Normal-sized chapter yay!
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MooMoo-of-Doom: AHAHHa. Caught me - I totally forgot about that. *desperately compensates in this chapter*
"this mind made war
being generous
this heart could dare)
unhearts can less"
-E.E. Cummings
i.
"St - stupefy!" the girl yelled, staggering to her feet. As her eyes glinted, wild with pain, the wand in her grip shot a few feeble red sparks. She repeated the spell, non-verbally this time, but Tom had regained his grip on his wand and his wits. He rose in one swift motion, lashed out, and deflected her spell.
She lunged forward and grabbed his wand from his hand.
For a second, she just stared at the wand clutched in her fingers, like she couldn't believe that had actually worked.
Then she shot a Petrificus Totalus at the horrified Riddle. His arms snapped to his sides, his legs locked, and he hit the floor, his skull cracking painfully against the cold stone of the Chamber.
"All right, what did you do?" she snapped. "What the hell just happened? Where's Ron? What did you do with Ron?"
Riddle wished he had the capability to roll his eyes. Did this idiotic girl really expect an answer from the boy on whom she'd just cast the Full-Body Bind?
She flicked her wand, and ropes wrapped up his body. Then, with a quiet countercharm, the effects of the Petrificus receded. "Riddle, tell me this instant what you –"
Her eyes finally lit on the tremendous, bleached skeleton of the Basilisk, and she stepped back, the color draining from her face. "Merlin, that's – but it just … we were just here, it looked like it had just died –"
"Kindly stop stammering about the obvious."
Her mouth snapped shut. Her head whipped around so her glare could pierce into him more properly. "Where are we?" she hissed.
"We appear to be underground, in a large stone chamber."
Hermione's face twisted in rage. She slashed out her wand, and suddenly Riddle found himself ten feet in the air, dangling upside-down.
"I'm curious to see how long you can stay like that," the girl said through gritted teeth, obviously not curious at all. Riddle pursed his lips and waited.
But as much as he would have liked to believe otherwise, he was human. After a few agonizing minutes, his face glowed with blood, and he felt his eyes might pop from his skull. She could hold him there forever, but he wasn't sure how much longer it would be before he passed out. And if he did pass out, she could steal the Timeglass.
"You – touched the – Timeglass," he ground out.
At his words, she let him fall. Onto his face. "The what?"
"In my pocket," he said, wriggling onto his back. "The Timeglass."
"Never heard of it."
"It belongs to Gurdy Bansherwold," he said, fully expecting her to ask, Who? Those in Gryffindor robes never knew as much as they should.
"Gurdy Bansherwold," she repeated, but it wasn't a question. Her nose wrinkled. "Inventor of the Crippler and the Marrow-Boil."
He blinked a few times. "…your knowledge of Dark Magic is quite surpri–"
"But he died in 1947."
"And how exactly did you know –"
"He was in Age of Ages, and Watched Cauldrons Never Boil, and any number of other things. So, what, did you meet him? Did you steal this Timeglass thing from him, like you stole so many other people's prized possessions? I suppose you were the reason he vanished. I suppose you killed him and transfigured his body so no one would find his remains, like he wasn't one of the greatest theoretical minds of the last –"
"Wait. Vanished?"
The girl glared him down. "Gurdy Bansherwold died in 1947. How are you here?"
Riddle gritted his teeth. "The Timeglass has sent me forward in time twice now. Three times, if you count the mishap that just occurred."
"… the … what? Forward in time? To the future? But that's not possible. According to Henry's Laws of Continuity –"
"Yes, yes, silly girl, I know about Henry's Laws! The Timeglass functions opposite them."
"Why in hell's name would you actively pursue something like that?"
"It was supposed to slow time to a standstill. Not send me forward through it."
She rolled her eyes. "If it can slow time, of course it can yield temporal acceleration, too. What, did you think it would only break Henry's Laws in a single direction? Don't you know anything about the Chaotic Assonance Theory?"
He thought he might split his teeth, he was clenching them so hard. Oh, to have that wand back in his hand. As soon as she released him, she was dead.
"All right," she said. She crumpled to the floor beside him, staring at nothing in particular, wiping some dirt off her chin. "We can … we can figure this out. We can get back to our proper time."
Her eyes fell on him. "Or, rather, our proper times. You're from … when you were this age? Mid-nineteen-forties? So you're eighteen, nineteen?"
