Chapter Six
After an entire week stuck in the past, Hermione was no closer to understanding why the Room of Requirement sent them back in time or why so far. It couldn't have been an accident. No matter how little she knew about that aspect of the castle or the depths of its strange and magnificent powers, she had no doubt that it didn't make mistakes. She and Draco weren't sent back in time over thirty years because of a malfunction. There was a very specific reason she had to figure out. It was all driving her mad.
Draco's suggestion that she might be a relative of the famous potioneer Hector Dagworth-Granger was never far from her mind even if it had yet to cease seeming impossible. Could that be a clue? It was too coincidental that they arrived in the past on her father's nineteenth birthday. She couldn't ignore that strange twist in the saga. Draco claimed there were physical similarities between her and the wizard, but she couldn't see them herself. If her grandfather or great-grandfather was a wizard, she would've known, wouldn't she? While she certainly couldn't claim she was privy to all of her family's secrets, she couldn't imagine a secret like that being kept for very long.
Her dad never knew his father. It was something of a sore subject that no one, especially Granny Granger ever brought up. Was there a more secretive reason than she ever dreamed? When she was once bold enough to ask why she didn't have a grandfather on that side of the family, her mother told her that he'd died when her father was very young and because it was very sad, she should never mention him again to her father or grandmother. Hermione had been young and innocent enough to accept that answer without question. Could a wizard be hidden in her family tree?
Each time she started to think there might be some logical sense to Draco's suggestion, Hermione would shake her head with a laugh. It was preposterous. He was just grasping for straws in their bizarre and uncomfortable new existence. Maybe they would never understand the reason they were sent to the past. It was a possibility they each had to prepare themselves for.
Hermione only hoped she wouldn't be trapped forever working in the horrible shop she'd reluctantly agreed to work in. Hate wasn't a strong enough word to describe how she felt about being stuck in the dusty, dark Borgin and Burkes for at least ten hours nearly every single day. Besides being mind-numbingly boring, Borgin annoyed her. She didn't care for the way he looked at her nor did she appreciate how long his eyes lingered on her arse. Young she might be, but she certainly wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what the creepy man desired and he wasn't about to succeed in his quest. Whenever he got too close, she'd started casting distraction spells under her breath. One second he would be standing far too close to her for comfort and the next he would remember a task he neglected to complete. She hoped she wouldn't be stuck there long. The thought of remaining there for any significant length of time was far too depressing to contemplate.
One of her odious tasks was to keep an accurate inventory of the contents stored in the back stockroom. Each of the partners in the shop was convinced the other was stealing and they both mistrusted their employees. It was part of her job to every single day make certain nothing disappeared the night before. She thought it was a complete waste of her time. If the two owners couldn't trust each other, perhaps it was best that they no longer remain in business together. Of course no one ever asked for her opinion.
Hermione was close to finishing up the inventory near the end of her shift when the back door that led in to the dark, creepy alley behind the building suddenly opened. Dropping her parchment in her surprise, she was ready to curse the intruder when a young wizard she didn't recognize came running in. He sealed the door shut before hiding behind a large cabinet.
"Excuse me, but you can't…"
Her words were cut off by someone who sounded very angry banging on the door outside and shouting to be allowed inside. She was worried. What had she gotten herself caught up in? All she wanted to do was finish her task and go upstairs to her shabby shared flat. She pointed her wand at the wizard. Clearly not afraid of her, he chuckled as he held up his hands to show her he wasn't a threat and offered her a cheeky grin.
"I will give you three galleons if you'll tell the gentleman on the other side of that door that I ran out the front door."
"You can't be in here."
"Oh, but I can. Borgin let out a room in the basement to me in exchange for helping him around the store the few short hours I'm free. Please, miss. I beg you. Tell him I left and all three galleons will be yours. I'll starve this week, but it'll be worth it."
She wasn't sure why exactly, but Hermione liked the wizard. Something about him made her smile. If he was lying about living in the basement, it was an easy enough lie to uncover. Nothing about him seemed dangerous. Despite knowing she could be making a mistake getting involved in affairs that weren't her own, Hermione opened the back door. A quick shield kept the furious, red-faced wizard from entering.
"Where is he? Where is the rat that just ran inside here?"
"There's no one else in here with me, sir. I'm alone."
"He just ran inside."
"I didn't see anyone. Likely if there was someone who ran in, he ran out the front door before I even noticed."
"Now listen here, you little whore…"
No one was going to insult Hermione like that without suffering some painful consequences. Dropping her shield, she cast both a confounding spell and a stinging hex to his bollocks in rapid succession. Suddenly confused and in severe pain, the rude wizard stumbled away from the door. She closed it and cast another sealing charm on it before turning around.
