Hullo, everyone!
I'm a couple of days late, sorry! This chapter was a bit hard to work with… I wish I had a beta!
There may still be some problems with the grammar but I wanted to post it, if you notice something that doesn't work with tenses or whatever, let me know!
Thank you!
Have fun :)
Chapter 4: You wait for me
Albus Dumbledore showed up at the orphanage on a warm August day, over one year after what had been addressed as 'The Summer of the cave'.
Not that Hermione had expected it to take any less than that.
With the Wizarding World at the gates of the Global Wizarding War and the Muggle World at the World War II ones, issues regarding magical children in the care of frightened Muggles had slipped down the Ministry of Magic's priority list, quite unsurprisingly.
Luckily, time had gone by fast enough as it had been a busy year for the orphanage too.
Trying to distract Tom and keeping the balance between everyone in the house had been no piece of cake, in fact, by the time Dumbledore knocked at the door on that August day, Hermione had even forgotten that this was the day they would meet.
The man standing before her, when she absentmindedly opened the door, was dressed in a plum-colored and quite extravagantly cut suit, which was a fortunate thing, as the flamboyant dress somehow made up for Hermione's prolonged silence when she first laid eyes on him.
Of course, Hermione's shock wasn't entirely due to the man's lack of fashion sense. Indeed, her prolonged silence had more to do with the fact that the last time she had seen Dumbledore, he had been dead and laying in his own coffin.
The 57-year-old Albus Dumbledore standing before her now, was quite different from the hoary headmaster Hermione remembered, besides the obvious fact that he was… well, alive.
While Dumbledore still had his cerulean eyes, framed by his distinctive crescent-shaped glasses, there was a mischievous glint in those clear irises of his, a glint that Hermione had never seen before.
While he still had long beard and hair, they were not the pretty pearl white Hermione remembered them to be, but auburn instead, and quite messy to be completely honest.
The wizard was missing at least a hundred years of wrinkles and, although that of the future was also a fairly tall and imposing man, this Dumbledore seemed to be even taller and wider.
If she had to say it in one word, he was 'younger', which was totally ludicrous for Hermione.
She was just trying to place the words 'young' and 'Dumbledore' together in a sentence, when that odd version of her former Headmaster, coughed, shaking Hermione out of her daze and making her realize she had been staring at him for the last three minutes with an expression that must have seemed befuddled, to say the least.
Hermione shook her head and stopped twisting her apron as if expecting Felix Felicis to squeeze out of it.
She blurted out some incoherent sounds, words that weren't words but a disjointed jumble of sighs, sobs and stammers, before managing a questioning expression, that she hoped would pass as a good enough 'How may I help you?'.
It did.
"Hello, I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who I believe to be the matron…?"
"Oh..." Hermione stammered "Uh... just... yes... of course... MRS. COLE? " Hermione yelled over her shoulder as she gestured for Dumbledore to come in.
The man followed as she stiffly lead the way to the living room, trying to suppress the excitement and bring enough oxygen to the brain to find the words and explain to Dumbledore that it hadn't really been Mrs. Cole the one to seek help for the 'psychological assessment of a child with peculiar behaviors'.
It had obviously been Hermione the one to contact the most absurdly-named psychiatric institution on the list, the one conveniently located in Great Scotland Yard, in what she knew was the building that housed the Ministry of Magic.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole moved faster than Hermione's overstimulated brain and she popped into the room seconds later, followed by Betty, the girl who would have, hopefully soon, taken over Hermione's place.
To be fair, Betty was already doing most of the work by now, as these days Hermione was mostly concerned with keeping Tom busy and looking for jobs and apartments closer to Diagon Alley. However, Mrs. Cole kept referring to Betty as to the 'trainee' or 'the tryout', and, much to Hermione's surprise, she didn't seem to be in any rush to let Hermione go, despite desperately wanting Tom to leave instead.
