Back! Sorry for the mini-hiatus. This is tough to write, and shit in the real world has been like OH HEY.
Thanks to lovely reviewers:
seniorforayear07, River, Darren Jaguar, Lost Soul Here, marana1, AlmostExistentExistentialist, timunderwood9, dab-of-paint, Holden Caulfield, Dr. Shanty, Andelevion, J, NeverEndingFairyTales, Allie Riddle, Lania26, ZuzuManiac, Sleepwriting, ShimmeringWater, Sachita, Zombie Reine, ugottalongway2go, Smithback, depth-of-a-labyrinth, Annevader, silver screen icon, Valkyrie Evans, Weird-Chik2, HazelFromBehind -
oh, and by the way, to everyone who commented on the confusingness of the last chapter... don't worry, it was intentional. Sometimes I find that when I'm reading and I get confused, it's satisfying to get it cleared up. Though that might just be me. Just me? mk. XD
ANYWAY hope you enjoy -
speechwriter
"How did it get so late so soon?"
-Dr. Seuss
Riddle scrambled to his feet, his head whirling. To his extreme humiliation, he lurched into a nearby alley, doubled over, and threw up.
Straightening, he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand and looked around. The moon sat high in the black sky; Hermione lay crumpled in a heap on the deserted street.
Riddle searched his pockets, but found the Timeglass noticeably absent.
He strode to the still-unconscious lump of Gryffindor and rolled her over with a nudge of his foot. The Timeglass fell from her pocket.
Riddle knelt, snatching the crystal up with his robes over his hand. But a searing pain lashed his fingers, even through the cloth. He dropped the glass with a yelp.
He stared at his fingertips, which were tinged raw red with a burn.
No.
She'd spilt her blood on it … it hadn't formed a Villinger's Bond with her, had it? Could magic that powerful bond to someone so clearly unworthy?
If that were the case, he had to break the bond. Lord Voldemort, unable to touch the very object that would bring him supremacy? Unthinkable.
Riddle's lip lifted in a snarl. "Worthless scum," he spat, jamming his toe into the girl's ribs. She jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath and scrambled away, anger instantly twisting her features.
"Where are we?" she demanded.
"Why did you spill your blood on it?"
"I – what?"
"The Timeglass. You bled all over –"
"As if I was trying t–!"
"Do you have any idea of the consequences of your actions?"
Her mouth opened in disgust. "Do you know the consequences of yours, you hypocrite?"
Riddle turned away, seething. "Come along. And bring the Timeglass; I can no longer touch it."
He realized he needn't have said anything. When he'd dropped the crystal, it had replaced itself in her pocket.
It was a Villinger's bond, a bond of permanent belonging. Damn it all, why hadn't he formed one to himself while he'd had the chance?
"Get up," he spat. "Don't make me repeat myself."
"Or what, you'll threaten me? I'm sorry to have to be the practical one here, but the fact that neither of us has a wand is clearly the issue at hand, not your insufferable narcissism."
Riddle made for her, but she was on her feet and darting away before he could decide which part of her body to break. He forced himself to stop on his warpath and take a deep breath.
"This way," he said, storming past her.
"You've no idea where you're going. That's back to St. Peter's Basilica."
"Are you familiar with the area, then?"
"Reasonably."
His pride warred with his sensibility for a long moment. "Fine," he said, at last. "Get us out. Get us to the nearest possible place we can steal a wand."
"Or –" The girl reached deep into her pocket and yanked out a small, beaded bag. "We could simply buy one."
Of course she would have a purse. Girls had no sense of pragmatism. With a scoff, Riddle stalked down the street. "If you happen to know the exact location of the nearest wand store, by all means, enlighten me."
"Give me a minute, and I'll tell you."
He cast a look over his shoulder and stopped in his tracks. Hermione was rummaging through the pages of a large, leather-bound tome. Where in hell's name had that come from?
"Italy… here we are." She stopped walking, her brow furrowing. "Venice … no, that's not … here! Rome." Rotating the book, she took the lead. "This is good," she said, as if to remind herself. "We're not far. We can get out of this. Yes, we can do this."
