At the top of the tower Hermione had to catch her breath. She wasn't unfit, but in her excitement she hadn't realised just how quickly she had been walking up the stairs.
It was mid-February now and so the last sprinklings of snow helped to cool down her overheated body, as well as clearing the tower of Ravenclaws.
She was here to find her, the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw. They had exhausted their research and found the best course of action to be to confront the daughter of Rowena. She had stolen her mother's diadem in jealousy and run away to Albania. On her deathbed her mother had sent a young man to find her, seeking reconciliation. He found her. There were variations of what happened after that, mostly ancient, lost to time, but they all ended the same. Most wizards and witches had long forgotten the story of The Grey Lady, or didn't care to hear it.
Most of the folklore pointed to its being in Albania, but neither she nor Tom could undertake such a trip without at the very least confirmation that it was there. So here Hermione was, trying her luck, driven by curiosity more than anything else. What had happened to it, and her, after all was said and done?
Tom claimed to have come across Helena here before, but never got the opportunity to talk. Hermione doubted she'd get to see her, let alone ask her any questions, but for once she was completely content to do as he said. She needed the air up here. Cold and unforgiving air to blast some sense into her. There was still too much going on. She needed some space from it all. Some time.
Time.
That was the worst of it.
He had called it a first edition. The book was almost half a century old.
At first it had just been a silly, nagging suspicion but she was sure now. Checking the books that Tom lent her seemed evidence enough, then for the first time she noticed how stiff and antiquated his clothes were. Why had she never noticed that he wore tailored trousers on weekends? She supposed she had just thought him smart and sensible, a no nonsense sort who just happened to dress like an office worker permanently. It didn't help that everything in the wizarding world was practically steeped in out-datedness. But why had she not seen it! She was bound now, by her word and her wand, she regretted being so cautious of him, and somehow regretted not being cautious enough.
She was still too scared to ask him the date, afraid that he would catch on. For some reason she didn't want him to know that she could be from his future.
Not to mention that the time factor added a whole new layer to the concept of her heart's desire.
She had been thinking about it. Knowledge was just as attainable here, though the teachers might refuse to teach her advanced spells and couldn't tutor her one on one. Were the books he had only available in that time? Did they go out of print? Or was it just his particular tutelage that she needed?
He did seem to be able to understand her thought processes with peculiar ease, and never failed to get her to perform perfectly…
Like with the patronus charm.
That was a problem in itself.
She had tried what he said, thinking of something she wanted. Something that would make her happy, as opposed to something that had.
Harry hadn't worked. Neither had Ron- that was destined to be a minefield, however. Even Krum's kiss, fresh in her mind, still ghosting her lips, hadn't been quite enough.
But him…
It had been like that night, only amplified. "I believe in you Hermione."
She wasn't sure if she'd just imagined him saying that but it didn't matter in the end. All that mattered was that it had worked. He had worked.
What did that mean?
What did any of it mean?
Hermione huffed in the cold air, beginning to feel the chill manifest in her bones. Everything had to be so complicated. Harry's life being on the line. Krum's faithful attentions. The seed of doubt Ron had planted in her ear. Ron in general being disorganised and tactless as ever. Harry trying to bear the brunt of everything on his own. She still wasn't sure he was telling her everything about his recurring Voldemort dreams. Tom on top of it all. His work, her work. And now meddling with time and possible paradoxes, and why Tom anyway, what was it about him, if she could clear up just one thing she wanted to clear up that!
She unceremoniously slumped against the railings of the observatory tower with a groan.
Did she say she'd needed this? Being left alone with her thoughts seemed the worst possible thing in retrospect.
"Your distress is upsetting me." The voice was low and regal. Hermione tensed at the sound.
"I'm sorry?" She swivelled on the spot, eyes searching, searching amongst the snow and air for the speaker. Was it-
"Your distress. I can feel it. Was that your plan? To depress me out of hiding?" Suddenly Hermione made out a subtle distortion in the air against the railing opposite her. It must be.
"Helena Ravenclaw? The Grey Lady?"