"Please take the iodine upstairs, Betty. Billy and Eric need a change of sheets too and oh boy, as if we needed chicken pox on top of everything else! Dear me!" It had been strangely invigorating to see Mrs. Cole take back the reins of the orphanage.
If Hermione had known the woman would benefit from it that much, she would have let her do more and much sooner. The change was astounding. Mrs. Cole looked even younger and healthier now that she could order poor Betty around only to complain that whatever the girl did was not done right, not done accurately enough, or sometimes, too accurately done.
In short, nothing was ever right, and Mrs. Cole couldn't be happier about it.
Now, if only someone could have taken a picture of the moment the matron's eyes fell on Dumbledore...
Mrs. Cole seemed to be wondering, with genuine concern, whether the funny man in purple was actually standing there, or if someone had put something in her tea.
"Good afternoon ... sir?" the woman asked looking from Dumbledore to Hermione with an expression that seemed to ask whether she could see the man too, to which Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Why, good afternoon, Madam. I'm Albus Dumbledore, I believe we corresponded?" offered the professor, as he watched the woman's disbelief turn into confusion, realization and then, quickly, into a furious frown that landed on Hermione along with the eyes of the future Headmaster.
Hermione smiled apologetically.
There were several reasons why Hermione had decided, after long consideration, that she would not contact Dumbledore in person or by owl. To begin with, the Dumbledore of this time did not know Hermione and it would have seemed too odd and suspicious to ask for a personal favor.
Second, if the ministry had known there was an adult witch in Tom's area, they would have probably postponed their intervention, delaying Hermione's request for help too.
It also didn't seem smart to leave too many traces of a Hermione Granger seeking help for a Tom Riddle in 1937.
Contacting one of the Ministry fronts via Muggle mail, posing as a desperate matron asking for help over the strange behavior of one of the orphans in her care, had felt like the safest course to Hermione.
In retrospect though, she had to admit, she could have at least asked permission from Mrs. Cole before using the woman's identity.
"Of course, we corresponded," said Mrs. Cole, with ill-concealed pretense when Dumbledore coughed again, "I guess we are talking about the Dem... the boy!"
"Yes, precisely." Confirmed the wizard, who, on some level, seemed to have guessed something wasn't completely right.
"Please, do take a sit, Mr. Dunderbore." Said Mrs. Cole pointing at the only two armchairs in the room.
As Dumbledore and Mrs. Cole took their seats, serving themselves two glasses from a bottle of gin that Hermione was pretty sure, hadn't been there a moment earlier, Hermione scurried in a corner of the room and pretended to be very busy dusting a pristine windowsill (damn Betty and her thorough cleaning) while listening as Mrs. Cole talked about Tom's mother, about how she had showed up at the orphanage on New Year's Eve 10 years earlier to die merely hours later, leaving Tom on his own.
A story Hermione had listened to at least a thousand times over the past seven years.
Mrs. Cole did not spare herself from including the usual comments about Merope's unfortunate appearance and the fact that the child had probably inherited his good looks from his father, Tom Riddle Sr.
Hermione curled her nose at those words but said nothing. Years of experience had taught her that she and Mrs. Cole would never have thought the same about certain things, and for obvious reasons.
Tom's good looks, as far as Mrs. Cole was concerned, was the only vaguely noticeable thing about the boy. She couldn't be blamed for thinking like that either, as Tom had never bothered showing the matron any more than his darker shell.
Hermione on the other hand, knew him much more deeply than Mrs. Cole ever could, and she knew for a fact that beauty was certainly not Tom's only quality. It was perhaps the most obvious and the one he couldn't conceal from the world, but it was certainly not the only one. If only life had given Tom a warmer welcome to the world, perhaps everyone could have noticed.
As Mrs. Cole started asking questions about Hogwarts and about Dumbledore, to which the professor carefully avoided answering in too many details, Hermione lost focus on the actual conversation and started staring at Dumbledore instead, searching for bits of her old Headmaster into that unfamiliar features.
He really looked nothing like the man.