"If you're considering disposing of the young Lord Voldemort, I might remind you that my first Horcrux is safely back in my time. Your efforts will be fruitless."
The girl scowled, apparently peeved that her foolish plan was so transparent. "Where's your shoe, anyway?"
"In the 1940s."
She conjured him a new one. Then, stashing his wand in her pocket, she levitated him – right-side-up this time, fortunately – and moved him along.
"Is this really necessary?" he ground out.
"Silencio," was her response.
Riddle raged in silence, wishing she would step just a bit closer. As long as his wand was in close enough proximity, he could find an appropriate wandless spell to extricate himself from this humiliation.
They stopped before the massive entrance to the pipe, and the girl waved her wand. "Strata duro." Steep steps erupted along the edge of the pipe in a spiral in an echoing staccato.
Riddle found himself grudgingly relieved. For a Gryffindor, the girl seemed intelligent enough. At least he wasn't stuck in the future with some bumbling dimwit, someone who might go babbling about traveling through time to anyone who would listen. It would be easy to kill her as soon as he escaped, but until then, the state of affairs was satisfactory.
Climbing the steps seemed to take half an hour. At the top, the girl flicked her wand. "Confringo."
The spell bounced back. She leapt away with a sharp intake of breath.
Riddle shot her a contemptuous look over his shoulder. As if she could just blow up the entrance to Salazar Slytherin's chamber.
She flicked her wand in his direction, and he felt his voice unlock.
"Open it," she ordered.
It killed him to do as he was told, but he complied. As soon as the hiss left his mouth, she Silenced him again. With a wave of her wand, Riddle's captive body flew through the hole the second it slid open, an uncomfortable jolt.
His head collided with a girl's legs. She screamed and leapt away from the sink.
"Agatha!" she yelled, wild-eyed. "Bloody hell, is this one of your stupid tricks? Who is that?"
"Who is who?" came an indignant voice from one of the stalls. "Did one of those damned ghosts fly through the mirrors again?"
The girl shook her head, staring at Riddle as if he were some particularly mutated variety of Mandrake. Then Hermione clambered through the hole and called out, in what she probably thought was a soothing tone,
"It's all right, don't worry."
The girl paled even further. "What. Who are you. Where are you – it's closing!"
And indeed, the entrance to the Chamber was sliding shut again.
A toilet flushed, and Hermione froze mid-crawl as a tall girl with raven-black hair – Agatha, Riddle presumed – emerged from one of the stalls. "Honestly, what are you going on ab –"
As Agatha's eyes fell on Tom – bound and conspicuously male, he presented quite the distraction from regular bathroom activity – she froze in place. A dumbstruck look affixed itself to her features and did not let go.
The first girl, who had hair the color of flame, mouthed hopelessly, and finally settled on, "What is happening. They just crawled through a hole in the wall and now it's gone. Oh God what."
Hermione stood and brushed off her robes. She flicked her wand, lifting Riddle to a standing position, and he wriggled, nearly toppling.
"Cooperate," Hermione snapped at him, and then turned her attention back to the girls with a kinder look on her face. "Sorry about this. Do you think you could show us to the Headmaster?"
"Have you ever been to the Head's office?" said Agatha to her friend. "I haven't, I've no clue where it is." She looked back at Hermione. "Why's that boy tied up, by the way?"
"He's … done something sort of … illegal; I need to deliver him to the appropriate authority. And I know where the Head's office is, I just would like you to come with us, if you could," Hermione said. "He might want to ask us about that pipe. Under the sink. And it would help if you could corroborate our story."
Agatha and the other girl traded a dubious glance.
"Trust me?"
With the collective, simultaneous sigh that only best friends could muster, the two girls set out from the bathroom. Hermione led them, still levitating Riddle before them. As they passed a few students in the halls, Riddle bore the humiliating brunt of their mystified stares. His rage increased twentyfold.
"How old are you, by the way?" Hermione asked the girls.
"We're fourth-years," Agatha said. "I'm Agatha. This is Lily. Which year are you? I haven't seen you around before."
"You sure?" Lily said. "I feel like she looks … familiar, almost."
"We're seventh-years," Hermione said.
"And doesn't he talk?" Lily asked, jabbing a finger in Riddle's general direction.
"No. It was … an Acid Pop. Er, burned a hole through his tongue. You know."
"Ergh," Agatha said.
Lily nodded knowingly. "Almost happened to my Uncle Ron when he was a kid."
Hermione made a choking noise. "Uncle," she said. "Uncle Ron."