The intruder who claimed he lived in the basement was nearly doubled over with laughter. Once more against her better judgement, Hermione fought the urge to laugh. Had he placed her under some sort of spell that made her temporarily lose her senses? Or was that simply due to his handsome features and ready smile? She doubted she was the only witch who ever felt the same when he was near.
"You are a kind, beautiful woman and I could kiss you."
"What sort of mess did you just get me in? Did you do something illegal? Should I be contacting the aurors?"
"'Illegal'? Not at all. 'Immoral'? Debatable. His wife certainly wasn't complaining until he decided to come home unexpectedly."
Hermione rolled her eyes at his confession even as she smiled. It was no wonder the wizard was so intent on murdering the scamp. She almost felt guilty about hexing the man in the alley. Something unsettling about his demeanor and desire to commit murder prevented her from full guilt.
"Please don't get me me involved in your private affairs again, Mr…."
"Karkaroff. Igor Nikoleyvich Karkaroff."
He winked as he offered his hand for a proper handshake. If he noticed her momentary jolt of surprise at hearing his name, he didn't mention it. She could hardly believe the cheeky young wizard no older than twenty-two or twenty-three was the same formidable, cold man she met her fourth year when she was the date of his prized pupil. Karkaroff was killed almost a year later after his former Dark Lord returned after the Triwizard Tournament. Widely known as a terrible coward, the Durmstrang Headmaster made a number of enemies amongst his Death Eater comrades when he sold them out for a lesser prison sentence after Voldemort was presumed dead in 1981. How was it possible the young man was the same person?
"I am but a poor potions apprentice from Russia. I'm studying under the very best potions master in the world. Mr. Borgin was kind enough to let me stay in his dingy, damp basement in exchange for minding the store when I can and listening for intruders at night."
"Why haven't I seen you before? I've been here an entire week."
"As a lowly apprentice, I only get one, sometimes two days off a month. If I'm able to come home, it's often very late. You're likely already asleep. Sometimes I just sleep next to my master's cauldrons."
She had more questions for him, but wanted to finish the inventory as quickly as she could. The sooner she could leave the horrible shop, the better. Instead of heading for the basement as she assumed he would, Igor followed her around the stockroom.
"You know my name, but you never told me yours. If we are going to be neighbors and I hope very good friends…"
The exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows made her laugh out loud. He had far more confidence than he had a right to. Ordinarily an obnoxious trait in others, she found it charming in him. Not interested in what he had to offer in the slightest, she could find him amusing instead of overbearing.
"Hermione Granger."
She did notice the slight narrowing of his eyes after she said her name. Subtle, it was still obvious he was thinking hard about something as he looked at her face. After just a couple of seconds, he shrugged his shoulders and reached into his pocket.
"I owe you three galleons. It's all the money I have in the world until my grandmother sends me her monthly owl next week, but a Karkaroff's word is his bond."
"Keep it. You're already too thin. I wouldn't feel comfortable knowing you're starving."
He laughed again, but didn't dare argue. His money went straight back to his pocket.
"Now, tell me how a nice witch like you ended up in a rubbish heap like Borgin and Burkes."
People were by their very nature terribly nosy and curious about the lives of everyone they met. Hermione and Draco both understood they would need some sort of convincing backstory to tell when asked. Though much easier to blend in in the city, there would always be questions.
"My cousin and I moved here from a tiny village. There was nothing to do there so we came to London. It's a terribly boring story, I'm afraid. Neither of us had much money, but we could afford the attic flat. It won't be forever."
If Igor was suspicious of her well-rehearsed response, he had enough kindness not to press. Everyone had secrets, pasts they wanted to avoid. Maybe he was still too young to know that in his own life, but the day would come when he would look back over his past with more regret than joy. Perhaps they all would.
"Be careful around Borgin. There's a reason why all of the witches he gives jobs to are young and pretty and don't last long."
"I appreciate the warning, but I'm not worried. I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt that at all. If he hadn't wanted to strangle me, I would've felt sorry for that arsehole you hexed. I certainly won't do anything to get on your bad side any time soon."
The rest of her shift passed swiftly thanks to Igor's amusing company. Unable to spend the rest of his free day as he'd planned due to the lady's husband coming home too early, he chose instead to get to know one of his new neighbors. He was delightfully witty and kind, a far cry from the Death Eater she knew in her own time. His service to Lord Voldemort would change him irrevocably.
As soon as the shop closed, Hermione wished Igor a good evening and climbed the stairs to the tiny attic flat thoroughly exhausted. She loathed the long hours. Already she was making plans to start an independent study to prepare for taking her NEWTs at the Ministry. She didn't want to be stuck where she was for much longer. The thought was too discouraging.
