London in 1944 was a very different London than that Hermione had grown up in. As the taxi drove slowly down the Euston Road towards King's Cross, she couldn't shake the surreal feeling of being on a film set. Hermione and Cerdic had apparated to Diagon Alley rather than try and take on the crowds at the tiny designated apparition point in King's Cross itself. Hermione had only seen a little of Wizarding London since she had arrived in this time and the reality of war had by-passed her.

Out in Muggle London it was everywhere she looked: damaged buildings, men and women in uniforms, posters. Even finding a taxi had been more difficult than she had expected, possibly, she had realised too late, due to petrol rationing.

Even without the ubiquitous signs of a capital-at-war, the city was different.

Thirty-five years before she'd even been born everything felt cleaner and dirtier at the same time. She felt the absence of the sky-scraping buildings yet to spring up, shops, landmarks, traffic lights, road signs that did not exist. The fabric of the city had started to tear, but was not yet rewoven.

The sun lit up the streets, breaking through the thin grey layer of cloud and smog that clung to the city, highlighting the displacement she felt in this strange dark-mirror version of her home. Despite all its differences, it was, she thought as she admired an old-fashioned bus as they overtook it, still recognisably, achingly London.

Pulling up to King's Cross for the eighth first day of September of her life was far scarier than even the very first time. She had been excited and hopeful then, looking forward to finally having a sense that she belonged somewhere.

This time, everything she did and said would have to be a flawless performance. It wasn't just her life at stake.

.

.

"We're here Cerdic," she said realising he had fallen asleep with a surprising rush of fondness. He didn't like early rises any more than Ron.

"What's that old girl?" he said with a start.

"I said we're here!"

He waved a handful of money at the driver (who looked, on closer inspection, much too young to be driving them around) and then hopped out of the taxicab with surprising agility.

While the man was counting his money Hermione silently spelled her trunk to be featherweight and lifted it out herself. Cerdic had somehow acquired a luggage trolley and was fending off an overly keen porter who'd either sensed money from their odd attire or had seen her pretend-father waving far too much of it at the driver.

Hermione sighed and went to rescue him. The muggle was relatively easy to lose once he'd seen her new barn owl hooting crossly in his cage. She had wanted a cat, but she still held a faint hope of returning to her own time. Owls were less likely to mourn the loss of their owner than cats.

Eve the station was different. It wasn't just the superficial differences: the porters, the signage, people's clothes, the trains themselves, the great wafts of steam. It was in the oddly pleasant feeling she had arriving with Cerdic on time, unflustered, and unaccompanied by a hoard of bickering Weasleys. Different again from that other first time, when her parents had been so curious about everything, all three of them somehow doubting it was real until she'd actually boarded the train. Her lovely, ordinary, slightly embarrassing muggle parents, parents who would miss her.

She held on to that memory as they walked through the station, listening to Cerdic recount how they'd done it in his day, chattering away to distract her from her nerves. He really was kind; one of the kindest people she'd ever met. She was proud of her heritage and her own parents and yet Dumbledore's choice of adoptive father had been a canny one.

"Thank you so much for bringing me today," she said as they waited for a group of muggles to move away before they could go through the barrier. They seemed unusually resistant to the numerous anti-attention and distraction charms placed upon it. "And thank you for everything you've done over the last few weeks. You've been extremely kind, given that I was just thrust upon you."

"What's that? Don't be silly child, been tremendous fun. I'd forgotten how much I liked people, especially Albus. I say before you go you'd better have this. I put a little allowance in your Gringotts account for whatever it is you young things need now."

He held out a key and a small bag, but she hesitated, not taking it.

"Come now, don't be sentimental. What else am I going to use it all for?"

From what she had gathered this was fair: Cerdic had inherited a reasonable fortune, but in addition had had great success in his secret alchemical work. Ever pragmatic, she took the key and the bag of galleons, thanking him again, and then the muggles were gone and they hurried through the barrier.

Gazing around as she did, Hermione thought there must be more students than in her time. The platform was choked with them, most already clad in their hats and long black robes, with twenty minutes to go before the train would depart. They had to fight through the crowds to find an empty compartment, right down at the far end.

"Now, m'dear make sure you don't read too much. Must get some fresh air and all that sort of thing." Cerdic's plummy, blustery voice was sad, and Hermione wondered if he was going to miss her and Albus's company. It had, after all, been years since he'd spent time with real people.

"And the same for you, Cer- er, Father: talk about the pot calling the cauldron black! Would you please send me the results of the seven metals experiment? I'd love to see them, it sounded fascinating."