The redhead raised her thin eyebrows, appearing more disturbed by the millisecond. "…yes?"
"By the way, why are you covered in slime?" Agatha asked the still-choking Hermione.
"Aggie," Lily said.
"What? I'm just asking!"
"Long story," Hermione managed, as they headed up a shifting staircase. "Hold on, let me ..." She let Riddle fall on the steps and vacuumed the filth from her robes and face with her wandtip. "There."
Riddle glared death in her direction, but stayed where he'd landed, planning. He could plot an escape while the girl yammered away. For the millionth time, he tried a wandless Accio, but she was just out of the reach of his magic.
"I … hang on," Hermione said to Lily. "What's your last name, then?"
"Potter."
Hermione twitched involuntarily. Agatha laughed. "Are you sure you've been coming to this school for the last seven years? You'd have to be blind and deaf and possibly Confunded not to know all the Potter siblings."
"I hate it," Lily mumbled, her ears turning red. "It's stupid, us being famous or whatever it is. I didn't do anything to deserve it, Al didn't do anything, and James definitely didn't do anything."
"Except blow up half the Quidditch Pitch during that fun little prank he pulled with the exploding Bludgers." Agatha grinned. "Oh, man, I wish I'd been a part of that one."
"You and my brother are going to get married, I swear."
"James? Oh, that's disgusting, he's so old. Don't." Agatha fake-gagged, and then glanced back to Hermione. "I really can't see how you haven't known about at least James before now, though. You'd be able to catch a glimpse of his inflated ego from outer space, probably. And hold on, he's your year – shouldn't you be in some of his classes?"
"We were, erm, homeschooled before this year," Hermione said quickly. Riddle's lips twitched. She wasn't the most adept liar in delivery, but she'd chosen the same one as he had on the train.
"Oh," Agatha said. "Well, then. That explains it."
Lily looked closely at Hermione's dirt-free face. "You know, you do look rather familiar. I must have seen you around somewhere."
Riddle wriggled around a little, trying to slip back down the steps to the girls, but Hermione flicked her wand, lifting him again. They stepped off the staircase on the third floor, and Hermione led the party through the halls to the entrance to the Head's tower.
"Password?" said the gargoyle.
Hermione's face fell. "I … I don't know."
"E – excuse me, are you trying to see the Headma –" said a voice, but when Hermione turned around, the words cut off abruptly.
Tom eyed the man up and down. He wore Gryffindor robes, although the mulch covering his hands seemed to imply he was the Herbology professor. Odd – Gryffindors weren't usually inclined to that subject. What was happening to that house? Were the values of old changing as time went on?
Tom's eyes narrowed. The man looked … familiar, somehow. Where had Tom seen that face before?
The boy on the train! He took in a quick breath. That bumbling boy had turned into a professor? Still equally hapless, no doubt. Derision filled Tom to the brim, and he made a silent scoff in the back of his throat.
The professor tore his eyes from Hermione. "Stone sentry," he squeaked, and the gargoyle leapt aside. The two fourth-years leaned closer to it, seemingly fascinated by the simple reanimation charm. Riddle rolled his eyes.
As he floated up the spiral steps, the professor scurried around him and tapped on the door ahead. It swung open, admitting the motley party.
Under Dippet's regime, the office had had a single bookcase, a desk, a threadbare rug. The current Headmaster, however, had added to its décor somewhat. To Riddle's revulsion, Quidditch pennants dangled all over the walls, interspersed with articles from newspapers, not all in English. They surrounded the customary Headmaster portraits.
The man behind the desk had a beaky nose and sharp, heavy brows. Salt-and-pepper hair topped his sallow face. Riddle wasn't sure he liked the look of the man, and not just because of his inappropriate decorations. He looked shrewd; discerning, at the very least.
"Hullo, Neville," said the Headmaster, and Riddle recoiled further. A tinge of some old accent lingered around the edge of the man's voice. What was Hogwarts doing pulling in foreigners for Headmasters? Were they really at such a deficit that they felt the need to import people from other countries?
Then Hermione came in at the end of the party. As soon as she noticed the Headmaster, she made yet another stupid-sounding noise. Riddle shook his head. Why hadn't she cast Silencio on herself instead of him, if she had this incapability to stop making an idiot of herself?
She let his body down into a chair with a flick of her wand. The bindings slackened, tightened, adjusting themselves to strap him to the seat.
