Note: As a result of my ignorance when I originally wrote this story, there is a certain degree of suspension of disbelief (as pertains to this chapter, dates of Hogwarts attendance) that must be had when reading this. I'm sure you have figured that out by now, but just a reminder.
Entwined Love
Chapter Four
After a few moments, Riddle stops again, as if just remembering he has more important things to do. Hermione doesn't bother to suppress her irritated sigh. Now what?
"I trust you can find the office, Miss…Granger, was it?" he drawls, both of them knowing full well he hadn't forgotten her name. "Down the hall, obnoxious office to the left. I'm fairly certain you can't miss it. He should be out of Transfiguration by now." He gives her a slow, almost puzzled, once-over. "I'll be seeing you."
Hermione thinks the dangerous undertone was entirely unnecessary, but doesn't comment on it. If he wants masculine validation, fine. It's no concern of hers. "Thought you were going to escort me," she needles calmly. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"Never you mind," he snaps. With that, he leaves with a swish of his robes, Hermione scrutinizing his movements. He'd be a challenge.
She turns back around to head towards Dumbledore's office—she'd been caught off-guard for a minute when Tom said "Transfiguration," Dumbledore of course not being the headmaster just yet—when she's halted once more by a clear and distinct voice. Hermione would be irked at yet another interruption if she didn't recognize it.
"Excuse me. Are you lost?" The words belong to a girl about Riddle's age if not a year or so younger, with dark brown hair twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head and sharp gray eyes. She carries an armload of books in addition to the many slung in a strained bag on her back. Wearing a plain blouse, skirt, and knee-high socks the same color as her eyes, she almost amusingly reminds Hermione of herself.
"Hello?" the girl prods again.
Hermione withholds a smile. "Yes, sorry," she says. "I've had a lot on my mind lately." And no, I'm not lost.
"Ah," the girl replies knowingly. "Busy time of year." A pause, then— "I'm Minerva McGonagall. I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"
"Hermione Granger," Hermione answers, once again figuring giving her real name wouldn't hurt. She holds out her hand and continues, "Nice to meet you."
Minerva gives a warm smile, one very different to what the norm is in the future. "Yes, you as well. So, do you need anything?" she asks.
Hermione shakes her head. "I'm sure I can find my way."
Minerva seems almost disappointed. "All right then. I should be getting back to Divination anyway," she says sourly. "Not my favorite subject."
Hermione chuckles. At least that part hasn't changed. "I agree. Useless subject if you ask me."
Minerva shares the laugh. "Requisites."
A quiet sigh leaves Minerva's lips, then she heads down a hallway Hermione would feel very safe in betting is the same one that eventually leads to the ladder and trapdoor to the future domain of Professor Trelawney.
Hermione shakes her head in more amusement, the meeting with Minerva taking off much of the edge of the meeting with Riddle.
Minerva walks away from the strange girl she just met, reluctantly even though she's never seen her before. She hadn't been at all lying—she hates Divination. Rearranging her ever-growing bag on her shoulders, she continues towards the classroom, reflecting on Hermione. She'd been pleasant, but the fact that despite being confident she knows everyone in the school either by name, face, or both, the title Hermione Granger sparks nothing in her memory. Curious.
She blinks a couple times to concentrate on the present, making her way up the Divination stairs and through the trapdoor. Class had already started, but instead of the students regarding her with expressions of superiority like in most other classes, they look relieved, happy to have even the briefest of reprieves from the lecture.
"Ah, Minerva!" muses Professor Tabitha. There is a hint of annoyance in her voice at Minerva's tardiness, but it's masked by the airiness of her voice. "Enter, child."
Minerva sets down her bag at the nearest pouffe next to two particularly unappealing boys, doing her best to drag out her movements. The longer she delays, the shorter class would be. As she glances up again, though, she finds herself a mere few inches away from two large spots of blue, which more resemble croquet balls than eyes as a result of Professor Tabitha's thick glasses.
"Ahh!" Minerva shrills in spite of herself.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, child! I didn't mean to scare you!" Professor Tabitha croons.
"What, your Sight didn't work?" Minerva mutters maliciously.
Professor Tabitha's eyes narrow. "What was that, dear?"
"Nothing, Professor."
Professor Tabitha clearly doesn't believe her, but not one to indulge a scene that doesn't comprise of a "vision," she moves on. "Very well. I expect you know what today's material is?"
"Of course," replies Minerva. She doesn't like Divination one bit, but that doesn't mean she isn't always prepared for it.
Readying herself for yet another dull class period, she focuses on supposedly finding her immediate future in the endless mires of mist before her. She has more luck than most—she thinks—if the mist swirling into a sort of cat-shaped form means anything (though the book mentions nothing about it). Soon after Professor Tabitha declares the cat means Minerva is destined to have a boring and unimportant future, the class ends. She hurries out of the room with everyone else, jogging to her House common room. She sits down in front of the fire, allowing herself a few moments of peacefulness before she begins the homework she has due next week.
Not much time had passed, but Hermione, for one of the very few times in her seventeen years of existence, doesn't quite know what to do. She had ultimately ventured by Dumbledore's office, but as neither Riddle nor anyone else had given her the password, she hadn't been able to enter. She'd also eventually found his classroom, but no dice there either. So she took to wandering the castle; unfortunately, though there are slight changes, most of it looks the same as it does decades in the future.
She considers going to the Great Hall and getting some lunch, but the nearest clock tells her there's still an hour until food would be made available, and anyway, she's not sure where she'd sit.
Then, finally, she murmurs, "I wonder…"
The path welcomingly familiar, she makes her way to a very specific bathroom. When she arrives, she's half-pleased, half-pitying at the sound of body-wracking sobs. She steps into the bathroom, carefully avoiding the many puddles of water.
She stops in her tracks a few seconds later even though she was certain this would happen. "Myrtle?"