His face creased into a warm smile and to Hermione's surprise he gave her a quick hug. Perhaps, she thought, if nothing else good came of this, her presence would do the old hermit some good.

All too soon the conductor was blowing his whistle and she was leaning out of the window to wave goodbye, train pulling away, steam billowing behind and up up to join the clouds, and Hermione was alone.

.

.

The journey to Hogwarts was like a twisted dream of her own life. Throughout her first year, Hermione had had nightmares. Sometimes everyone she saw in them was just one of a collection of cruelly laughing faces. Sometimes the dream figures had no faces at all, justs blankness. And sometimes she was completely alone, wandering the halls and rooms without passing another soul.

This was worse, because it was real. There would be no friends there when she woke up in the morning. She was already wide awake and she was alone, truly, truly alone for the first time since she had been a little girl on her first journey. Even more alone: at least then she had had a real family.

To stave off her fears, she locked the door and dressed in her black robes. The style had clearly changed over the years: the collar and cuffs subtly trimmed with velvet, a long row of buttons down the front. A sophisticated Adjustment Charm pulled the waist in and the bottom up so they were exactly the right size and length. She had never bothered buying robes with the tricky, expensive add-on before. Perhaps it was standard in this time.

Glad that no one else had come to join her in the compartment, Hermione opened one of her new books. It was an older edition of one she already knew well - she had been obsessively rereading them all to find how much she wasn't supposed to know only to discover there were many things that had been removed by the time she started school.

Outside her window the landscape grew more rugged as they drew North and she guessed they were near Durham when someone knocked on the carriage door a few hours later.

A tall girl with a blue prefect badge put her head around the door and asked brightly, "Hullo, just doing the rounds. Everything alright in here?"

"Yes, thank you very much," Hermione replied.

"Are you new? I don't recognise you."

She nodded.

"Oh well - welcome. We've been told to keep an eye out for a few older new students. You're the oldest one I've met so far!" The girl had moved properly into the carriage now, plainly curious. "Apparently some people moved to the States when Grindlewald threatened Britain. Is that what you did?"

"No, I've never been to school before. My father educated me at home, but we thought it would be best if I did my NEWTs."

And because I've already completed my entire Hogwarts education and should by rights be going to my job at the Ministry, which I started a month ago, but never mind that.

"Oh right, I think I overheard another girl say she'd been home-educated as well earlier on. My parents are Muggles so that wasn't really an option for me, but this was better than being evacuated," she said rather bitterly. "I'm the sixth year Ravenclaw prefect. Mabel Jefferies."

An undertone of challenge made Hermione wonder if it were unusual to be both Prefect and Muggleborn.

"How do you do - my name is Hermione Dearborn," she said politely, standing to offer her hand. It was good that at least one other new student had been educated at home: that made her story far more plausible.

"Is there anything you'd like to know about Hogwarts before you arrive?" Mabel offered, sitting down.

And so Hermione had to sit and ask inane questions about the sorting and where to go when she arrived, but Mabel did at least have some helpful comments about the teachers. They were mostly different, bar Professors Slughorn and Binns. At least now if she accidentally showed that knew more than she should about life at Hogwarts she would be able to say she'd been told on the train.

After a few minutes of conversation Hermione deliberately let the conversation lull, and the younger girl left to continue her rounds.

She'd had less than half hour of peace before the next knock came. It was a small, miserable-looking boy this time.

"I'm sorry to disturb but would you mind terribly if I joined you?" He was small even for an eleven year old, with dark reddish-brown hair and a freckled, tearstained face.

"Er no, no of course not. I say, is everything alright?" I say. She sounded like Cerdic already. Or someone from an Enid Blyton novel.

"The prefect said you were new too so it would be alright to sit here. The others were telling me horrid stories about sorting and one boy said that we had to kill a troll or we got sent home. I don't even know what a troll looks like!" he wailed.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you won't have to fight a troll!" She laughed gently at him, remembering another little boy who had been scared to fight a troll. "I'm new as well, but my father was at Hogwarts and he said that there's a ceremony where you get sorted – all very painless – and welcomed to the school and then everyone has a big supper and goes to bed. I'm Hermione by the way."

They boy introduced himself as Henry, took a seat, and then pestered her with questions. But she had far more patience with the scared first year than she might have had with anyone else. He reminded her rather painfully of Neville. After soothing his worries as best she could Henry fell asleep. It was a relief: she had to watch every word even in such a light conversation. Howevermuch she might doubt that the little boy would be a danger to her identity, she still had to keep Moody's motto in mind.