"What brings you here this afternoon, Longbottom?" the Headmaster asked, but then his eyes fell on Hermione, and his sharp jaw drifted downward.
Neville blabbered, seemingly oblivious to the Head's obvious discomfort. "I was – er, I was going to tell you the Duckweeds are almost ready to lay their eggs. They should be ready the first week of October. But those are Class B Trade-Restricted Materials, so we'd need to get one of the Ministry's supervisors to give us a permit to sell –"
"Neville, could you … I'm sorry, but …" The Headmaster still stared at Hermione, as if she'd grown a third eye. "This, I think, is urgent."
"Right. Right you are." Neville shifted from foot to foot. "So you also …? I thought I was just imagining … I mean, but she does look just like …"
"Hold on," Hermione said loudly. "All right. Firstly, I just want to ask Agatha and Lily to tell you how we got here."
Agatha fidgeted. "Well, Lils saw it, not me."
"They crawled out of the wall," said Lily, deadpan. "In the girls' bathroom. Second floor."
To Riddle's suspicion, Longbottom's face darkened, as if he knew what that meant. As if he knew where … but how could that be common knowledge? Were knowledge of the Basilisk's demise and the Chamber's whereabouts circulating the public arena? Surely not.
"All right. Thank you," said the Headmaster gravely, standing. He stood hunched, his body athletically built. "That will do."
"That it? Bye, then," Agatha said, sounding almost affronted. She and Lily hurried out.
As soon as the door shut, chaos set in.
"Hermione?" said Neville, rounding on her. "Is that you? What have you done to yourself? You look like you're eighteen again! You're dressed like a student! Why are you dressed like a student? For heavens' sake!"
"Please, Neville," said the Headmaster, raising a hand.
"Neville? Viktor?" Hermione said, her voice quiet steel. The Headmaster's expression twisted oddly. "I … I need your help."
Neville raised his hands in surrender, his face pale. "Please just tell me there's some explanation for this. Who's that, in the chair?"
"I don't think I should say. But we've been … sort of sent forward in time. You see, he has a –"
And that was when the second Tom Riddle burst from the air in front of them.
ii.
Hermione wanted to scream. What was going on? Who was this second Riddle, and how had he broken the anti-Apparition wards? But she hardly had time to think, which terrified her in itself. She was so busy shooting spells into the fray – and dodging others – that she couldn't process a thing.
By the end of the first volley, both of the Riddles had wands in their hands, Krum wore a dripping gash across his forehead, and Neville had been knocked unconscious. As for Hermione, she had somehow ended up with the Timeglass balanced in the crook of her arm, nestled in her robes. She fumbled it into her pocket and wove the opening shut with a quick Tenebrium.
They stood at an impasse.
"Who are you?" demanded one of the Riddles.
The face of the other contorted in instant rage. "Who am I? You imbecile, you obviously know who I am, or you wouldn't be impersonating me."
"Impersonating you? A ridiculous accusation. I am the true Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"How dare you use that name! Refer to me by my proper title, or –"
"How did you know I hate my name?" hissed the other.
"Stupefy!" Hermione yelled. Red light whizzed from her wand. Mistake – both Riddles rounded on her at once.
She flung herself behind a chair just as two nasty-looking counterspells collided in midair with a strange fizzling pop.
"Avada Ke –" said one voice, but then the other said,
"Wait."
"What is it?"
Hermione snuck out from behind the chair. The two boys faced each other, wearing identical glares.
"He didn't say you'd be here," said one of the Riddles.
"Who didn't say?"
"Me."
"What?" said the Riddle to the right.
The Riddle to the left, the one holding the ivory wand, folded his arms idly. Hermione didn't know whether to trust the wand's ownership … they could easily have been switched. Each Riddle eyed the wand in the other's hand, though with suspicion or possessiveness she couldn't discern.
"I meant," ivory-Riddle said, "the version of myself I happened to meet several days ago did not warn me of this encounter."
"The 'version of yourself'," repeated the Riddle with the dark wand. "By 'yourself', do you mean me, or whoever you truly are? Since you are most assuredly not me?"
"Of course I'm not you; you're an imposter. Of course, neither of us is really ourselves at the moment. You, and I, and the iterations of ourselves created by the infinite loop contained in the device in that girl's pocket – we are all affected by the wash of time."
"If you start insinuating that you and I are equal in the eyes of some big picture, I shall be glad to prove otherwise –"
"Ah, but Tom, we are equal. Am I not Tom? Are you not Tom?"
