Chapter 2: Hermione Plots

Hermione headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room, having stopped at the extra supply closet to pick up robes, nightclothes, and casual wear (she was more than a little exasperated to see that her only options were dresses). They were all very good quality items, which didn't surprise her; it was probably a point of pride that the donations be "superior" as to reflect that image off their donors.

Her visit had been prompted by a stray hex that caught her as she stepped outside of the Ancient Runes classroom, before she had a chance to put up a shield. She was 95% sure it was Avery that had sent the hex, which set the sleeves of her robe on fire. She made sure to meet his eyes in a silent challenge as she nonverbally extinguished the flame.

As she put her clothes on a bed, Hermione picked out a dress (she made sure it was green, feeling defiant) and headed to the showers. Unfortunately, the school had not seen fit to give her anything to wash her hair with. This slight seemed so congruent with every other bit of unpleasantness happening right now that she couldn't stop herself from laughing bitterly.

But wait. Why should she have to feel this wretched? She had decided to take back this time for herself. Which meant she had options that didn't involve a pathetic display of oily curls and facial acne caused by washing her hair with a fucking bar of soap. Hermione considered her situation for a moment, and then headed to the shared cupboard that contained everyone's bathing supplies with a sly grin. Lovely Lilac White had been so helpful as to label all of her hair products. What a dear.

That taken care of, Hermione began to plot as she showered. She knew the first order of business necessary was to address the rampant bullying. There was no way she would be able to wipe the floor with Tom while she was constantly worrying about getting hit by random hexes in the hallways. She even considered, practically licking her lips at the thought, of being able to turn the opinion of the school against him. After all, Tom was so proud of his carefully-crafted image…

Hermione had a lot to work with. She had been bullied fairly consistently throughout her life. Primary school consisted of hateful taunts and insults at the "ugly teacher's pet", staged snubs, and the occasional hair-pull or book thrown in mud. Bullying at Hogwarts employed many of the same tactics, with the addition of magic. Wasn't it lovely that she had so much experience trying different responses. She had been argumentative, confrontational, violent, pleading, and on one notable occasion had even feigned ignorance bliss; she discovered that ignoring their behavior by responding as if they hadn't been bullying her was the most effective. By not acknowledging their behavior, and without an entertaining reaction that rallied non-participating bystanders, bullying didn't have a leg to stand on.

She knew that the Slytherins, whose respect was founded according to different values and who were much more willing to physically harm her, had to be handled different. Her blood status would be a serious barrier, but she planned to tackle it by emulating Riddle to some extent. Establishing herself as a person of power, and someone too dangerous to dally with inconsequentially. This would require a public demonstration of defeat that the Slytherins would be able to easily attribute to her, but that wouldn't get her in trouble.

And she had a personal grudge to settle. Avery.

But how should she pull that off in a way that would win her esteem? Hermione thought about the kind of things Slytherins respected. Resourcefulness. Cunning. Ambition. Heritage, obviously, which could represent wealth or family connections. Although wealth only had power up to a certain point- there is only so much you can spend. So in reality it was knowing the right people, specifically being backed by the right people. It was about being valued, and put in positions of power because of what she could contribute. It was about being able to rally people behind her so she stayed in power.

So what did she have at her disposal? Intelligence. Cleverness. Bravery. Magical Prowess. But more than that…. Knowledge. About the future. About some of the dirty secrets carried by these ancient families that came out in trials over the war. And about a certain aspiring Dark Lord.

Hermione grinned. And if she remembered correctly, Avery was actually ophidiophobic. Lord Voldemort had found out during the first Wizarding War, and thought it an apropos way to execute the man. Which was incredibly ironic. Although, as a Slytherin, this was probably embarrassing enough that he had neglected to tell his housemates.

The idea was delicious. But where would she get a snake? And how would she introduce it to him? A conjuration might work, but the snake in question would disappear after a few hours… which might be better, now that she thought about it. But where to put it?

Hermione had a strike of inspiration. She smirked. And wouldn't it be lovely to invite Moaning Myrtle to participate? Tom would love that.

