A/N: I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas! I sure did. Anyway, I had some of you guys totally spazzing out due to the last chapter. Yeah, it was totally intentional, but that's what makes things exciting. However, for those of you confused, concerned, or even scared because of the last chapter's terrible cliffhanger, this chapter ought to clear some things up for you. Also, for those who are frustrated about my posting times: it sucks, I know. It's also inconvenient and awful for both you and me as the writer considering after long waits I have to re-read some of my own material. It's stressful, but I really love this story, enjoy writing it, want to complete it, but I will do it in a manner that won't completely overwhelm and stress me out. Since I don't start school back until the 13th, I will try my darnedest to write as much as I can, but please be understanding of my own personal life and unscheduled mishaps, because hey, even fanfic writers have real lives to tend to before their writing believe it or not. Expect Tom to be returning in the next chapter full force and for the rest of the story. I miss him and things are going to get wicked fun from here.

Hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the setting, wonderful characters or cleverness, it all belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I am just a devoted fan who added some original characters and a crazy story into the mix.

Hermione trudged through the following day with nothing able to occupy her mind or time other than thoughts about the conversation she had with Alphard Corvus that previous night. Her headache had dulled to a slow, constant throbbing and at this point she couldn't tell if it was from attempting to practice legilimency on herself while looking in the mirror or because of the frustrating note her conversation with the handsome portrait had ended on.

My own daughter doesn't even recognize me, he had said, and Hermione was thrown for an unexpected loop. Everything he told her led up to her viewing him as nothing more than a fountain, spewing up elaborate, exaggerated tales that were all part of some sick, twisted joke. Hermione felt that the frame holding him inside might as well be tilted as to show how off-kilter and insane the man was. If magical portraits truly captured the essence of the person, then it was clear that he must've went mad during the time of the painting's creation.

Hermione sat outside Hogwarts among the castle's never-ending shadows that it always would cast after midday. The air was crisp and cool and she knew that she would soon be needing a scarf when traveling out. The wind breezed gently across her face, stirring her curls about in their wake and blocking her view of the book she was currently reading for her Transfiguration class. She tucked the curls behind her ear and pulled the mass of her hair over her left shoulder. She tried to read the passage again, but with the dull pounding in her head and Alphard's words flowing perfectly in sync with every thud, she felt it was hopeless. She slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the grass away from her with a huff.

She leaned back against the cool stone of the castle, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. She might be having a bad time, but she wasn't going to spoil it for Nyoka. Between her classes, Tom Riddle, and now Alphard Corvus, she hadn't had the time to take the serpent outside at all—a point she should be making to do so, especially with winter on its way. Her messenger bag—charmed to be slightly bigger on the inside and light to carry—held neatly stacked books on the inside, but no Nyoka. The serpent had slithered out a little under an hour ago to hunt and bask in the ever-fleeting sunlight. Hermione had promised her at least over an hour of outdoor activities due to Nyoka's ramblings of "bad owner" and "dusty castle mice."

Hermione allowed her hands to brush the cold grass beside her, before ripping up a handful and letting it drift away in the wind, each blade catching a current of their own. She let her hand drift near her face and took in the smell the grass had left behind, reminding her faintly of what it smelled like in the summer when freshly cut. She thought of Ron, of the Weasleys, and of the burrow. Her heart panged as their faces flashed through her head. She shook the images away and sighed before standing up and walking toward one of the many young trees that scattered throughout the grounds of Hogwarts.

She picked up the small, spindly twigs that had fallen before their time of growing had come, choosing the most flexible ones. After gathering a bundle and a handful of late-blooming dandelions, Hermione walked back to her spot under the castle's shadow and sat down. She began twisting and braiding the flexible twigs together into a circular shape. She nestled the flowers into the grooves of the flimsy wood and carefully wove and tied their stems to the twigs. After working several long minutes, she held the final creation in her hand and smiled. A small flower bracelet rested in her palm. She still remembered how her mother had taught her the trick of using nature as an accessory during the spring and summer. She had even once made Hermione a crown of flowers. How, she would never know, but at least the lesson on how to make bracelets had stuck and allowed Hermione to entertain herself.