Riddle swept behind her, emitting all the cheer of an active volcano.
They emerged from their nook into a street lined with tall clay buildings. Strange blue lines ran down the center of the asphalt street, glowing. A healthy stream of tourists milled down the narrow sidewalks, despite it clearly being the middle of the night.
Riddle expected strange glances due to their robes. He expected some muttering and some Muggle suspicion.
He did not suspect a pointed finger and a scream from the first woman to see them: "Look!"
"Polizia," came the shout from a vast blond man.
Another shout: "Someone grab them!"
Riddle would have run right then had he not remembered the girl had the Timeglass. In a split second, she bundled the book into her bag – was that an Undetectable Extension Charm? – and he shoved her forward into a sprint.
They dashed down the center of the road as a couple Muggles made grabs for them. Why would these Muggles be clamoring for their blood? Hadn't years passed since the event in the square? How the hell did this many people recognize them?
Then a circular silver vehicle came whizzing down the road, its bottom hovering an inch above the glowing blue line.
Hovering.
Did Muggles have Hover Charms? What was happening?
Tom and Hermione barreled off the road just in time to miss the vehicle, which whirred to a halt next to them. The witch and wizard collided with a couple Muggles, who screamed.
The pair struggled through the Muggles' grasping hands and dove back into a run. Tom spared a glance back.
The silver vehicle's top slid open, and out leapt two men in black uniforms. "Attenzione!" yelled one, his voice amplified somehow. A Sonorus charm could do that, Riddle thought, but how the hell –
Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, away from a Muggle inches from grabbing him by the collar. "Almost there," she panted. "Come on, hurry –"
Riddle didn't think he'd ever sprinted this quickly. His chest burned and ached; he felt lit to the fingertips with adrenalin.
They burst from the narrow street into a massive intersection. Riddle's breath caught in his throat. Multitudes of the silvery disklike vehicles zipped by, darting down the blue lines as if they weighed nothing at all. Torrents of Muggles poured down the broad sidewalks.
Again, someone noticed them.
"WIZARDS!" came the yell.
Hermione and Tom traded a look of shock. In that instant, they were no longer divided. They were stricken by identical horror, tied by identical fear. How?
"Go," he hissed, breaking the trance. Hermione darted across the intersection toward a white stone bridge, and he followed.
A hand seized the back of Riddle's robes. He turned and slammed a fist into the face of the Muggle holding him. His victim crumpled to the pavement.
"Riddle!" said Hermione's voice. He turned and found her teetering on the edge of the bridge, a millisecond from jumping. "Up! Get up!"
"Basta," roared a voice from behind Riddle, just as he pulled himself onto the bridge beside Hermione.
Something, like an insect's sting, bit the back of his neck.
Darkness rocketed toward him and swallowed his vision in one swift rush. He felt his body topple into the girl's, felt them both fall through the air toward the water.
Then nothing.
oOo
He woke up in a bed with Hermione sitting next to him. She held a thin wooden wand.
"Where are we?" he said, looking around. The room was small, plain, overwhelmingly wooden. Lit by the glow of morning.
"We're at an inn in Lagunia," said Hermione, sitting back.
"The Wizarding Roman marketplace?"
"Yes. And I've found out what's been going on."
"Explain."
"It's the year 2036," she said. "After that incident with the three of us in St. Peter's Square, there was international uproar. You see, a video of us leaked onto the internet –"
"What's video? And the internet?"
"Video is like a visual record of an event. Like a Pensieve. And the internet… it's a type of Muggle technology. It enables all Muggles around the world to communicate instantly with each other."
Tom stared at her. But even wizards couldn't do that. "They all saw this "video" at the same time?"
"I haven't quite figured it out yet, but it seems that once something is on this 'internet' thing, all Muggles can go back and access it whenever they'd like. In any case, it was too big to contain, too big to explain away. They couldn't possibly Obliviate every Muggle who saw the video, or who read the news reports." Hermione sighed, kneading her forehead.