Hermione decided to start her crusade on her housemates as soon as she got out of the shower. She brushed through her hair, pleasantly surprised at how easily it run through (it seems Lilac bought the good stuff), and went down to the common room. She saw a group of flyers pined against a nearby wall. One of them listed a dueling competition.

How perfect. She practically purred. Public demonstration of power, check.

She fairly skipped to the armchair next to the fireplace and got Advanced Transfiguration in Less Wandstrokes out of her bag. She opened the book to a random page, and barely had to wait a minute before someone gave a fake little cough that reminded Hermione unpleasantly of Umbridge.

"Hem hem," the girl said again when she didn't respond. Hermione didn't bother to look up.

"Excuse me, Mudblood? You're in my seat." Hermione absentmindedly turned a page. She froze when she felt the tip of a wand press against her forehead, instincts cultivated in the war kicking her adrenaline into gear. Her wand-hand twitched. Down girl, she told herself. Now is not the time to be confrontational.

"What language. And pulling your wand on an unarmed person? How did your parent's raise you?" Hermione looked up into the eyes of Mildred Shafiq, close friend and confidant of one Lilac White, but with an attitude less like a Lavender Brown and more like a Pansy Parkinson.

The girl sneered, but moved her wand back a few inches, and Hermione tried her hand at wandless casting. She had been practicing the skill since the end of 6th year; she and Harry actually spent a fair amount of time in the tent attempting it after she lost his wand over Christmas. It was like trying to scoop oil out of water with her hands, and she still wasn't always successful. She carefully sucked in a breath, the only indication of her success, as an invisible magical shield settled over her skin.

Shafiq continued. "That is my seat."

Hermione blinked, before looking down at the armrests and the cushion. "You bought this seat? And are you even allowed to have personal furniture in the Common Room?"

Shafiq's brow creased as she snapped back, "No, I didn't buy it, but that's the one I always sit in."

Hermione nodded. "Ah. And are you physically unable to sit in any of the other seats?"

Shafiq scoffed. "Well, that is the beautiful thing about having your own seat. I will never need to find out."

Hermione leaned forward and clenched her fist in front of her dramatically in a facetious show of support. "But today could be that day. Find your inner Gryffindor. Be courageous."

An angry hiss was all the notice Hermione had before a Jelly-Legs curse slid off her shield onto the floor. Hermione's expression remained blank. It wasn't until the black-haired girl had cast an additional three that Hermione started to lose her temper. And not because Mildred was being an annoying harpy, but because everyone else in the common room was pretending that she wasn't being openly cursed in the middle of the Common Room.

Fuck her plan, she decided. They were Gryffindors; unless she addressed this head-on little was set to change. Hermione nonverbally disarmed Shafiq and sent her into the armchair opposite of hers. She then cast a sticking charm on the other girl's arse, and made a show of getting up.

Shafiq tried and failed to stand. Her expression had turned panicked. "You can't do this."

"I can't? And yet, there you are," Hermione stated sardonically, before turning to face the common-room. "Excuse me! There are a few things we need to address." Most of the room's occupants turned to her in curiosity, a few with obviously distrustful gazes.

She introduced herself. "Hi all! My name is Hermione Granger, and I just wanted to say a few things about myself since you have all been so welcoming." A few faces had the decency to look abashed.

She didn't think it was a good idea to tell everyone that the castle was capable of sending people through time. "I am a victim of an accident with a Time-Turner. I attend Hogwarts several decades in the future, and have been proud thus far to be a Gryffindor. I have worked hard to protect Hogwarts and its students, and any scars I received was in pursuit of that. I do not know if the treatment I have received from my house thus far is a testament to the change in times, but in my time the only people to be so openly discriminatory towards people based on wealth or blood status were Slytherins. Perhaps someone could enlighten me?"

A boy in the crowd frowned. "Who said you were being picked on because of your blood-status? I heard rumors that you were consorting with Slytherins."

Another boy, much taller than the first, said, "My sister said you fancied Tom Riddle, and were following him around like a puppy. Despite the fact that he wanted nothing to do with you."

A girl this time, "Really? I heard that he did want her, and that they were consorting together in some kind of depraved romance."