Hermione had never been the type of young girl who took a particular interest in makeup or attempting to wear her mother's heels as she grew older like many of the muggle girls she had once been friends with did. Therefore, when Hermione's mother showed her how to use nature as a beautifier before diamonds and pearls, she was sold.

Hermione sat aside the bracelet she had just made and began going to work on another when she heard a set of footsteps approach her.

"Flower bracelets?" Christopher Goldstein questioned with a tilted head, his sandy blond hair catching the wind. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He wore his Ravenclaw jumper to brace himself from the chilling air.

"Um-hmm, my mother taught me how to make them when I was young," Hermione smiled up at him before returning to weaving her twigs.

"Aviela used to make those things when we were younger. She always used me as the mannequin when sizing them," he confessed while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Hermione laughed slightly at the thought of Christopher being decorated from head to toe in daisies and dandelions.

"So you know how to make them then?"

"Unfortunately," he said. Hermione motioned for him to sit with the slight tilt of her head. Christopher accepted her invitation and sat down, picking up a few twigs of his own and weaving them together.

"So, how have you been?" Christopher asked after a few moments of silence while they worked.

"I'm fine," Hermione said a little too quickly, a little too defensively. "Sorry, I mean I've been doing alright. Just busy with school and Slughorn's project. You?"

"Same—minus the whole slug thing," Christopher stammered. "With it being mine and Aviela's last year, there isn't much left we have to do other than attend and pass it seems."

Hermione had nearly forgotten Christopher and Aviela were a year above her—particularly because she frequented them so much rather than those within her own year. She would have been remorseful in knowing that they were leaving at the end of the year if she didn't have plans to leave as well and head back to her own time.

"Will you miss it?" Hermione questioned as she lifted a flower to her twig bracelet and worked it in.

"Hogwarts? Yeah, of course. Who wouldn't? I am sure Aviela has told you that I've had a… rough time in the past adjusting to my surroundings here, but it's gotten better, really. I've made some friends with people in other houses."

"And me," Hermione added.

"Ye-yeah... I guess you're right," Christopher stammered, a slight blush tinting his freckled face. Hermione smiled at him. He reminded her so much of Ron.

After several moments of silent working, they both finished their bracelets and held them aloft in the wind. Christopher's bracelet had less splits and was more tightly woven. Comparing the two, Hermione's looked half-heartedly done. She placed her newly finished bracelet atop the other one beside her. She then wondered why she had never sat with Ron or Harry and made bracelets. It would have made a nice memory. Maybe they still could.

Hermione's brow had furrowed and she reached into the diminishing pile of twigs to start another one when Christopher reached for her hand, immediately retracting it before they touched. He had a look of nervousness on his face.

"Hermione, I… Are you sure you're fine? Aviela said she has seen you sneaking off late into the night and not coming back until sunrise. She said you haven't been at dinner much and you look ill. We're all worried. Minerva even came to Aviela asking about you. No one has seen much of you lately," he gushed quickly like it was something he had pent up, although she was almost sure that he had something else to say at first. She could tell he wouldn't settle for another "I'm fine."

"I've just been stressed out lately, I guess. I've had a lot of school work and on top of that some… past family issues," she reassured him, but used the term "family issues" lightly as she anonymously referred to Alphard Corvus. "I just have a lot on my plate right now and I've found that night walks help give me some peace when I'm restless. I am sorry to have worried you all, it's just something I don't really feel comfortable talking about."

Christopher looked down at the bracelet in his hand and looked disheartened.

"Are you sure? No one has been treating you bad have they? If so, I'll… I'll…"

"No, no! No one has bothered me, Chris, I'm fine," She assured him as he trailed off and blushed when she used his shortened name. "Thank you, for being so considerate, though. It means a lot, truly. I'll try to make myself livelier."

"Well… just act how you feel, but remember you have friends, you have us—Aviela, Minerva, Hagrid—me. Just don't feel you have to go it alone, alright?" Christopher stood and brushed off his pants to rid himself of any grass or dirt.

"Thanks, Christopher," Hermione said as she reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a tight squeeze before letting go.