A sigh. "Yes. It is me you wanted correct? If so, the least you can do is ask your questions quickly and then leave, I come here to get away from people, not to be pestered by them."
"I- I-" Hermione didn't know what to say. She knew the diadem would be a sensitive issue. So would questions about what had happened. She didn't want to upset her. "I'm sorry."
"For disturbing my sanctuary with your emotions or for coming unprepared?"
"For what happened to you." She said quietly.
"Oh? So you know my story little witch?"
"I know what I have been told of it. And I pity your fate, and I am sorry for you. For what happened to you."
The ghost's outline shifted slightly. "Thank you." A silence fell between them. That wasn't necessarily a bad reaction, thought Hermione.
"You were in love with him weren't you?" She blurted. That was bad. That was a stupid thing-
Another sigh, more anguished than irritated this time. "Yes… I loved the man who led me to my death."
Now Hermione really didn't know how to continue. It would be rude to bring up the diadem. It would be silly. She didn't care about it right now. Not now that she could see Helena, or at least make out her shape between the falling snow. She forgot sometimes, that the ghosts were real, had been alive once, had experienced life and love and pain. She wanted more to embrace her than anything else.
"I'm sorry he treated you that way." Her voice was quiet. "He shouldn't have done that."
"You know what love makes you do, do you not?"
The question was sudden, Hermione didn't know how to answer. "Me? No, I've never been in love."
"Is that so? Your sighs tell a different story." Hermione started to bite her lip. Helena chuckled. "Does he make you question your sanity? Do you do things for him, because of him, that you wouldn't normally do? Does he make your heart race when you think of him?"
"I don't-"
Helena turned and floated closer to Hermione so that she could finally make out her face. She smiled sweetly. "You are not the first to find me here. And of those you are not the first to feel my pain." She raised one of her hands to play with a strand of Hermione's hair, squinting at it in thought. Recognition flitted across her features a second later. "Ah, it is coming back to me now. They all seek the diadem, but he stole it from its burial ground. You have the same aura and I remember now. How fun! Would you like to know where he put it?"
"Where who put it?" She shivered. It wasn't the cold.
"More interested in the boy than the treasure. Hmm. He'll be so pleased with you, if you find it first, you know. Maybe he won't turn out so bad if you give it to him. But then, perhaps you already have. Maybe you made him the way he is."
"Who? I haven't made anyone any different. Certainly I doubt anyone would change if I gave them the diadem. I can't give it to anyone anyway, I don't even know where it is."
She laughed airily, letting go of her hair and leaning closer. Hermione was struck suddenly by her ethereal beauty, the lavish nature of her gown, her long flowing hair. She found herself drawn in, hanging upon her every word despite not understanding.
"Seek the room of things forgot if you but have the will, there you shall find the diadem that sadly did me kill, beneath unwanted memories, lost things that seek no finding, under the dust of centuries, though time there is not binding."
"What do you mean I-" She was cut off by a blast of wind pelting snow into her eyes. Her blurred vision allowed The Grey Lady to vanish before she could ask any more. Frantically Hermione repeated what she had said over and over in her head, racing down the stairs to find herself a quill and some parchment.
The other Gryffindors eyed her warily as she stormed into through the common room up to her dorm. Without taking off her extra layers she set to writing out the riddle that Helena had left her.
"Seek the room of things forgot if you but have the will, there you shall find the diadem that sadly did me kill, beneath unwanted memories, lost things that seek no finding, under the dust of centuries, though time there is not binding."
She whispered it allowed to herself once it was down, puzzling over the words. She felt sorry for the ghost but honestly. How was she supposed to go about tackling this?
Her first thought was to ask Tom. She knew she ought to show him. They were doing this together, and Hermione herself had no use for the information. He was the one who really wanted it. Then again-
Maybe you made him the way he is.
The words had made her feel sick for some reason. It felt like a premonition. Of what?
With a deep breath she pushed it to the back of her mind. What Tom didn't know could only be an advantage to her. It was nearing the date of the second challenge anyway. She had to focus on Harry. Tom and his treasure hunt be damned!
Answers. All she needed right now was answers!