Another girl. "It's not a rumor! I saw you in the library with Riddle! You were practically sitting next to each other! And you guys talk all the time in class!"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from scoffing. "Practically sitting next to? Really? And Tom and I argue in class because we have a tendency to disagree. Do you remember what we were talking about, Johnson?"

The girl frowned. "Arithmancy?"

Hermione's lips pursed. "That's right. Because we were in Arithmancy. And I can promise all of you that I have not been… fraternizing with any Slytherins. But even if I was!" She stopped, and tried to look as many of them in the eye as possible. "Is that really a good reason to bully your classmate?"

The tall boy frowned. "But they're Slytherins."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Which obviously means that all of them are currently being groomed to commit evil, atrocious acts, aspiring to become the next Dark Lord?" Her tone was sarcastic, although once she thought through the statement, she mentally winced because, yes, that is exactly what was going on.

The students around her frowned. "Look," Hermione continued, "I would really appreciate it if some of you would back off, and maybe even support me when I get attacked by the other Houses. I am doing my best to adjust and find a way home, but it has not been easy, and I don't have anyone that I can trust to support me."

There were nods in the crowd. "Are you really from the future?" a voice asked from the back.

"I am."

"What year?"

Hermione frowned, considering. But, what the hell. "I started attending Hogwarts in 1991."

A female voice from her right. "But that's in fifty years!"

Hermione nodded, a little exasperated.

"Can you tell us what happens?"

"Who wins the World Quidditch Cup next year?"

"Who becomes Minister of Magic after Spencer-Moon?"

Hermione answered in quick succession. "Ireland. Wilhelmina Tuft. And the usual. Ongoing conflict between traditionalist Purebloods and progressive Muggleborns."

Mildred frowned from her place by the fire. "I thought you weren't supposed to tell anyone about future events in the case of a temporal incident."

Hermione met her eyes with a devil-may-care grin. "Whoops."

Hermione walked into the Great Hall flanked by no less than six Gryffindors. They continued to ask questions about the future, but Hermione only responded to some of them, so it was tapering off. Instead they talked about shared interests and the like as they sat down at their House table. She looked over at the Slytherin table in curiosity and noticed Riddle frowning at her. She sent him a smug smile and flickered her fingers in a poor imitation of a wave. His frown deepened.

One of the boys beside her, who she had delightfully discovered was Harry's paternal grandfather, gave her a look. "You do realize that looks like flirting, right?"

Hermione looked at Charles Potter with a wry smile. "You have no idea how much I hate that man. I just enjoy irritating him."

Potter frowned. "What has he done to warrant hate? You have only been here a couple of weeks, right?"

Hermione looked over at Riddle. "He is a lying, pretentious psychopath. And just look at his stupid face." She turned to Potter with a look that said, how could anyone not hate him?

Potter snorted. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." He then bit into a dinner roll nonchalantly.

Hermione stared. Harry's grandfather quotes Shakespeare? And he even looked a lot like her bespectacled friend. How terribly odd.

"You were right, though. When you accused some of the students in Gryffindor of ignoring or insulting you because of her blood status. It's just that no one wanted to admit to it after you compared us to Slytherins," Potter added, spearing a green bean.

Hermione nodded. "I suspected as much." She poked a bowl of sliced beets in mild consideration. They… jiggled. Hm. "Should I expect them to continue?"

Potter shook her head. "Not after you called them out on it."

Hermione sighed. "Hopefully that lasts."

Breakfast passed without incident, which was significant. No stray curses, no hexes waiting at her seat… Her housemates worked quickly.

She headed to the library unusually optimistic, hoping to find some materials about decorating or design that could help guide her on her upcoming task. While Hermione realized that by agreeing to decorate Slughorn's party she was capitulating to a certain infuriating Head Boy, the potential embarrassment she would have to face confronting a Professor who was liable to commiserate over her apparent rejection easily overrode the inconvenience of attempting to decorate a party.