"Here, you can have this. I guess it can be a friendship bracelet of sorts. It would be rather odd for me to carry to Charms anyway," Christopher affirmed as he rubbed the back of his neck again. He extended his palm holding the bracelet to Hermione. She lifted the delicate piece of jewelry and put it on with a laugh.

"I guess it is a friendship bracelet," Hermione said as she held her wrist aloft, examining it. "Thanks again. See you all for dinner?"

"Sure thing," Chris said before he nervously patted his hands on his thighs and turned to go back to the castle. She stood and watch him go, imagining the tall, lanky sandy-haired boy had fire red hair and a Chudley Cannons jersey on.

"What did you say to the boy? You must have had him terrified. I could feel him shaking from all the way by the tree," Nyoka hissed as she slithered up beside Hermione's bag.

"Nothing. We just simply talked," Hermione confided.

She looked down at the bracelet she wore on her wrist. It had been made with deft, steady hands. It was something she hadn't expected Christopher—who was nervous and shy—to have done.

Hermione finally frequented her house's table and was happy to find that Minerva McGonagall had joined them for the evening. They talked about the upcoming quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin as well as next weekend's Hogsmeade visit looming ever closer. Everyone was becoming abuzz with guessing what the Halloween Ball's theme would be when revealed the following Monday. Aviela chattered on about what she had chosen for her costume in being part of the committee and knowing the theme while Minerva formulated who would take whom when the matchmaking portion began.

Hermione looked around the Great Hall. Hagrid laughed loudly with some fellow Gryffindors who had befriended him and she smiled. If she did anything worthwhile in her time here, she was glad she could help Hagrid branch out. Whether it went against what had happened in her time or not she didn't know, but she didn't regret it when she saw him laugh and rumble the table slightly with his large belly. Her eyes drifted to the Slytherin table and she found herself looking for a pallid, dark haired Slytherin she hadn't seen in some time. However Tom Riddle was nowhere to be found. Neither was Abraxas or Hadrian.

Hermione turned back to Aviela when she was asked what color of shimmery material would go best with her eyes. Hermione stuffed a spoonful of peas in her mouth as she mulled it over before swallowing and saying blue. Minerva began spewing her best unlikely pairs to attend the ball when Aviela finished, causing Hermione to laugh when she said Aviela should go with Hadrian. Aviela turned several shades of pink. In their merriment Hermione hadn't noticed that Christopher, too, was absent.

Hermione pushed open the portrait and climbed into the dark passageway before removing her charms and casting lumos.

She quickly walked up to Alphard Corvus' painting with purpose as the man inside fiddled with something hidden from sight in the portrait.

"Now what the hell were you talking about last night?" Hermione spat as she crossed her arms, a day's worth of frustration coming out.

"Watch your language, daughter. It upsets daddy," Alphard chastised as he wiggled a finger at her.

Hermione's face grew furious and she huffed out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. When Hermione didn't say anything and threw her now-fisted hands down by her sides he broke into a hearty laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" Hermione interrogated.

"You, of course. Your reaction last night before the sun came up was worth dusting up in here for centuries," he chuckled as he pretended to wipe away a tear.

"You were lying?" Hermione was exhausted with him already.

"Yes and no, depends on how you look at things."

"Well, however the heck you are looking at them is very, very twisted and absurd," Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.

"Perhaps. Would you like me to explain, or should I let you simmer for a while?"

Hermione begrudgingly sat down in front the portrait.

"Do you believe in prophecies, Miss Granger? Do you believe in things happening beyond our control—destiny, if you will?" Alphard looked at her, the smile had vanished from his face and he looked much older than what he was meant to be depicting in that painting of his.

"I—I, you mean like what Divination teaches?" Hermione struggled to find his point.

"Yes."

"I've only encountered one true prophecy, other than that I consider the whole teaching of it to be hog wash and unreliable. Even you yourself said that you simply wrote the so-called prophecy I received in my time," Hermione answered in an unforgiving tone.

"Well, then may I ask that you shove aside those thoughts for a moment and open your mind a little? You're a bright girl, Hermione, no need to affront it here. It'd be easier if you didn't," He said quickly, almost frustrated, as he reasoned with her.