Draco hadn't yet returned from his own job when she entered their shared flat. Much cleaner than it had been when they first arrived, their new home was still shabby. Nothing much could be done to change that. At least it was warm and dry. She knew from her time sleeping in a tent in the middle of winter that it could always be much worse.
Only moments after kicking off her shoes and collapsing on the threadbare sofa the door opened. Draco entered carrying a large paper sack filled with food from the shop he worked in and a bright smile. Despite her efforts, Hermione felt almost bitter at his happiness. He actually seemed to like his job, a concept she found terribly foreign.
"Miss Doris taught me a new soup to make at work today. She couldn't believe I'd never made it before."
He chuckled as he began to unpack the ingredients for their dinner. It amused him to learn new things that most people took for granted. His childhood had been so sheltered and privileged he didn't need to know as much as the average person. Hermione scoffed softly. He could be painfully and annoyingly naïve.
Somehow in the short time they'd been in the uncertain past, Draco managed to find a way to be happier. Hermione didn't understand it. What was there to be happy about in their new reality? The novelty of it was wearing off. She was ready to march back up to the Room of Requirement and demand she be returned to her correct timeline. Knowing that wasn't possible due to the timeline already changing with them in the past only made her depressed. That knowledge had the opposite effect on her traveling companion.
"How was working downstairs today? Has it gotten any better?"
"Hardly. My distraction spells have gotten better. I suppose that's positive."
"Hopefully you won't be stuck there much longer. There are plenty of other shops in Diagon Alley that are hiring."
Hermione gave in to the childish urge to roll her eyes. Somehow she doubted she would be any happier just changing to a different shop. Not even if it was to the wonderful and exciting greengrocer Draco had fallen in love with. It all sounded so dreadfully boring. She didn't know how he could stand it.
"One of your father's old mates lives in the basement. I met him today."
Draco looked up from the table where he'd been chopping carrots with a worried scowl.
"Which one?"
"Igor Karkaroff. Remember how you used to brag your father knew the Durmstrang Headmaster?"
He chose to ignore her subtle dig at his past tendency to boast.
"What was he like?"
"Surprisingly charming. Maybe a little too charming. I like him though. He was amusing. A bit full of himself."
"Sounds like he hasn't changed that much. I remember he was always a little too friendly with my mother."
He returned his full attention back to preparing the soup. Truthfully, Hermione had been grateful the first time he offered to cook. After so many months with Harry and Ron just assuming she would be the one to make certain they were fed, she assumed Draco would be no different. He even seemed to enjoy cooking, something she also couldn't understand. For a reason she was unsure of, his willingness to help was as annoying as the fulfillment he appeared to have found working his miserably unimportant job.
"And what about your day, Draco? Did you have a fascinating day amongst the rutabagas? Please tell me there weren't any mushroom emergencies you had to endure. Those can be terribly taxing."
Draco sighed, but didn't respond. She knew her tone was rather rude and she didn't care. For an entire week, every time he returned to their horrid flat from a long day working, he'd been happy. What was wrong with him?
"I'll never understand how you can actually like working there. You're far too intelligent to find any actual fulfillment working in a shop."
The chopping stopped. Draco clenched his jaw. Even when he tried to hide how frustrated he was, she'd known him long enough to recognize the signs. He took a deep breath and returned to his chopping. Why he didn't make the task easier by utilizing a spell, she didn't understand. Nothing about him made much sense.
"Only stupid people are allowed to work in shops, is that it?"
"I never said that."
"But it's what you think, right? A person would only choose to work in a shop if they had no other available options? They must be too stupid to work anywhere else."
"Well…"
"You are just as big of a snob as my father."
Offended that he would dare suggest she had anything in common with the horrible man who sired him, Hermione was half-tempted to curse him just as she'd hexed the cuckolded husband from earlier. Draco was the one who was putting words she never said in her mouth. Even if her opinions weren't necessarily kind, she was still entitled to them, wasn't she? When did he get to decide what was moral and just?
"It's not beneath me to work there. I'm fed, warm, and it might not be much, but my savings is growing. I like it there."
"But you have to admit it's not much of a challenge."
"Why should I want to be constantly challenged? I meet nice people every day who are kind to me and don't look down on me for my name. Yes, the work is physically demanding, but I would rather be tired in my body at the end of the day than exhausted in my brain all day long."
The tension in the tiny flat was unbearable. For the most part the two former rivals had been able to keep their tempers under control since their journey began. Worried she might do or say something she would regret later, Hermione picked up her shoes and escaped to her bedroom.
One of their first tasks the day they moved into the flat was to turn the one moderately-sized bedroom into two identical tiny bedrooms. There wasn't enough space for more than just a narrow bed and a small chest of drawers, but at least there was a door that shut. She didn't need much else.