Twenty minutes later Hermione found herself cursing her pride under her breath as she flipped through fashion and home decorating magazines. Successful decorating on a non-existent budget proved to be more complicated than she originally thought (of course, perversely, the transfiguration of certain table decorations would be considered a kind of social faux pas).

It wasn't until she was ready to tear the contradicting magazine articles to shreds with her twitchy fingers (how could both beige and magenta be the "color of the season"? What the fuck did that even mean?), that she stopped herself. And resisted the impulse to swat at the school librarian hovering nearby with a suspicious glare.

Why was she trying so hard to prepare for this stupid party? Why did she still care?

Because she had lied to Tom yesterday. She did care. She hated to fail at anything. But that attitude had caused her so much misery, simply because it was impossible for her to be good at everything. She had recognized, during a brief flash of epiphany in her fifth year, that the reason she cared so little about Quidditch was probably because she was resentful at her lack of success…

Of course Riddle would choose that moment to sink into the chair next to hers, looking at the magazines with obvious disdain. "I seem to recall you stating that you were not interested in these kinds of things." He flipped the page with a finger, his face showing equal parts disgust and disturbed curiosity.

She scowled. "I'm not. If I had any say, all of these pointless, idiotic magazines would be shredded and used as fodder for flobberworms." She threw the magazine away from her, the revulsion thick on her face.

Tom snorted. "And yet, here you are."

Hermione sent him a glare (whose fault was it that she was here in the first place?), before she sighed loudly. It wouldn't do to provoke him in public. She had other things to handle before she was ready to tackle Riddle.

But really, why was he here again? "Research."

Tom looked like he was holding back a laugh. "Research? So you are the type that hits the books when confronted with anything unfamiliar?" He sneered, eyes dancing with mocking amusement, "Have you educated yourself about sex already? It's not as if you will be getting any practical experience."

Hemione's eyes hardened in indignation.

"And speaking of…" Tom continued, looking from the glossy neat curls on the top of her head, down to the black belt that clinched the green dress around her waist, taking note of her decently sized bust outlined in between. His gaze was not appreciative so much as it was assessing. With a condescending sneer he asked, "I remember you stating that you don't pay attention to, what was it… conventional standards of beauty."

Hermione frowned in frustration. "It's not as if I had much selection when deciding what to wear. And this-," Hermione gestured to her hair, "-is au naturel. Why Riddle? Is your appearance so difficult to maintain? Be honest. How many minutes do you spend in front of the mirror shaping your kiss curl?"

His eyes flashed even as his lips curled upwards. "I wake up like this."

Hermione made a very unladylike noise. "Sure you do."

Tom huffed.

Hermione tried to suppress her amusement at the sound. "And you are here because?"

Tom's animated face abruptly became dispassionate. "According to our lovely madam librarian, you have the only copy of Arithmancy and Potions: A Guide to Calculated Experimentations. I need to look at it for my Potions essay."

Hermione dug the book out of her bag and slide the text towards him across the table. "Here. Take it. Hopefully you will find it more useful than I did."

Tom's brows furrowed. "What was wrong with it?"

Hermione practically growled as she thought about it. "Have you read any of Cassandra Dechant's other work?"

Tom paused, curious. "No."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from ranting. "She has a disturbing tendency to use circular reasoning in order to defend assertions she claims are revolutionary because they have never been considered before, but in reality are unrealistic and impossible to reproduce. In this book," Hermione gestured angrily at the book in front of Tom, "she greatly over simplifies all of the variables you need to take into account when creating a potion, and then has the gall to criticize successful potioneers for their apparently misplaced brilliance. Sure she covers basic ingredients, the order of the ingredients, and the number and direction of stirs. But she doesn't even mention things like the material of the cauldron, the material of the stirring rod, the way the ingredients are prepared, the different treatments of heat, and the use of crystals as a catalyst. And she lists no reliable way to test for alternative ingredients while being able to predict how that would change the order and stirs, or what subtle differences would manifest as the potion was used…" Hermione trailed off awkwardly as she took in Tom's obvious interest.

Wrong audience, Hermione. Control yourself.

Tom was also noticeably amused, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from snapping, "What? I'm a swot," defensively in response.