"Alright…" Hermione inclined her head, "Now what does this have to—"

"It has to do with everything," Alphard cut her off, "and it's imperative you take what I say seriously and not with a grain of salt but as a whole truth."

Hermione swallowed heavily and nodded for him to continue.

"When I had finally grown up, I moved away from Hogwarts, from home, from anything and anyone who tied me down to this place and made me feel guilty for having been here to begin with. However, Helena, Rowena's daughter and my half-sister, was the exception: she never treated me like a nuisance. As children, we were close and though we knew we were siblings to some extent, Ravenclaw told us to never speak of it. So we didn't—except in private when confiding in one another. As we grew, we came to know the truth of it all, Helena didn't judge anyone but her mother and Salazar for their mistreatment of me and the unaccepting attitudes of their duties and responsibilities as parents."

"I truly admired her strong spirit. When I moved away I missed her greatly. I had traveled to Albania on my own terms and for independent studies. It was three years before I finally decided to write to her upon the grounds of my whereabouts and wellbeing. Deep down I had honestly felt as though with time she would forget me and the others would too, but I was surprised to find her on my doorstep that following week with her bags and that childish grin she had always held despite her maturity," Alphard seemed to reminisce for a moment before continuing.

"She was angry with her mother for all that she had done and wished for nothing more than to get away. I didn't care upon what grounds, I was just happy to have my sister with me once more. After a few years of us enjoying one another's company and her helping me in my research, we received an urgent owl saying Rowena was ill. Helena must've told someone where she was going for safekeeping and they deemed it as a serious enough matter to break that treaty of keeping mum. I still remember how Helena grabbed the letter, walked outside, and blasted it to bits with her wand. Although I tried to persuade her to go even still, her answer was clear," he chuckled slightly when he spoke of Helena setting the parcel aflame.

"I was gone one morning, out collecting date for a current project," Alphard seemed to grow distant. "Then when I returned, I found her, and him," he seethed.

"Rowena had sent the Baron for Helena after learning of her location. I had apparated into the sitting room and walked into the kitchen when I heard some odd noises. When I found her, she was lying in a pool of blood on the floor, dead, as the Baron stood over top of her in a fit of grief and rage. He said he loved her, but love doesn't kill—especially not in the way he did," Alphard spat.

Hermione remembered the rest of the tale that created the illusive Grey Lady and Bloody Baron who haunt Hogwarts even in her time, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be as obvious as it was written.

"History says that the Baron killed himself, but history is wrong. In a fit of rage of my own, I sent the knife soaring through the air by the command of my wand, and it plunged into the bastard's heart. He grabbed it and pulled it out, but he only bled to death faster as I watched and cradled Helena. I vanished her blood away before his filthy blood could mingle with hers. I did what I could and reported the incident. The Baron was found dead alongside Helena with the same dagger he had killed her with in his hand. It was ruled a murder-suicide."

"The only person who knew better than to read the papers was the only one to seek me out and tell me to go see Rowena."

"Gryffindor," Hermione deduced.

"Gryffindor. That noble old codger could talk even Slytherin into the darnedest of things," Alphard laughed as though he had a few stories in mind.

"So you went and visited Ravenclaw?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes, but not on the terms you might think. I still feel in my heart that Ravenclaw and Slytherin are to blame for my less than ideal childhood and Helena's death, so I didn't go on good terms at all."

"Hufflepuff had passed, Ravenclaw was on her deathbed, Gryffindor found me, and no one could find Slytherin. However, Gryffindor told me that Ravenclaw had been prattling on for days about having to tell her child something important and refused to speak to anyone otherwise. He said he too would've believed it to be the prattling of an older, sickly woman, if it hadn't been for the unusual far-off look in her eyes. It wasn't enough to fully convince me to go, but I owed my old mentor that much and went on his request."

"When I arrived, Rowena was well enough to know that I wasn't Helena and to become disappointed with my presence. When she asked for her, I told her the truth—or at least the truth that history remembers. She said very little after that, and instead extended her hand toward me. I stood at her bedside and grasped it with the chiding of Gryffindor who had joined us moments earlier. Then Ravenclaw told me her prophecy."

