped where it wouldn't be found immediately. So, he was probably aiming for…

An awful wailing interrupted his thoughts.

"You r-ruined my t-toilet!" Sobbing followed.

Harry knew what that meant. He was on the second floor, and someone was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. And he had a feeling it would be Riddle.

He sprinted to the door and glanced inside. It was as he'd thought. Riddle was there, adding ingredients to a cauldron, ignoring the ghost that glared at her from the ceiling. He had a painful flashback to their second year, during the time of the Polyjuice potion. He pushed it away.

"Riddle."

She turned slowly to face him. "Yes?" She asked coolly.

"I…um, I…" He couldn't do this. Memories returning with a vengeance, and he just couldn't believe that she was evil. Though her eyes held no warmth, and her expression reminded him strongly of the look Professor Snape reserved for him, she was still Hermione. Or she had been, and he hoped some part of her still was.

She walked toward him slowly, boldly staring him in the eye. She stopped only when Harry stepped back to avoid touching noses. With a smirk, she asked, "You're going to stop me?"

Harry nodded, and Riddle laughed.

"Don't be stupid, Potter. You can't even look me in the eye anymore. The only reason you've ever escaped my father is luck."

"Then why isn't he coming after me now?" he snapped. Hermione's referral to Voldemort as her "father" had brought him back to this reality. This Hermione wasn't his friend wand never would be.

"He's concerned with more important matters.' She turned her back to him, and picked up a vial to add its contents to the cauldron that sat on the floor, right where Myrtle's stall had been. The liquid inside reminded him strongly of the potion that had been used to restore Voldemort that past summer.

"Really, Riddle?" Harry asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "From the way he's gone after me the asst four years, I assumed I was your father's number one priority. That I was all he cared about."

She whirled around, wand in hand. "Shut up, Potter!"

"I mean, he attacked me in my first year, and then-"

"Crucio!"

Harry flinched, expecting to feel as if he was on fire. But the pain didn't come, though an awful screaming filled his ears. He turned, afraid to discover who Riddle's innocent victim was.

Neville Longbottom was squirming on the floor, his face contorted in agony. When had he entered the room? Harry felt sick as he faced Riddle again.

"Stop."

"Why?"

"He isn't involved in this"

"Yes, but it's so fun."

"STOP!" He pulled out his wand.

Riddle sighed, and jerked her wand so that the curse was broken.

"Neville, get out." The other boy needed no encouragement. He stumbled out as quickly as possible.

Riddle smirked. "What a baby. His parents didn't scream until the end."

"How would you know? We were babies!"

"My father required it of his Death Eaters to place any memories of their assignments or activities in a Pensieve. Bellatrix Lestrange sent one to me before she was arrested. Very entertaining."

Harry paled. "That's sick," he choked out.

"Perhaps. Are you going to attempt to stop me or not? Because I have work to do." In response, he raised his wand. She sighed. 'Very well." She pointed her wand at his chest.

He knew she meant to kill him. He aimed his own wand at her heart, hoping that she would stop, if the same threat was aimed at her.

"Potter, do you really think you can kill me?"

In his heart, Harry was almost certain he couldn't. But he nodded.

"Then let's find out who's still standing after a count of three."

Harry swallowed.

"One."

His palm was growing sweaty, and his wand was slipping in his grasp. But he didn't dare wipe his hand. He tightened his grip s muc as he could

"Two."

He couldn't be doing this. There had to be another way. He couldn't die, and he couldn't kill her. And if he…if he did kill her, or if he died, what would happen?

He looked Riddle in the eyes, silently begging the Hermione he knew to emerge. But there was no sudden spark of warmth, only icy wrath and determination. Riddle fully intended to kill him.

"Three."