Tom smirked. "I can tell." He paused, his brow furrowed in consideration, before he went on to say, "How do you know for sure that those details were purposely not included? Or that she forgot to include them, as opposed to assuming that most individuals attempting to cast the spell would be using standard potions equipment?"

Hermione's face scrunched up, thinking. "But what use would amateur potioneers have for employing both Arithmancy and Potions? Isn't it typically used when attempting to create new potions, or to find alternatives for potions already in existence? Wouldn't that be dangerous for someone without the proper experience?"

Tom's brow raised. "Perhaps she intended for her text to be treated as an introductory look at some of the variables to take in mind when preparing to use Arithmancy in potions-making? I doubt most individuals in our N.E.W.T. Potions class would be able to handle all of variables you mentioned."

"But all of those variables matter! How are you supposed to create an effective potion otherwise! And if you don't even mention the possibility, isn't that misleading?"

"And don't all of those individuals have access to the same books that you do? So if they took the time to read and apply themselves, they would know all of the factors to consider and could make informed decisions when creating their potion."

"But they don't! Most of the students here barely read the required materials."

"And that is exactly," Tom stated, looking down at her, "why you shouldn't care. Of course most of the world is full of fumbling idiots who consume themselves with cheap pursuits of instant gratification, and who do not understand the importance of education. But that is not something that you will be able to change."

Hermione scowled, looking down at her hands. She knew she shouldn't still be talking with him about this- he was a berk, he really was- but she had very rarely in the last eight years of her life come across the opportunity to have this discussion. Or to discuss the merits of certain books in general. As much as she hated to assign over-generalizations, there was something to be said about the common behavior of certain houses as it pertains to studying and discussing said studies with her. Gryffindors in general did not do above the minimum, and treated her inquiries as an unpleasant disruption to their attempts to pretend they didn't have to do work. Ravenclaws were so displeased with her success that they snubbed all of her attempts to converse. Hufflepuffs worked hard to complete their assignments and study before an exam, but they typically did not look above and beyond the required material. And Slytherins refused to associate with her, aside from a couple of notable discussions in the library in the form of testy whispers with one Theodore Nott.

She sighed in defeat and continued. "I do not, at all, understand them. And it is not as if this information has no use to them now or in the future; why wouldn't they want to better prepare themselves against threats? Or enable themselves to become more self-sufficient? Or to be considered useful enough to be put in positions of power where they would be able to enact change?"

Tom was quietly assessing. "I suspect you were missorted."

Hermione couldn't stop the smile. "I've considered it, but I could never collect knowledge for its own sake. I want to be able to use it. Even I have subjects that I avoid simply because I think they are useless."

"Such as?"

Hermione grimaced just thinking about it. "Divination. A more useless subject was never to be had."

Tom frowned. "Divination is perfectly respectable. There are centuries of successful precedent when using crystal balls, palmistry, numerology, tarot cards, or reading tea leaves… And there are genuine Seers about who make valid prophesies."

Hermione snarled, quite against her will. "Stupid fucking prophesies. If I am never the unfortunate recipient of such a needlessly anxiety-ridden waste of magic, I can die content."

"You don't believe in the legitimacy of prophesies?" Tom looked disturbed at the possibility.

"It is self-fulfilling overly indulgent drivel that seems to contain a disproportionate amount of tragedy. No, thank you."

Tom's eyebrow raised.

He opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Professor Slughorn, who had entered the library and headed over to their table.

"Hello Mr. Riddle! Miss Granger!" They both looked over at their Potions Professor as he stopped in front of them. "Miss Granger, I wanted to let you know that you should be able to access some of the castle's decorating supplies for the upcoming party. The Deputy Head should be able to tell you more about how to attain what you need."

He turned to Tom. "Mr. Riddle, if I could talk to you in private?"

Hermione took that as her cue to leave, and sent the magazine back to their shelf with a flick of her wand. "Thank you Professor, I'll be on my way." She walked down the aisle, and then hid behind a bookcase. How could she resist?

She heard Slughorn bring Tom aside. "Now Tom, I know you have been attempting to dissuade Miss Granger from her affections, but you need to be conscientious of your own behavior. It is probably not going to help anything if you continue to talk together so casually in the library."