"Wait, Ravenclaw? The founder and witch renowned for her intelligence, deduction, and fact-based ideals was a seer?" Hermione gasped as though she had just heard the greatest gossip of all time.

"Apparently her ideas was what kept it crushed down inside of her for so long," Alphard offered up. "Imagine how I felt when I saw her "inner eye" come out. I assumed she was possessed and tried to run away, naturally. Old lady had a firm grip even then," Alphard commented as he flexed his hand as though he still could feel her hand enclosed on him.

"What did she say?" Hermione had moved eagerly toward his portrait.

"If I told you I remembered all of it, I would be lying. It was so abrupt that we weren't prepared to capture it, nor did we have the time, but I do remember what Gryffindor and I deduced after."

"Ravenclaw had said something about one of the four not being content with the legacy he would leave, so he decided to do something more. He sealed away his secrets within Hogwarts for when the "time was right" and wished to purge a plague and liberate those who were pure and true. However he was old and would fail, so he planned for a line of successors to come to power when the time was right. Men by the names of Grindlewald and Voldemort were who he had chosen."

"Wait, but how could he simply choose his successors? This is over eight hundred years later! How could he have possibly known by name?" Hermione questioned in a flurry.

"He didn't, but Ravenclaw did. He performed some very dark magic, Hermione, some that I am still unsure of even today. He chose two beings and set them up purposefully with power in their blood, a lucky star, and a terrible fate that would change them. Ravenclaw said the names, and the first would be stopped, however the last one wouldn't. Voldemort."

"Gryffindor and I both knew that something had to be done or generations would suffer oppression and darkness, so we went to work. For the last two years of his life, Gryffindor worked fervently to help fashion something that could change the future, and I believe you are familiar with it," Alphard inclined his head toward her and waited, his eyes resting below her chin.

Hermione felt the cool burning against her flesh and pulled out the time turner Dumbledore had given her.

"Ah, hello, old friend," Alphard called. The chain hummed and the rims of the turner swayed slightly back and forth.

"This? You used this? Did you know that the Ministry began using these to fix mistakes when muggles witnessed magical scenarios?" Hermione seemed surprised that such a simply envisioned device by the Ministry wasn't something that they created at all and once held greater purpose than just to fix common misdemeanors.

"Well, it sounds like they went on to serve their purpose regardless of situation, then. Bottom line: it was to be used to fix mistakes and impending problems and that's what it does."

"So once you and Gryffindor created it, what did you do?"

"Well, I spun it a few times. Of course even though Gryffindor guided me in what I needed to do, it was still a shot in the dark. We didn't know how far into the future Slytherin's dealings would take place, but I got close."

"I arrived in 1979. It was very odd. The pants were the strangest of things, you know, they—"

"Alphard…" Hermione groaned.

"Right. Anyway, I spent a lot of time reading up on past events. I found Grindlewald had been defeated, just as Rowena said, but Voldemort had only just fallen, and like some suspected, I knew he wasn't gone forever. I didn't have much hope in this miracle-Potter kid, either. So I went with what Ravenclaw's final words were."

"What did she say?" Hermione asked, her head tilted in curiosity and confusion.

"Find her, my only one," Alphard recited.

"But that doesn't make sense…"

"It does when you think about it literally… and a little figuratively. It was like another foolish riddle I had to solve during my classes with her, but thankfully I had learned enough… and when I saw that a baby female was born in England with the name of 'Hermione' I felt like the divines were showing me the way. I dropped one word and I had my answer: Find her-my-one. It worked quite well considering I hadn't the faintest clue on how to pronounce your name starting out."

Hermione rolled her eyes at revisiting pronunciation issues of her name. Alphard continued.

"When I found you at a muggle hospital, it was the most unusual thing. For some reason, I had assumed you to be of great lineage to combat Slytherin's successor, but you were just a muggleborn child—and a whiny thing at that," Alphard winced as though he could imagine her crying and Hermione scrunched her nose in disapproval. "I wanted to even the playing fields, so using a theoretical spell I had once read about, I took a drop of my blood and said the incantation over your crib side at the hospital late one night. By doing so I instilled part of myself in you, but being a dark spell, it had its repercussions."