The more she observed him, the less she recognized him.
The way he moved, the way he spoke, his demeanor… it was all so different from her memories.
Watching Dumbledore without actually 'seeing' him was a little unsettling, especially since so much depended on him.
Yet here he was, sitting in the orphanage's living room, as the living proof that Hermione was soon to cross at least one item off her to-do list…
The number of times she found herself needing to repeat that mental encouragement, however, didn't bode well.
Dumbledore poured another hefty amount of gin into the matron's glass, who now sported bright red cheeks and nose, while Hermione tried chasing away her dark thoughts by looking at the bright side.
Soon she would have revealed to Dumbledore her story, her origins, she would have finally asked him for help. Perhaps, working together, they'd be able to come up with a solution to all of that mess, and relatively soon too.
Not bad, mh? Hermione nodded to herself.
Dumbledore poured some more clear liquor into the glass.
Hermione clenched her jaw and started mentally listing all of the benefits in store for Tom.
Soon Tom would have known about his true wizarding nature and he would have been able to say goodbye to his uncomfortable Muggle life.
Maybe Hermione could have guided him through this version of history.
Perhaps she would have been able to change a few small details if not history itself… perhaps if she devoted herself fully to him and her research, without having to worry about the orphanage anymore...
How would Dumbledore react to the conversation that would have followed? Would he have agreed to help her solve the Time-Turner mystery?
Even just letting Hermione use the Hogwarts library would have been a big plus already.
Hermione had just started basking in her hopes for the near future, when the rattle of the bottle on the glass shook her back to reality and she frowned at the sight of Mrs. Cole diving into the next glass of gin.
Why was Dumbledore still pouring? And was Hermione going mental, or had she seen him use a Confundus charm just now… on a muggle?
Her skin crawled as Dumbledore turned to smirk at her over his shoulder before returning to focus on the matron.
Every dark thought that Hermione had managed to get rid of in the last few minutes returned to crush her brain and she felt something cold, like pure liquid fear, run down and drop in her belly.
Who was this wizard? Was he really Dumbledore? Why couldn't she feel that warm feeling of trust that had always given her, Harry and Ron courage and hope?
Hermione wondered if it was due to the wizard's new and unfamiliar appearance or to the year she had spent with Ron and Harry chasing Horcruxes while trying to unravel Dumbledore's unspoken plans…
Perhaps it was due to Voldemort's voice barking that Dumbledore was not to be trusted, somewhere within her memories.
No. Hermione slightly shook her head.
This was no time to waver.
Dumbledore was here, soon she would no longer be alone in this adventure, soon she and Tom would get all the help they needed.
Dumbledore had met Tom once before, in one of the possible pasts, this wasn't the time when things were going to go to hell ... right?
Hermione tried to suppress that thought along with the sudden instinct to run up and barricade herself into the room with Tom.
She was just struggling to get ahold of herself and slow down her suddenly erratic heartbeat, when the sound of chairs shifting across the floor and a shuffle of clothes, started her.
"I guess you want to meet him?" Mrs. Cole was asking, her voice vaguely altered by gin.
"Of course." confirmed Dumbledore.
Had this been a good idea?
Hermione wondered as she watched Dumbledore vanishing the bottle of gin from the coffee table without even bothering to hide his wand from them. Not that the Mrs. Cole would be lucid enough to care right now, but still, he did know Hermione was in the room, why would he be so careless?
"Well, please, this way." Mrs. Cole staggered her way to the hall, leading Dumbledore towards Hermione's room.
Hermione followed them without thinking about it twice, with increasing concern clutching her hearth in a tight hold.
This had to be the right path, there was no other choice anyway.
Was Tom going to be ok, though? Was that marvelous and already deeply scarred child, currently buried in a fort of blankets and pillows in her room, and completely entranced by Bilbo's adventures, going to be fine with this version of Dumbledore?
A fleeting memory of Tom winking at her merged with that of a winking Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione shivered.