"And in terms of our current situation, this means…"
"Well, it's been fourteen years since the incident. In that time, Muggles have pursued wizardry with incredible tenacity… and they've found a few Wizarding families, a few Wizarding areas." Hermione shook her head. "What it means is that any wizards who are caught by Muggles get interrogated and experimented on by Muggle scientists."
"Why the hell –"
"Because, Riddle. Muggles have an inherent need to explain away everything they don't immediately understand. They believe they can figure out the source of magic, apparently, with science."
"Bloody Merlin." Riddle got out of bed, his head reeling. "Let's get back to London. Let's find someone who can –"
"I'm not finished."
He rolled his eyes, but held his tongue.
"We need disguises for whenever we're in Muggle areas," said Hermione. "Residential areas across the globe have started undergoing random screenings for wizardry. If they catch even the slightest hint…"
"What? If they catch a hint, then what?"
"Unless you'd like to be subjected to excruciating medical tests," she said, arching an eyebrow, "I suggest you do your best to blend in."
The very phrase made him taste sour resentment. Blend in. As if wizards should have to hide from filthy Muggles. "And amidst all this," he said, "have you found out whether we have a way back to our respective times?"
She beckoned. They exited the room into a long hallway, headed down some rickety stairs, and emerged in a comfortably old-fashioned lobby. "Unfortunately," Hermione said, "it seems as if the Wizarding populace has been rather too preoccupied with other events to focus much energy on time magic. You do realize the Statute of Secrecy, in essence, has been rendered null?"
Riddle's lips tightened. It was sacrilegious, Muggles everywhere knowing of wizards' existence.
"But you're right – we should head to London," Hermione muttered, rummaging in her bag. "I daresay someone there might be able to help us."
Hermione placed a couple Galleons on the counter, grabbed his arm, and they Apparated.
The whirl landed them in the center of Diagon Alley. Hermione instantly strode forward, past storefronts that didn't seem to have aged a day, through gaggles of young wizards yapping about the newest model of broomstick. Thank God, some things retained hints of normalcy.
"Where are you going?" Riddle said.
"Just wait. I know the person to ask."
To Riddle's horror, they stopped in front of what appeared to be a joke shop. Its displays fizzed, popped, let out loud and obnoxious noises. "This is your grand solution?" he said.
Hermione ignored him and entered.
Behind the counter stood a lean, middle-aged man, whose patches of fire-red hair were few and far between.
When he saw Hermione, he blinked a few times, shook his head, and rubbed his eyes.
Riddle and Hermione approached the counter.
"Fred?" said Hermione.
The man looked like he'd been struck. He reeled for a second. "I … no, it's George, I …" A crease settled between his eyebrows. "No one's talked about Fred for years."
Riddle felt uncomfortable. Hermione's face had gone white. "Fred. He's not …?"
"Hermione," George said. "Hold on. MARTIN!"
A pale, pudgy boy stumbled out from the back room. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, sir?"
"It's George, how many times do I have to – man the counter, will you?"
"Yessir!"
George beckoned Riddle and Hermione into the back. They settled amidst stacks of boxes and crates.
"Look, George," Hermione said quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know about… I didn't mean to…"
"Well, it's been almost forty years." A hollow glint entered George's eyes. "God. You told me this would happen about six months ago, I thought you were joking. You're really here … you're really you."
Hermione choked on her breath. Forty years? Fred had died almost forty years ago? Had she missed it by mere months, weeks, days? Or worse, mere hours? "Fred. Fred's … no …"
George put a hand on her back. "I'm sorry. It'll be all right, Hermione. Scars fade."
She stared at her hands. Everything felt removed in this light, forty years from where she was supposed to be. This old George, with the world-weary look in his eye… and dear Lord, what would it be like to see herself?
George cleared his throat. "So how are you … er, how are you here, exactly? You told me your younger self would come, but you didn't say how."
Hermione pushed her robes over her hand and extracted the Timeglass. "This thing sends you forward in time."