"For you as well?" Hermione was slightly afraid at what height it had cost him.

"I could never have children of my own. Of course I didn't find that out immediately, but in the future it was the only evident reason to be found, but I never told my wife about it."

"I'm sorry, Alphard. I didn't mean—"

"It was my choice, Hermione. I don't need pity. I've done what I needed to do, now all I ask is that you stop Voldemort."

"You said you wrote the prophecy that Albus Dumbledore had read to me," Hermione stated, changing the subject.

"That I did. I wrote it and spoke it into one of the crystal balls that contain prophecies and placed in the Hall at the ministry. Time would take care of the rest I had hoped, and I was right," Alphard said proudly and seemed to heave a sigh as though he were still surprised that it actually worked. "I created the prophecy so that you would be placed in a crucial time—one which contains both successors—so that you may aid in the downfall of both. It truly can't be done without you, Hermione. It is a great burden to bear, but I wouldn't have instilled my faith any place where I felt there wasn't purpose or hope. It was destiny, Hermione, of that I am sure," Alphard looked at her almost desperately. Whether he was hoping for her not to abandon her mission now that the truth was out or because he wanted her to understand how strongly he felt on the situation, she couldn't tell, but she felt that of which he had spoken of: purpose.

"So what do I do?"

"I wish I could tell you, my dear, but I don't know. I feel lucky to have even gotten us this far," Alphard admitted. After several moments of thoughtful silence, he spoke once more.

"Just remember, not all things are born evil or are meant to suffer a doomed life, Hermione. Never be beyond forgiveness, especially in forgiving oneself and accepting fate as it comes to pass. I wasn't alone, Hermione, and you aren't either, I promise," Alphard avowed. Then his portrait froze back into the same windswept hair and wild-eyed look.

Hermione sat quietly in the passageway for quite some time, lost in thought and assessing what he had just told her. Fates and Divines were things Hermione had always thought to be excuses to reason away the bad things and give purpose to the good—never serving as anything but false hope and justice on either end. To think that something—or someone—was out there, watching over her unsettled her a bit. The fact that anything could have certain expectations for the outcome other than Alphard Corvus and Dumbledore made her uncomfortable. She knew that she had a big task before her, but to think that she could fail some omnipotent being made her more nervous.

However, Alphard stated that she wasn't alone as though it was a good thing. Maybe it was in some sense, but Hermione had yet to feel that 'presence' guiding her or even offering a leg up in her situation. She wasn't dead at least, perhaps she could accredit it that to the Fate supposedly guiding her.

Alphard also had made it a point to tell her that evil wasn't what it seemed, nor was it beyond forgiveness. It was odd to hear coming from a man who seemed that he still had yet to forgive his parents, not to mention the Bloody Baron, for what happened in his past. She felt it to be slightly hypocritical on his end, but upon focusing on the words alone, she couldn't help but envision Riddle as a young boy: powerful and with purpose, but alone, scared, confused. He was once a child too. Contrary to her own feelings, Hermione knew him to be just as human as she—even if he acted as though he had a god complex sometimes.

Dumbledore had told Hermione in her own time that he had faith in her abilities to stop him, but it was clear he wished for her not to kill him. Could she change Tom Marvolo Riddle? Could she steer him from going down a path he was long-since destined for? Could she make him see humanity? Could she make him human?

Saying a silent prayer to whatever deity watched from above, she stepped out of the passageway to start her day off with a much needed rest. If Hermione was going to accomplish stopping Grindlewald and helping Tom Riddle become humane, she definitely would need some divine intervention.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It was really fun to write and include the actual lore of Helena and the Baron into the story in a way that it would make perfect sense. Also, for any people still worried about Hermione's lineage, she isn't his daughter and he didn't change her completely. It's like how Harry was a horcrux and part of Voldemort was inside of him. This is on a different scale obviously, because it wasn't done via horcrux, but it holds the same principles.

Tom and Hermione are not related by blood in that sense.

I'll do more clarifying in the future.

See you guys very soon!

Constant Vigilance!

-VS