Tom's tone was imploring. "But sir, she had a book that I needed to review for your Potions essay?"

Slughorn sighed. "Females are rather excitable creatures, Tom. And are easily encouraged. Who knows what she is thinking right now? You need to be firm with her. Take her in hand, and let her know exactly where she stands."

"Of course, sir."

Hermione's hands curled, and she hissed, infuriated. Of course us poor, hysteric, easily encouraged females need to be guided by a man. It's not as if we are capable of thinking for ourselves, or about things other than dalliances, marriage, and babies. Merlin's hairy scrotum.

Hermione was ready to strangle that dark-haired, devious sycophant of a Dark Lord, she really was.

She fantasized about it as she headed out of Professor Dumbledore's office, having just been informed by the Deputy Head that she could only get access to decorating supplies through the Head Boy or Head Girl. And unfortunately the Head Girl was currently away visiting an ill mother. And of course Tom hadn't feel the need to inform her while they were sitting together in the library.

So, full of frustration from running needlessly around the castle, and remembering Professor Slughorn's casual misogynistic attitude, Hermione was close to seething. But this was helping. She could practically feel her fingers pressed into his trachea, her nails gripping the skin hard enough drops of blood began to fall, his gasping breaths…

Her fantasy was cut short when she saw the real Tom emerge from the other end of the hallway. He met her gaze with a triumphant smirk, and Hermione did her best to think about his death at her hands as loudly as possible. He was a Legilimens, right? So he should be able to read her thoughts? She imagined his skin tearing, her fingers dripping with his blood, the surprise and fear twisting his stupid, strangled face as he croaked uselessly…

She expected Tom to react negatively to the image. To snarl, or make more vague threats about the wellbeing of her person. Instead his eyes burned in what she was horrified to discover might be interest. Why? From every account that she had heard, he certainly had sadistic tendencies, but he was no masochist…

Hermione resolved herself and finished the fantasy. His body going limp in her hands, his eyes blank as the life left… She had seen enough people die to know what it looked like. Had killed enough people to be sure. She watched as his gaze turned dark and more intense, if that were possible, and she felt… something. Some joined feeling of something, almost painful in her chest in its intensity. She took a staggered breath and saw Tom do the same.

This was quickly getting out of hand. The loss of control made her skittish, and she darted behind a curtain before striding around a corner. Took a deep breath.

What was that? If she had had any experience with this sort of thing she might have attributed it to animal magnetism, but that had never really happened to her before. She wasn't the type of person to be intensely attracted to… anyone, really (her regrettable interest in her ginger-haired friend aside, but even that was nothing like this). Was it the violence of the scene? She wouldn't be surprised if Riddle was the type to get off on violence, but what about her?

Quite possibly, now that she thought about it. She remembered trying to convince herself that kissing Ron during the final battle had been due to the adrenaline of the situation, or relief after destroying Riddle's horcrux, but she couldn't deny how… excited she had been. To see the physical results of her magic, witness her power and control… Magic still marveled her, but there was this tiny, persistent voice in the back of her head that told her this might all be a dream. That she might wake up to discover she was studying for her A-levels. Or worse, that she was somehow not good enough to be a witch, that all of the recrimination she received from other people was justified. But to feel that power?

Or maybe it was their magic? She had heard stories of magical compatibility before, but she had always assumed the accounts were over-exaggerated.

Well, this encounter proved to be interesting for several reasons. One, she had confirmed Riddle's use of Legilimency. As long as she could remember to remain cognizant of the fact, she could use it to her advantage. In the mean-time she would do her best to avoid needless direct eye-contact.

Two, she had discovered that she couldn't be as carefree with her approach to him as she might have liked. Not because she was afraid of what he might do to her, but because she was scared of her own response. She was not at all happy to discover that she was that attracted to the young, aspiring Dark Wizard, but that did not mean she had to be stupid about it.

And third, she had more research to do to discover the root cause of this… physical disturbance.

She could use a distraction. If anything it made her anticipate her plans regarding Avery that much more.