Harry and Ron lay slumped against the desks in the library, offering nothing my negativity to her musings.
They knew they were dealing with the black lake. They knew it would likely involve the merpeople. But other than that they had nothing.
Harry could not survive underwater that long, Hermione had looked up every enchantment she could think of but the spells were too nuanced, too finicky for a fourth year (which was precisely why Harry shouldn't even be allowed to participate!) and she couldn't think up any alternatives at this point. It was too late, she was too stressed, and her two friends were just hopeless.
A part of her had been tempted to ask Viktor for help, but she couldn't do that. It would end up either giving him or Harry an unfair advantage over the other and she ideally wanted neither to have that.
But there were no answers here!
She had looked. Over and over she had looked. But now she was tired and scared and wanted someone anyone to help her!
Ron and Harry continued to flick lazily, hopelessly through the books in front of them. Hermione's heart clenched uncomfortably. Why did it always have to be Harry?
If it had been someone like Tom he could have taken it head on, he could have approached each challenge as arrogantly as he always did and would relish the chance to prove himself- to win "eternal glory". And if he got hurt? The world would be a better place for it perhaps. But Harry. Harry who was like a brother to her, Harry who just wanted a normal life, Harry who didn't ask for any of this and never would-
Wait Tom.
Tom would know something at least. He had to. It wasn't yet curfew, she was sure she would find him up there, he liked to stay up late most days. And he would know. Though she had reservations about that. After their last interaction she was beginning to suspect it was not space that separated them but time. First edition, he had said. She had checked, that book was released half a century ago. She had already read it. And it did deal with some less than savoury topics. By going back there was a chance she was changing the course of history, the implications were endless…
Still, for Harry, she had to try.
She steeled herself. She had to try.
Just as she was about to raise the boys from their stupor, however, Moody appeared before them.
"Granger, Weasley." He announced gruffly. "Get yourselves to Professor McGonagall's office. She wants to see you."
Harry got up to go with them. Moody hadn't said his name.
"But Professor-" Hermione started. It was so close to the challenge, they didn't have time to waste, and she certainly didn't want to leave Harry alone with Moody. Not now. Harry seemed to trust him but after the unforgivables, and the ferret incident… He wasn't in Hermione's good books.
His impatient voice cut her off without so much curtesy as to look at her. "Not you Potter."
Hermione sprang to protest again but Harry held up a hand calmly. "It's alright 'Mione. You've been up helping me as much as you can. There's nothing we can do. Go see McGonagall. Just promise you'll meet me in the morning." He looked so worn out. It broke her heart to see him that way.
"Of course, Harry. We're not going to just leave you, we'll be there. And I'll have something by then I promise!"
Ron put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning mate. Stay strong and stuff."
Harry smiled weakly at Ron's rejoinder.
"Off you go!" Moody interjected again, already slinging an arm round Harry to cart him off. Hermione could practically feel his glass eye trailing their movements.
"Do you really think we'll find something?" Ron asked once they were alone in the corridors.
"I don't know. But I'll try my best. I have to go somewhere after we see McGonagall. If I can't find an answer there I don't know what we'll do." She shuddered. Ron placed a comforting hand on her shoulder again. Her eyes were big and glossy when she looked back at him. "I'm really scared Ron."
"Me too." It was simple. It was small. But it was what she needed. Just to know that someone else was feeling that way. "But we can't give up hope yet. If anyone can find a way to keep Harry alive it's you."
"Thanks Ron." She smiled.
They walked the rest of the way to McGonagall's office in silence. The door opened for them. And then there was just cold.
With a stuttering motion of her wand she unveiled the mirror, still shaken from the experience in the lake. Honestly, putting unsuspecting victims in a freezing lake with merpeople- where were the consent forms, the liability contracts? The wizarding world really had some catching up to do in some places. Still there were a lot of benefits to magic and she was hoping she could reap some of them once she found Tom. She wasn't certain he could help her as much as Madame Pomfrey, but she hated the infirmary. Second year had not left a positive impression on her.