No. No. No.
This was their chance to extinguish Voldemort.
Dumbledore was going to be the beginning of a change. A good change. Right.
Hope was what Hermione needed now, not the silly fright twisting her guts.
She glued her eyes on Dumbledore's back as they made their way up the stairs and took a deep breath.
Okay, so maybe this Albus wasn't yet identical to the one she knew, maybe his methods were slightly unorthodox, but he was still the same person, this had happened before.
This was the man who would duel Grindelwald in a few years, the man who would help Harry.
Hermione exhaled.
'Help Harry sacrifice himself', growled a cruel voice from the recess of her mind, probably from the same spot where Voldemort was still shouting 'Dumbledore was a fool!'.
Hermione inhaled.
What nonsense, this was Dumbledore and surely he would help her. The worse that could happen, was that nothing would change at all, just as it had been up until now.
Nothing changing would still lead to Harry winning the Battle of Hogwarts.
Hermione exhaled.
Unless things could change in worse…
Inhale.
'Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it', whispered the Gryffindor within her.
Exhale.
'I open at the close' whispered Harry's voice from somewhere deeper.
Hermione stopped breathing completely.
"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole holding back a hiccup, "Tom? You have visitors."
When the matron opened the door Hermione caught a glimpse of Tom and her heart skipped several beats as panic locked her muscles.
She saw Tom's eyes finding her first, although she was standing in the background, and then move on Dumbledore, lingering there with undisguised disdain.
To be honest, Hermione wasn't sure how much the child had believed about Dumbledore not being a real psychiatrist.
She smiled faintly in encouragement, knowing that Tom always managed to keep her in his peripheral vision, especially in the presence of strangers, however if he saw her, he made no sign to make it known.
The door closed behind Dumbledore's back, before Hermione was ready for it to happen and all of a sudden she was standing in the dark hallway with a very drunk Mrs. Cole and her wand squeezed so tight in her hand that it hurt.
"Is this the visit we were expecting? The evaluation?" Mrs. Cole asked with a sniffle.
Hermione nodded, unable to divert her gaze from the door.
"So, you'll leave soon? Have… you arranged for a place to stay already?" Mrs. Cole leaned against the wall and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
"Soon. If everything goes according to plan, we shall leave soon." Said Hermione.
"Eric will be crushed… poor soul… and Olivia… oh well, we knew it would happen sooner or later right?" Said Mrs. Cole trying to sound cheerful with very little success.
Hermione looked as the woman staggered towards the boys' room.
"Mrs. Cole?"
"What?"
"I'm sorry for using your name without asking…"
Mrs. Cole smiled smugly, then jutted her chin at the room Hermione shared with Tom, "If you sleep with dogs you'll wake up with fleas! You'll be careful, will you?" then, without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Cole opened the boy's room and disappeared inside.
Hermione spent the next 20 minutes standing in the hallway, straining her ear for any suspicious sound, trying to ignore that strange feeling of doom in the pit of her stomach, as if something terribly wrong could happen at any moment.
She thought back to Harry, who she knew had seen what had happened beyond that door in a pensieve. Too bad she hadn't been able to take a look at Dumbledore's memories too, she thought as she waited.
When the door to the room finally unlocked, Hermione held her breath.
Dumbledore stepped out and into the corridor and his eyes immediately locked with hers.
"Sir?" Tom's voice rang from somewhere behind the tall wizard and Hermione felt a little ashamed of the relief she felt in hearing that voice.
He was ok.
Dumbledore didn't turn to look at the boy, he simply stopped under the threshold while holding Hermione's gaze.
"Sir, I can talk to snakes. They find me, they… tell me ... things. Is that normal for a wizard?"
A strange dark light danced in Dumbledore's eyes for a second, little more than a flicker of something dark and frightening, then he schooled his expression into a neutral one.
It happened so fast and the hall was so badly lit, that Hermione was quick to convince herself she might have just imagined it, although the new trail of goosebumps down her back and legs, pulling at her skin uncomfortably, said otherwise.