"And who's he?" George nodded to Riddle.
"You don't want to know."
George raised an eyebrow, shifting on his crate. "Er, all right. You told me you'd be looking for yourself…?"
"Yes, that's right. That's why I'm here – I need to find myself."
He cracked a familiar grin. His younger self shone through the wrinkles, and Hermione felt a painful tug at her heart. "Bit existential, that," George said.
"I meant in the literal sense."
"Right, right, I know. Well, you've just retired a couple months ago, so odds are you'll be at home with Ickle Ronnie."
"I … I married Ron, then?"
"Right. Forgot you wouldn't know that." George scratched at his freckled jaw. "This is very odd. You don't know anything that's been happening, do you?"
"We've heard," Riddle said stiffly. George jumped, as if he'd forgotten Riddle was sitting there.
"I suppose I'll Floo you two over to your place, Hermione. You'll be a right sight better at explaining everything than I would be." George got to his feet and started shifting boxes, revealing an old fireplace. "This thing should still be connected, though you may have to deal with a couple spiderwebs."
"Thank you, George."
"Anything. Good luck – I know you'll get back to our time safely. Because, you know, it's already happened."
Relief swirled over Hermione for a split second. That was true – if she'd married Ron, if no one had noticed her disappearance, she had to have returned safely.
Unless the timeline were to be altered…
With another grin, George pulled a packet of Floo powder from inside his garishly neon jacket and emptied it into the grate. "185, Skegma Circle."
Riddle and Hermione stepped in and whirled away.
When they stumbled out of the fireplace, Hermione felt a sudden pain in her chest.
Hermione Jean Granger sat on the sofa, her face baggy with age, wrinkles collated around the lines of her kind eyes.
"Ah, hello there," she said, looking up from her book. "I thought this might be the day. I seemed to recall it was a few months after I retired."
Hermione could manage little more than a nod.
"And Tom," Hermione the Elder said, getting to her feet and brushing herself off. "This is while you're still in your headstrong phase, doubtless."
"Phase?" he said, eyeing the older Hermione's appearance with distaste. "What, shall I enter another, then?"
"Well, you'll see, I suppose," Hermione said. She turned to her younger self, who still stood stiff and white as a pine board. "Calm down, Hermione. I know it's strange, but the more quickly you get used to this, the more time we'll have to speak. And we don't have much time, so calmness is imperative."
"Sorry. It's just a little much. Professor McGonagall always said not to interact with … and you're just …"
"Well," Hermione the Elder said, "firstly, do get changed - I seem to remember you'll be needing Muggle disguises." She bustled into the hall and returned a minute later with two changes of clothes.
Hermione the Younger hurried back into the hall and pulled on the dark jeans and the white t-shirt. They felt foreign - she hadn't worn Muggle clothes since before they'd started their hunt for the Horcruxes.
She emerged back into the living room as Tom came in from the kitchen, pulling his black belt tight.
Hermione the Younger didn't miss how the elder's eyes lingered on Tom's profile with something like wistful recollection. And something cold curled up in the younger's stomach. She wouldn't form some sort of friendship with the Dark Lord, would she? They were here through association, through the machinations of Gurdy Bansherwold's dark magic. The most they would achieve was a temporary alliance. Of that much, she was practically sure.
"Here," said Hermione the Elder. "Have a seat, and I'll try explaining a few things. The sofa. Both of you."
As her older self strode to the kitchen – still, to Hermione's relief, unencumbered by the creaky movements of age – she sat down on the sofa. Tom lowered himself into the seat beside her, taking in the apartment.
It was a small place, furnished in clean modernism, right angles and glass all around. Bookshelves adorned every wall in sight. Everything seemed perfectly functional, and photographs here and there smattered the place with life and memories.
Hermione stared at a photo, one with her own aging face. "Oh, dear," she murmured.
She hated having seen it already.
This was why she hated Divination, if she were to be truthful with herself. The idea of the mystery in the future fascinated her, intrigued her. And now that the surprise had been ruined…
"You're displeased with this future, I daresay," Tom said, with a careless glance around. "As I would be."