Besides, he was expecting her today. And she didn't want to put him in a foul mood for next time.
What she found was confusing. His side was open, he had clearly been waiting for her, but he wasn't in his usual seat by the mirror. She had expected him to be sitting expectantly like a disapproving parent waiting for their child after curfew. She had expected scolding and an argument over her inability to be anywhere on time. She had expected anything but the silence.
"T-om." She called, or at least tried to, in her frozen, croaky voice. "Are you th-ere?"
She stood at the threshold sputtering for a second, trying to peer further into the room. It wasn't like him to leave his space unguarded, she didn't quite trust it. Then again, she thought, she had never really looked around his side much.
"T-om!" She tried again, a little louder. There was still no answer.
Hesitantly, and with a shiver still in her steps, she hobbled over to his side. She noticed that instead of feeling icy as it usually did, the room actually felt rather warm, homely, even. She noticed that the armchair he always sat in was angled to face the sofa in her room where she usually sat. She noticed that is wasn't black or navy as she had always thought but that telling slytherin green. His bookshelves were made of rich dark wood, highly polished and radiating wealth. She had never gotten the chance to scour his books before but she wasn't too surprised at the prevalence of dark magic volumes, the kind that lined the restricted section. A lot of them looked ancient, all bound in hardcover and well loved, while at the same time bearing the markings of being well-studied. She dared not touch any. The rest of the room was dark, lit only by the fire and an ornate, black chandelier overhead. In one corner there appeared to be a potion station but she had never seen Tom brewing anything, the thought of him getting his hands dirty in the least was almost impossible for her to conjure. But then so were a lot of things about Tom.
Certainly she had never thought she would see him asleep, but as she turned to leave before he returned she found him spread across his own sofa, hidden from view from the vantage of the mirror but in plain sight from the opposite side.
For a moment the sight made her seize up, scared that he had seen her. Once she recognised the calm set of his features and the steady, unpressured rise and fall of his chest, however, she relaxed. He looked so serene. Tom never looked serene. He always looked annoyed or cocky or exasperated or handsome. In repose he looked like an entirely different person; boyish, peaceful, vulnerable. You wouldn't think he could hurt a fly, wouldn't even be able to comprehend the extent of his abilities, not from that face.
The room felt a little warmer after that, and as Hermione looked around at the dark, mysterious décor she felt at odds with herself. Did she even know this boy at all? Was it all just a façade? Because the boy laying asleep on the sofa, with his top button undone and his sleeves rolled up, his hair in impeccable disorder, for an instant reminded her so much of Harry. Of Harry who was sweet and sacrificing and so very, very different from Tom. Of Harry who would rather burn dark magic books than inhabit the same room as them. Of Harry who depended too much on himself and who sometimes needed to be reminded that there were people out there who would stand by his side, that he wasn't alone, that she would die for him. She looked at the boy who looked so innocent in his sleep and wondered if maybe he wasn't so powerful, or so dark, or so wrong, as this room would have one believe. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, he needed her too.
She hadn't realised that she had wandered closer, now able to distinguish his eyelashes, see every shadow cast on his marble features. He always looked so cold and harsh but now she thought he looked warm, soft, cute. For a second Hermione thought she would rather like to kiss him.
Then she sneezed.
Her whole body seized up again, sending the previously subsiding shivers back up her spine. Her eyes were fixed on Tom's face with rabid attention. She knew he looked calm now but she wasn't sure how he would react to finding her face mere centimetres from his if he woke. Luckily, he didn't stir, and Hermione let out a slow, ragged breath before standing up and turning to leave.
As she did, the cloak she held around her caught the edge of a book that had been lying on his desk and knocked it to the floor. Tom remained asleep. With a frustrated sigh she bent to pick it up, worried that he would be able to tell she'd been nosing if he saw it on the floor. She had escaped his scolding so far tonight and was not willing to jeopardise that now. Just as she was about to place it back, however, she caught the glint of gold lettering, lit by the flames glow.
Her eyes went wide with terror.
A chill completely detached from the lake engulfed her senses.
Every neuron in her brain screamed for her to run, to hide, to turn back and never return, to do anything but what she did.