.

.

The third disturbance did nothing to alleviate her slight tension headache. Not long after Henry fell asleep the door opened again. A boy stood in the doorway, green Head Boy badge pinned to his robes, dark eyes assessing her and for a moment the train seemed to lurch off its tracks and she thought she was going to die. She knew him instantly.

"I am sorry if I surprised you," he said kindly. "Perhaps I ought to have have knocked. It's Miss Dearborn isn't it? I'm the Head Boy, Tom Riddle. Professor Dippet – the Headmaster – has asked me to check on all the new students and one of the Prefects said you were in here. I hope you are having a pleasant journey?"

There was no hint of a London orphanage in his deep, cultured voice.

Hermione swallowed, hoping her voice wouldn't betray the fear and revulsion she felt just looking at him. Loathsome, loathsome creature. But she absolutely had to be civil and make up for the jolt she hadn't been able to hide when she saw him.

"I must have been lost in my book, you did make me jump!" she said with a sweet smile. "Thank you for checking on me, that's very kind but I'm really fine. It's a been pleasant enough journey. How much longer will it take?"

"Another three hours I should think. We won't be there until after dark. It's a rather long trip up to the Highlands. Have you been to Scotland before?"

He was fishing, but for what? Why had he come to speak to her?

"Yes, a few times."

The hatred she felt for this boy was visceral and quite unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It was quite removed from the hatred she had felt for Voldemort, watching him announce Harry's death.

She hated Tom Riddle for Ginny, for driving Ron away from her, for damning them all to Myrtle's existence, for the dreams and agonies in the tent. Every single muscle and nerve in her body was screaming at her to get away from this man.

Instead, she smiled shyly up at him.

"I heard you were educated at home," he continued the conversation and she understood why he had bothered to come to her compartment. He wanted to find out who she was, and if she was important. "That's unusual isn't it, in these modern times?"

"Is it? I wouldn't know, I haven't met many other people my age." She replied politely, side-stepping his questioning.

After all she'd bloody done for the world, she hardly thought that sitting in a carriage with a sleeping eleven year old and most-evil-wizard-in-recent-history-in-training seemed a fair reward.

"Are you feeling unwell Miss Dearborn?" Clearly some emotion had slipped out, or perhaps she had gone pale. She certainly felt pale.

"I'm not feeling quite the thing actually. A little travel sick. And of course, I could hardly sleep last night. Perhaps I should try to nap, if there's still a few hours..." It was as strong a hint as she dared, but she honestly thought if he stayed a moment longer she wouldn't be able to contain herself.

I must not attract attention. I must not attract attention.

"Oh dear," he said saccharine concern delivered so well she almost missed its hollowness. "I hope you improve soon. Are you are not used to Muggle transport?"

She shook her head faintly, giving nothing away.

"I ought to continue my rounds and let you recover. When we arrive at Hogsmeade Station please join the First Years as they go to meet the Keeper of the Keys. He will escort you all to Hogwarts via the more scenic route."

Tom Riddle smiled and it was like a knife in the gut.

He probably smiled like that when he was torturing innocent people and skinning pet rabbits.

"Let's just hope the rain holds off! Enjoy your nap, and good luck in the sorting. I don't like too much house division of course, but between you and me Slytherin is by far the best."

He winked at her. Winked. Cheerfully. She was going to go insane long, long before the end of the year.

She nodded, too disturbed by his attempt to charm to reply, and sent a thousand prayers of thanks to whatever deities happened to be listening when he finally left.

It was his voice, the voice that had whispered in her dreams for months, that had undone her. She took several shuddering breaths, fighting tears. How she wished she could kill him, make him feel even a fraction of the pain he'd caused to so many others.

.

.

There were four other students visibly older than the normal entry age, and they took the first boat together, leaving Hermione with her new miniature friend Henry. They climbed into a boat with two other first years. It was a struggle for Hermione to sit and feign the same combination of emotions - awed, scared, and excited - as the boats pulled across the water. However, she hadn't approached Hogwarts this way since her real first year, and as they drew closer to the castle she felt a surge of happiness at the sight.

It might be scary and magnificent to the children floating towards it, but for Hermione, this was home. She'd been removed from the muggle world for so long that she would never find a home there now, but nor had she ever felt it at The Burrow, or Grimmauld Place, or even the little flat she had rented after leaving Hogwarts. Hogwarts was home, and for a moment she was back in her time again, and Harry and Ron would be waiting for her – but as she thought of them she realised that this Hogwarts wasn't home. This was a dangerous nightmare of a place she had once loved.