"Be quiet," she snapped. "Your postulates have no place here."
His lip curled, and he drew his wand. Toyed with it, unnecessary menace in his expression.
Hermione the Elder emerged with tea, her wand sticking out of her pocket. Her true wand, the one Hermione the Younger had last seen in the false Tom Riddle's fist before he'd vanished.
"Oh, good," Hermione said. "I get my wand back, then. How?"
The elder Hermione sighed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much."
"Why? Is it because of my duplicate?" Tom said. "Who was that?"
"Who do you think?" Hermione the Elder said, arching a graying eyebrow in Tom's direction. "Someone who knows you. Someone who's long known you, known you would meddle with time to achieve your own ends."
"Dumbledore?"
"No, no. Far from it, I'm afraid." Hermione the Elder sipped her tea.
"Gurdy Bansherwold, then."
Hermione the Elder inclined her head.
"He's here?" Hermione the Younger said, frowning. "How? If Riddle took the Timeglass from him in 1947 and came to the future … he'd need to have the Timeglass after that point to know to pretend to be Riddle. And it's formed a Villinger's Bond with me. It can't leave me, can it? So unless he's got a duplicate, or –"
"Here's what you need to know," Hermione the Elder said, setting her tea down. "You've come in at a dangerous point in time. Tensions are developing far beyond where they should have. All efforts at containing the knowledge of the Wizarding World have failed, and we've come to accept that."
"Muggles can levitate," Tom said.
"Of all the things to fixate on," Hermione the Younger said, rolling her eyes.
The Elder half-smiled. "No. They can't levitate. They can hover – it's science. But that's entirely beside the point. You two are in a very unique sort of danger."
"How so?"
"I can't tell you anything you're supposed to do, because in an attempt to fulfill a timeline, one often ends up altering it," Hermione the Elder said. "But I can tell you facts and circumstantial evidence. One: You are up against a man whose sanity is entirely intact. He is a deceiver of magnificent proportions, and he is an expert at utilizing both Muggle and Wizard disguise. Be careful. Two: You are up against a man who will always – always – be one step ahead of you. In fact, he should be on his way here right now in order to facilitate his own arrival in the past."
She glanced at the clock. 12:47, Hermione saw.
"Oh, dear. I really don't have much time, do I?" Hermione the Elder bit her lip. Took a shaky breath. "Three: Your biggest enemy will be underestimation. Firstly, you will underestimate every one of your opponents. Not just you, Tom – you'll do it too, Hermione. And secondly, you will underestimate yourselves. I can't ask you to prevent this, but I can warn you of it."
Hermione the Younger stood, gripping her new dark wand tightly in her hand. "How do I get back to my time? Please."
Hermione the Elder stood too. "I can't say. Please don't be upset, or rash. You'll have to go in a few minutes, regardless. But know that, at this point in my life, I am happy, and I am satisfied."
Puzzled, Hermione opened her mouth again, trying to decide what to say. Too many questions swarmed her mind for her to pick just one. This older Hermione might have been satisfied, but she most certainly was not.
Then Gurdy Bansherwold stepped out of the air before them.
Riddle stood, now, his brain barreling through the information presented him. If Bansherwold had come here to reclaim a method for time reversal, he'd be here to take the Timeglass. And in doing so, he'd present them with the way to turn back the clock – if they could keep their eyes on him. Riddle couldn't let him Disapparate, couldn't let him vanish with the Timeglass. Though, by all rights, the Villinger's bond…
Bansherwold was young, blond, handsome. He had sharp, almost feline eyes, and an air of determined calm.
"Alengurd," said Hermione the Elder, a deep pain in her eyes, still bright with knowledge even through a sheen of rheum. "Alen. Here again, are you?"
"I do suppose this would be hard to forget," said Gurdy. He lifted his wand. "And I do hope you'll forgive me."
"I've long forgiven you," Hermione the Elder murmured.