She gasped.
And Tom Marvolo Riddle opened his eyes.
Her features were deathly pale. She was shivering, her hair flattened and shinning with damp. Her lips were practically blue. None of this, however, seemed to be what had her frozen to the spot as he sat up to face her.
"Y-you." She uttered, a harsh, poignant whisper.
Tom was confused, groggy and just beginning to feel a spark of anger at having his room invaded without permission. "Me? Hermione what are you doing in here?" He rubbed his eyes to dispel the sleep still weighing down upon him. When he stopped he was greeted by the sight of a shaking wand pointed squarely at his face.
"You b-bastard! You dis-gusting, loathsome r-reptile!" Her teeth clashed together as she spoke. She was evidently freezing, and soaked to the bone, but she had discarded the robe she had been wearing in preference of threatening him.
Still baffled, Tom stared blankly at her. The anger that had been born merely a moment ago now seethed within him. How could she dare to point her wand at him? After invading his space? If anyone should be angry it was him!
"Hermione." His voice was low, heavy with warning. "Put down your wand."
"Shut up! Sh-ut up!" She cried. "Don't you dare speak to me Tom Riddle!"
Riddle. How did she- Suddenly he took note of the thin black book in her hand- his diary. But why was she so angry about his name? She couldn't have wanted to know it that badly. If anything he should be the one yelling at her. Touching his things! Who the fuck did she think she was?
"Hermione I-"
"No! No, T-Tom. I don't want to hear it!" Her voice was hoarse now and she coughed roughly in between some of her heaving breaths. Her eyes, though, that was what really scared him, angered him. Her eyes looked mad. They were hurt, accusatory, brimming with unshed tears, and yet, and yet so full of conviction, of intent, of duty.
She was going to kill him.
"I'm s-sorry Tom. But I can't let you go on." A single tear fell from the corner of her eye and he was surprised it didn't crystallise on her cheek.
She wouldn't have the guts.
She took a deep breath. "Av-"
Tom lunged, knocking her off her feet before she had the chance to finish the words. The air was knocked out of her and she lay, gasping, on the floor, clutching her chest, while Tom summoned his wand. Her own wand lay useless in her flailing grip, still gasping and writhing and coughing beneath him. He ripped the wand from her hand and threw it across the room, placing his against her chest.
"Petrificus Totalus. Silencio." He muttered with practiced ease. She stopped moving instantly and no more angered utterances left her mouth.
Nothing could be heard apart from his own breathing, short and rapid from the stress of the brief altercation.
"What the fuck, Granger?" He managed.
Standing, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair, not for a second taking his eyes off of the immobile form. She had been weak and he was certain she didn't yet know how to break out of a spell used against her but the pure determination in her eyes, the resolution with which she had begun the killing curse, left him unsure of anything.
She was only fourteen. He was only fourteen. She shouldn't even know the killing curse, let alone have resolve enough to perform it on someone her own age. It made no sense. Her of all people, with her bright, Gryffindor eyes and her soft, Gryffindor smile, and her proud, Gryffindor hair. Granger wasn't a killer. But she wanted him dead.
Why?
Without a word he levitated the girl against the side of his sofa. Her eyes continued to hold the cold, hurt expression they had even in their immobility. He crouched beside her and turned her face so it aligned directly with his, then he placed the tip of his wand against the side of her forehead. "This is going to hurt." He declared. He wasn't sure why he cared to warn her. Maybe it was to warn himself, he wasn't sure what lingered beyond those broken brown eyes.
"Legillimens."
It came all at once. A boy in glasses, over and over. A warmth accompanied his face every time. And they embraced.
"Harry!" She cried, running to him across the great hall.
Then red hair, too much of it, a girl, a boy, twins… One boy always with the glasses boy, no- Harry. Harry and red haired boy and a troll? No that couldn't be right.
Red haired boy. "Ronald!" "Ron." The boy who had made her cry. Glares and pity and anger. And something warm, not like Harry. Something confused.