A heavy, frustrated sigh exploded out of Hermione as she threw herself down on the bed. There was a pervasive heaviness in her quiet corner of the flat, but she assumed it had more to do with the troubled state of her mind than anything more sinister. Some nights she struggled to fall asleep in the unfamiliar space. Other nights she fell deeply asleep to suffer disturbing dreams she couldn't wake herself out of. So far there had been no middle ground.
As much as she didn't want to admit it, once Hermione was alone with her thoughts, she could see Draco's point about not wanting to be constantly challenged. It was exhausting. Maybe she had been a snob without realizing. It certainly wasn't her intention. She didn't really believe that only stupid people chose to work in shops. Of course when she really thought about it, the more she understood that's exactly what she'd assumed.
She sighed again. It was a terrible thought and one she knew wasn't true. Just because she didn't find joy working where she did, didn't mean no one else should. If Draco was happy, she wouldn't judge him and she would try to be kinder in the future. No more snarky remarks about his apron or how sometimes he smelled like peanuts when he came home. He had a right to be happy. She only wished she felt the same. Somehow she doubted she would ever find it working downstairs.
Her dissatisfaction with how life turned out once she stepped into the Room of Requirement settled deep in her guts. How much better would her existence have been if she just left that room alone? She closed her eyes, suddenly unable to keep them open. With hardly any warning, she drifted off into another inexplicable deep sleep.
The unsettling dreams were always the same. Running down long corridors to nowhere. Something was chasing her but she knew if she turned around to look at what it was she would die. The flickers of impossibly hot green flames would steal the breath from her lungs next. Unable to keep running without air, she would always collapse to the hard stone floor. As she succumbed in her dreams, she would wake up in her room.
Except, for a reason she didn't know, that dream was different. Maybe the stress of her disagreement with Draco followed her into her sleep. When otherwise she would have woken up fully, Hermione slid into that uncomfortable state of consciousness where she was neither fully awake nor fully asleep. When she tried to move, she was frozen. Panic set in when she tried to call out and her mouth wouldn't move. The distressed sound she made in the back of her throat could hardly be heard in her own ears let alone another room.
Then she realized with even more paralyzing fear that she was no longer alone. Someone or something was in the tiny room with her. She could move her eyes, but nothing else, leaving her vision practically useless until whatever it was was right above her. The footsteps grew louder, closer. She prayed it was only Draco coming to check on her or berate her for being a snob again.
But it wasn't. The face of a handsome young man appeared over her bed. Something about him was familiar, but Hermione didn't recognize him. For a brief second she thought she was at Hogwarts when she saw his robes until she remembered she was still in her bedroom. He said nothing, only smirked when she tried and failed again to speak. The amusement in his dark brown eyes made him appear even more handsome even as it filled Hermione with a chilly terror. There was a Slytherin patch and a Head Boy badge on his robes. Who was he? Why did she think she should know him?
In a matter of seconds the wizard disappeared and all feeling returned to her body. Suddenly able to move again, Hermione sat up and scooted her back against the wall next to her bed. Indescribable relief spread over her when she saw she was alone. It was all just a dream, a figment of her imagination. Sleep paralysis was an explained, scientific phenomenon. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Hallucinations were quite common in that state because a sufferer was still technically asleep. She could breathe easier.
Several minutes passed before she felt like herself again. If she didn't start getting some quality sleep soon, she was going to have to resort to taking potions, something she would much rather avoid. With her heart no longer racing, she could feel a strange pulsing in her back. She placed her hand on the wall and immediately jumped off the bed.
The wall felt alive. There was no logical explanation. Next to her bed, only millimeters from where she lay her head each night, the wall was breathing. Nothing else in the room felt strange and the pulsing was only in a very small area. Her first instinct was to run out of the room and tell Draco, but she was worried he would just assume she was insane. How could she explain it without sounding so?
As it often did where Gryffindors were concerned, reckless action overcame good sense. Hermione pushed on the wall where it pulsed. Nothing happened until she moved just past the spot where it seemed to be alive. The panelling moved, revealing a hole in the wall. She cast a lumos to see if there was anything inside. All she could see was what looked like a small, thin book.
The pulsing in the wall stopped when she reached her hand inside to retrieve the book. Completely covered in dust, she could only tell the cover was made of leather until she wiped it off with her hand. Embossed gold lettering revealed a name she'd heard many times.
Tom Riddle.
She dropped the diary with a gasp. Her heart raced again. There was once a young wizard straight out of Hogwarts who went to work in the shop downstairs. It would make sense that he would also live in the attic flat. Sometimes tenants left possessions behind when they moved out. Usually it was because they were overlooked or forgotten.
Or they needed to hide something dark and dangerous until they could return to reclaim it.