And somehow, Hermione the Younger knew what was going to happen long before he uttered the words. Long before the green light glared through the room.
She felt it in her chest, the ricochet, the plunge of the knife. Hermione the Elder's dead body struck the floor across the room, and Hermione the Younger staggered. Alengurd Bansherwold caught her in his arms. "You'll thank me," he whispered. "I promise."
Then he drew the Timeglass from her pocket and set her shocked, shaking body back on its feet.
"Merlin," Hermione whispered, her extremities cold and nerveless. "Oh my God. I'm … you just …"
The dead Hermione Granger's graying hair was strewn across her face. Her eyes were open, her lips slackening from their last semi-smile. The Villinger's bond had broken.
"Stop," Riddle murmured, breaking the eerie silence. "Stop!"
Hermione looked back to Bansherwold, who was holding the Timeglass out in his hand. "Make me stop," he said, and his eyes met Riddle's with cold defiance. "I'd like to see you try it, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Riddle knew what was happening. This young Bansherwold – the Bansherwold of the 19th century – was stealing the later version of the Timeglass so he could return. So he could give the duplicate Timeglass to himself in 1947, after Riddle had fled to the future.
The 1947 version of Bansherwold, who had Tom's hair and his shoe.
The other Tom Riddle. Of course.
Riddle cursed and flung himself forward, but met no resistance from Bansherwold's body. He'd become incorporeal, an image fractured by motes of dust and light. "How?" Tom breathed. "Tell me how to go back!"
"Allow me to explain. First you have to be comfortable with anonymity," Bansherwold said. "Then you have to fall in love with it. Then you have to become it, and then … then you will have the control you seek."
"I need to go back, I need to be back –"
"Yes. And for that, what you need is to understand," Bansherwold whispered. "Power is something that belongs to the men who have no name. The feeling that has no name. The world that has no name."
"Everyone will know my name!" Riddle said. "Everyone will fear it."
"If that is your goal, you will never return. You will never harness the potential of this object."
Bansherwold held up the Timeglass and flickered out of the room. Out of 2036.
A terrible silence swallowed up Hermione's ears. Riddle looked stricken and furious. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he hissed. "A state of mind cannot change the magical properties of an object!"
"Explain the Patronus Charm, then," Hermione said, but her voice was hollow. Alengurd Bansherwold had promised her that she'd thank him for murdering her. Why? What in hell's name was the alternative?
"We need to go," Riddle said. "We need to find the other Bansherwold."
"If there were another in this time, he would have used his Timeglass. He wouldn't have had to steal ours."
Riddle shook his head, pacing. He hated to admit it, but speaking aloud to this girl was helping him think. Time magic had never been his main concern, and it stretched him. "By this point, Bansherwold has returned from 1947, and the older version of himself has orchestrated that St. Peter's fiasco fourteen years ago. He is now, presumably, back in this time at this very instant. Which means there are now two Gurdy Bansherwolds here, and one of them has a Timeglass with our name on it. Stop thinking like a Gryffindor."
"Why would he not simply skip over this year?"
"Skipping time is imprudent when one has plans to fulfill and limited time in which to achieve them."
"Plans? What plans?"
"You've read his treatises, I presume," Riddle said. "He was ambitious. Is ambitious. He wouldn't be in the future if not for a specific purpose."
"Everything I've read said he went to the future to save his lost love –"
"And ended up losing his mind, yes, yes. Silly theory. A great Dark Wizard does not love."
Hermione tore her eyes from her fallen body. You'll thank me. I promise. "What would he be doing now, then? If you're such an expert?"
"Mobilizing forces."
"But … he just said that anonymity –"
"Are you claiming to know more about motives for world domination than I do?" Riddle said.
Hermione clutched her wand tight in her fist. "No. But his view and yours clearly differ. He just said you didn't understand what was fundamental to his invention. He said you need to understand anonymity."
"Bloody fantastic. Where would we hunt for him, then?"
"Well, the other me said that he can disguise himself as both wizard and Muggle. Which means I've seen him as both. So a Muggle version of him may be what we're looking for."