Snakes. Know it all. Tears. Troll. Light reading. Sirius. Fluffy. Harry! Werewolves. Reflections. Nicolas Flamel. Mandrake. Azkaban. Harry! Wigardium LeviOsa. Pettigrew. Polyjuice. Crookshanks. Hippogriff. Buckteeth. Gilderoy. Ronald. Dementor. Gryffindor! Time turner. Mudblood. A punch. Harry!
Fear. Apprehension. Loyalty. Bravery. Love.
"Ah!" Tom recoiled from her thoughts blinking against his headache.
He didn't know what any of it meant. He only knew that there was too much darkness in her life. So much darkness. Dementors? Azkaban? Werewolves?
Who was she?
He needed more.
It was all moving too fast. He hadn't practiced enough for this. There was too much information to process at once. All he knew now was that she had suffered far too much for a fourteen year old. He knew who Harry and Ron were. He knew she was muggleborn. He knew lots of pointless, stupid things but not why she had tried to kill him.
He needed to know why.
He steeled himself with a breath once his headache subsided somewhat and delved back into her memories.
A stone, a chamber, a prisoner, a goblet.
Expeliarmus. Alohamora. Exspecto Patronum. Bombarda Maxima.
Blue fire. A single scrap of singed paper falling. Harry Potter, a voice calls, quiet. Too quiet.
Not him. Not Harry.
She wanted, she wanted, she didn't know what she wanted!
A dark haired boy.
A dress. Periwinkle blue. Her dress. Dancing. Music.
His own voice. Reparo Maxima.
Dragons, the first task is dragons.
Viktor. Viktor Krum. A kiss. A first kiss. Hermy-o-ninny.
Come seek us where our voices sound. Tom will know. Tom knows everything.
Water. Water everywhere. Drowning. No floating. Shark. Viktor. I'm so cold Viktor. It's okay Hermy-o-ninny.
Tom. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. I almost want to- Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. No!
Nightmares. Is it him, Harry?
Is it Voldemort?
Voldemort?
Dumbledore will know what to do.
Dumbledore. Dumbledore!
Tom fell out of Hermione's mind once again.
Shit.
With sure practiced movements he carried her over to her room and laid her down on the sofa. He then retrieved the cloak she had left on the floor and covered her with it. She could still hear and see and feel everything.
But he needed her still. There were too many things he needed to know.
He prayed to Circe that his memory charms would be strong enough.
"Obliviate."
"Hermione."
She was afraid. No, angry. No, livid.
"Hermione."
She had to… She had to… Something…
"Hermione, are you alright? You're soaked through what happened to you?"
"Tom?" She croaked, surprised by how raw her voice sounded. Like she'd been shouting.
"Yes, it's me Hermione. I'm going to cast a heating charm on you now."
"Tom."
"Shhh, Granger. You sound awful. Stay still and let me heal you."
"Tom, I feel strange."
"I mean it Granger. You're near death. You should be in the infirmary. What did you think I'd do a better job? I'm not a miracle worker. Just rest."
She did as she was told.
A sudden, obtrusive warmth flooded her system. It wasn't altogether unpleasant. It made her sink further back into whatever surface she was on. It left a satisfying prickle on her skin. She wondered for a moment where it was coming from, until she heard Tom's voice gently muttering.
"Thank you…Tom." She managed. Finding it difficult to stay awake in the comfort of the spell.
"Gaunt."
Hermione didn't understand. "Gaunt?" Was that the spell he was using?
His voice was small when he finally answered. "My last name. It's Gaunt. Tom Gaunt."
She smiled as she lost consciousness. "Tom Gaunt." It didn't suit him very much, she thought. Although she couldn't think of any name that would. He was so difficult to place in many respects, and that was no different.
He was so confusing.
An enigma.
A riddle.
A/N: Finally kicking it up a notch. I hope you are prepared for some high level deception in the following chapters! I hope you enjoyed this update, and that my Tom and Hermione are not too mercurial. I am still coming to grips with their characterisation I feel. Please let me know what you think! And thank you for all the follows and favourites and especially the comments! I cannot express enough how much I appreciate them! Love- Mercy!