Home is a castle in Wales, Hermione. Home is with Cerdic. You have never been here before. Do not draw attention to yourself.

Eventually, they were walking up the steps to the Hall and there, waiting to welcome them, was Dumbledore. It had only been a night since she had seen him, but it felt like longer after the awful train ride and she couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face as he caught her eye and twinkled back.

"Ferst years and the other ones," the Groundskeeper said to him.

"Thank you, Mellors, I will take them from here."

In the grand Hogwarts tradition of making this ceremony as serious and scary as possible he did not smile.

The Professor waved his hand and the doors to the ante-hall opened slowly.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. Please follow me."

With a sweep of his purple robes, he led them to the small room off the hall to wait for the other students to seat themselves.

"The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but first you must all be sorted into your houses," he began. "The Sorting is a very important ceremony, as many of you will have heard, and the house that you are sorted into will be your home within Hogwarts. Many of your classes will be with the rest of your house, you will sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. Usually this ceremony is only for the First Year, however in recent years we have had exceptions. Your house is just as important whichever year you are destined for.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I am sure each of you will be a credit to whichever house you belong to."

It was almost exactly the same as the one Professor McGonagall had given her nine years earlier. Hermione smiled.

"Now, I think we should be about ready to start." He glanced at his pocket watch, and spun around excitedly. "Follow me!"

Being a full head taller than almost everyone in the line of students made it deeply embarrassing to walk into the Hall and stand at the front, like a piece of art for auction gazing down on its potential buyers. They, the awkward additions to the group, would be sorted last and she stood at the back of the line, trying desperately to melt into the shadows as the hat sang its song. The long line of First Years went up, one by one, agonisingly slowly. She tried to ignore any familiar surnames. At last, it was her turn and Dumbledore called out, "And, finally, going into the Seventh Year - Dearborn, Hermione."

She sat down on the stool and waited for the hat to speak.

"Well this is interesting," the hat said in her mind. "A natural occlusionist… you'll have to try and relax a bit or we'll be here all night. Oh now that is interesting. A time traveller I see... and so very clever, but what's this? A Gryffindor?"

Not there, she thought suddenly. Not this time, please. It will hurt too much. I just want peace.

"No, you don't belong there anymore although you are very brave. Hmmm, you are a tricky one, always harder to sort if they're older, but you are especially difficult. Perhaps... yes, I think you would do very well in Slytherin. Very cunning and vengeful, I see. And with all those secrets it might be the best place for you, and you're so ambitious..."

God, not Slytherin either please. I never thought... there's someone there I'd like to avoid.

"Well, if you're sure. Peace you say? I see your mind's made up. You don't really fit in anywhere but I suppose it'll have to be – RAVENCLAW!"

Relief came sharp and sudden, as though she'd been doused with icy water. She stepped down and walked over to her new table, turning right instead of left as she had done long before.

You'd do very well in Slytherin... Hermione had often wondered what would happen if Hogwarts resorted their students every few years, but she wasn't sure she liked the answer.

As she met the other occupants of her new house she tried to smile and look enthusiastic, explaining her odd circumstances, trying to remember names, saying yes she thought the Hall was beautiful, but tiredness and a rush of memories were overwhelming her and she once she had answered their questions she sat and ate quietly.

Just before they rose to leave after the speeches and the school song, Dumbledore came to speak to her.

"Miss Dearborn, the Headmaster has suggested that we give a short test to the incoming transfer students tomorrow morning. I apologise for ruining your Saturday, but he did not think my word was enough." He smiled at her, with a ghost of a twinkle in his eye. "Please come to my office at nine-thirty and I will take you to meet the other teachers for a short assessment. Now, I'm sure Professor Wolfe is waiting to meet her new Ravenclaws in your Tower."

She could tell from his tone he was disappointed that she wasn't in his house.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

"Very good, child. Now, off you go. You look tired, Hermione."

One of the girls, tall and cool-eyed, who had waited to show her to the tower gave her an assessing look as the Transfiguration teacher walked back towards his own students.

"Do you know Professor Dumbledore then?"

"Yes, although not terribly well. He's a cousin of mine and an old friend of my father's. We visited him this summer."

"Well in that case we're very pleased you're in our house! I hope you got some of his brains."

.

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Now did you really think she was going to be in Slytherin? She'd make a fine one, I admit, and it is tradition - but part of that cunning means she would never let herself go there unless she needed to... and in my story she wants to be as far away from him as possible.

Thanks SO MUCH to all my lovely lovely reviewers. You are AMAZING.