"We need to remove ourselves from the premises," Riddle muttered. "They'll think we've killed you. Come on."
"Where?"
"Somewhere we can think about this."
Hermione eyed the young Dark Lord uneasily. "Are we at an impasse, then? A truce?"
"It seems we have larger issues at hand than a petty feud."
"This feud is not petty. You will come to wage a war on me and everyone like me. Fifty years from your current age, you'll try to murder me and all my best friends, remove Muggle-borns from society. I have no small prejudice against you, Riddle, so don't try and diminish it."
"Noted. But you seem… prudent enough." He pursed his lips. "And as such, I'm sure you'll have the ability to set said prejudice aside whilst we attempt to work our way through a dilemma far larger than, I'm sure, either of us has faced previously."
Her eyes flickered back to her corpse. "I … the countryside, then? Where?"
He took her arm and twisted them into Apparition. Hermione's head whirled with the disorientation of the Side-Along, and in the flood of images, she caught one last snatch of her dead eyes. Her dead and graceless face.
What would Ron do when he arrived home?
What could he do, really?
They landed in a field surrounded by a dome of sky. Hermione sat on a boulder, and Riddle resumed his pacing.
"We need a plan," Hermione said briskly, taking out her beaded bag, trying to shunt away the thoughts of her death. Everything seemed finite, all of a sudden. Every moment, every second, was all too brief. She could count down to her death…
"A plan. Yes," Riddle said. "A plan to locate Bansherwold, first of all."
"Will he be meddling with us again? Were we just supposed to be his couriers, or something, for the second Timeglass?" Hermione closed her eyes, rummaging in her bag for a vial. "You'd think he'd be done, now that he has a second version of himself to do all his own bidding."
"Why doesn't he want us to go back?" Tom murmured. "By all rights, we're an inconvenience out here."
"Maybe he needs us for something."
"He can't force me to do anything for him."
"Given the Imperius Curse, I'm sure he could," Hermione said. "The question is what he needs us for."
Riddle stared up at the clouds. The combined magical capacity of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Alengurd Bansherwold was fearsome, doubtless. And Granger could be a useful pawn, at the least…
"Are you magically talented?" he demanded, rounding on her.
"I … what?"
"Is your intelligence incidental, or applied? You have a decent head on your shoulders; one can easily deduce from your conversation that despite being flustered with far too much ease you're intelligent. My question is whether or not you've been able to put that to use in your magical career." He eyed her bag. "Did you apply that Undetectable Extension Charm yourself?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's a start. What else is within your reach? Have you mastered Occlumency?" He stared into her brown eyes and caught flickers of memory beyond them. "Evidently not. That's disappointing."
"I haven't trained in Occlumency. I've only learned the theory behind it; I haven't put it into practice or –"
"Nonsense," Riddle said, twirling his wand. "For those such as us, theory is practice." He gave her a satisfied nod. "In any case, I think we can conclude either of us would be useful to Bansherwold in one way or another, which means we'll have to stay safely concealed."
Hermione bit her lip. "We'll have to stop Apparating, then."
"Why?"
"You haven't reached 1995 yet, obviously, but Jackson's New Apotheosis Theorem of '95 states that at a certain level of magical ability, one can sense the tunnels that Apparition creates through space-time and follow them directly. Even track them, or tie them back to their originators, if they have sufficient information about the subject of Apparition."
Riddle cursed. "He could find us by the sheer fact that we Apparated?"
"I've never seen it executed. But I'd guess so. In fact, I'd guess he could probably find us right now, unless –" Hermione's eyes widened. "Actually… if we had a way to … hold on."
"What?"
"Goodness, I hope Harry's kept it."
"Kept what?"
Hermione shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't about to tell him that Harry had the Invisibility Cloak, one of the three Hallows. "Never mind. Come on – there's not much time."
She grabbed his arm and they swirled away.
x
x
x
"Time is a game played beautifully by children."
―Heraclitus, Fragments
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