"ENOUGH!" roared Krum. All eyes snapped to him.
The Headmaster's wand shook. "Get out," he said, his accent much more noticeable in his state. "You two men. Or I vill haff you removed."
"Viktor," Hermione said, her chest tightening. "Please – I … I need them." And if he forced her to leave … what was she supposed to do without the support of Hogwarts? What could she do without this sanctuary's support?
"Herm-own-ninny." Krum's eyes softened. "They must leaf, at vonce. This is for the Department of Mysteries to handle. Doctoring vith time is not my division. I vill not ask you to leaf, of course, but who are these men? I do not know!"
"I – they're just –"
"What do you want? Why are you here?" seethed one of the Riddles to the other, ignoring the torn look on Krum's face, the desperation in Hermione's eyes.
The Riddles' gazes dueled. "Theoretically," said one, "you could be me a few days in the future, having rewound time to this moment."
"Then it would be to your disadvantage to murder me."
A light sneer from ivory-Riddle. "I suppose." He pocketed his wand. "I shall allow you to live because I cannot be sure that you did not simply lose your wand from carelessness. Though I can hardly believe such a thing of myself."
"Were I you, I might have the intellect to infer that extenuating circumstances occurred," said dark-wand Riddle. "I demand that you return my wand. At once."
"Get out," said Krum, his voice exhausted. "Get out now."
A long silence.
Then one of the Riddles snapped into action. He snatched the small jar of Floo powder from the mantle, dumped the entire thing in the fireplace, and said, "Piazza San Pietro."
As green flames swallowed the grate, Riddle grabbed his counterpart, caught Hermione by the arm, and lunged forward. He took them all toppling into the fire, and tingles engulfed their bodies. Hermione caught a mouthful of ash and retched, her head spinning, her eyes watering.
They burst out atop a grate that had been conjured an hour before for this purpose only. They burst out in the middle of a crowd that had its heads bowed. They burst out in the middle of the Pope's delivery of the Lord's Prayer.
A thousand eyes turned on them.
Then the cameras swiveled to face the trio, and millions of eyes watched in fascination.
One of the Riddles gave a truly evil smirk and a mocking bow. "You're welcome," he said. "I'll see you later."
Then he pulled the wands out of his pocket. Hermione's. Riddle's. The dark, unidentified one.
Both Hermione and Riddle gave a desperate grab for the wands. But it was too late.
The false Riddle rose up into the air, and with a massive burst of blue light, vanished into thin air.
iii.
A split second before the mob started to erupt in chaos, Hermione and Riddle ran for it. Matching each other step for step, they flung themselves down the nearest alley.
"The Timeglass," Riddle said. "Use the Timeglass. They'll be after us –"
Hermione jerked a thumb over her shoulder, trying to ignore the pounding of a horde's feet. "They already are after us, if you haven't noticed!"
"Just get it out of your pocket."
"I sealed my pocket up so you wouldn't Accio the damn thing –"
Still running, he stooped, snatched up a piece of rock from the pavement, and handed it to her. "There, you incompetent –"
"Shut up!" She stumbled out of the run, gouged the rock into her robes so hard she cut her thumb, and grabbed the Timeglass with her bloody hand, yanking it from her pocket.
"Don't hold onto it – contact time is proportional to the years traveled," Riddle said, seizing her other hand.
She cursed and dropped the Timeglass immediately. But something strange happened. When Hermione let go, the Timeglass hovered in the air. Smears of blood sank deep into it like delicate tree roots, glistening and glowing.
"Oh, no," Hermione murmured. "What is it doing?"
Tom Riddle had nothing to say to that. But panic gripped him in a cold rush. Why hadn't the Timeglass taken them yet? It didn't require a wand, did it? The whine was taking so long to build – the crowd was nearly upon them –
"Dammit!" he spat, and flicked the Timeglass hard. His nail rang with pain, and the crystal flipped over and over.
Then, to his horror, it reversed itself, spun in directions that did not match his action at all.
He grabbed it, made it stop. At his touch, the whine reached its peak.
Then the bang.
The tearing pain.
The landing.
x
x
x
"If you only do the easy and useless jobs, you'll never have to worry about the important ones which are so difficult. You just won't have the time. For there's always something to do to keep you from what you really should be doing, and if it weren't for that dreadful magic staff, you'd never know how much time you were wasting."
-Norton Juster, The Phantom Tolbooth
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