"It's rare, but not unheard of." Was the professor's clipped response, "See you soon, Tom."
Again Hermione peered into the room behind the tall wizard, but this time Tom was giving her his back and staring out the window.
Certainly he had a lot to process, she thought, wiping away a couple of tears she didn't know the nature of.
Sadness, happiness, relief, fear… all or none of the above?
"Would you be kind enough to accompany me to the door, miss? I'm not sure I remember how to get there." Dumbledore's voice broke into Hermione's thoughts and she winced.
"Oh, sure, this way."
She led Dumbledore downstairs with her stomach tangled in concern and her brain buzzing with what she would have to say next.
Should she stick to her plan or listen to her instincts and let Dumbledore walk away? After all, Tom was going to go to school soon ... maybe she could avoid giving too much information to Dumbledore for a little while longer.
When they reached the front door, Dumbledore opened it and glanced up at the clear sky above London.
"Perfect weather for Quidditch, don't you think?"
"Oh yes, not a single cloud for miles." Hermione said absentmindedly, then her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with both hands, "Fuck. Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that!" So long for her change of plans.
Dumbledore's lips curled up in a mischievous smile.
"It was fun watching you trying to blend in, Mrs.?"
"Granger, Hermione Granger. Was it that obvious?"
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and then looked up, pretending to having to think about it.
"Something in the way you freaked out when I used the Confundus on the matron may have sold you out... although, I would say, the magic buzzing around you is the best clue, have you repressed it for a long time?"
Hermione shrugged, "A while."
"Why?" Dumbledore looked at her curiously as he produced a long, and already smoking, pipe out of his cloak, "Why would a witch repress her own magic? And why would a witch use the Muggle post office instead of an owl? Why sign in a Muggle's name?" So long for secrecy and scheming too, he had it all figured out hadn't he?
Hermione blushed fiercely and it took a surprising amount of effort for her not to blurt out the whole truth on the spot. Lying to professors had never been her forte.
"It's complicated." She replied avoiding the man's gaze, "Quite… quite the long story, professor."
"I have time, which is quite the rare event too." Said Dumbledore taking a long puff from his pipe and releasing a pinkish cloud of smoke from his nostrils, "May I ask you to take a walk with me, Mrs. Granger?"
"Well, Tom is surely confused, he might need to talk… I should… I could owl… we could meet again and…" she stammered, still undecided as to what to do. This version of Dumbledore did not strike her for its reliability.
Apparently, though, the wizard had other plans.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, there won't be too many occasions to do this again."
Hermione barely registered Dumbledore's hand landing in the small of her back.
The next thing she knew was the world was turning upside down. A sense of nausea hooked her guts as she was dragged into side-apparition.
When she finally regained her balance and stopped gagging, which took a fair amount of time, Dumbledore was still giggling.
"You are more rusty than I thought, Mrs. Granger."
Hermione glared at the older wizard, who was confirming himself to be more and more different from how she had hoped by the minute, not in a good sense.
"Oh, I'm sorry if I've been a bit rough, didn't mean to upset you."
Forcing side-apparition on someone wasn't exactly something Hermione would have expected from Dumbledore. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, my arse, she thought bitterly, as she tried to regain some composure and fix the curls that had escaped her bun.
"Madam Puddifoot's?" She then asked, looking around and noticing with relief, that at least, they had landed in a familiar place, "There really was no reason to come this far, Professor."
"Surely better than whispering among muggles, you will agree." replied the man, pulling a chair from one of the outdoor tables, "And I must admit that I have a weakness for the pumpkin pasties here, have you ever had one?"
The place was deserted apart from the two of them and from inside the shop a witch in bright pink robes was already eyeing them.
Hermione hesitated a moment longer. This was it. The moment of truth.
This was where change begun, she told herself, then, she sat down, just as a small flying cherub was throwing a handful of colorful heart-shaped confetti on their table. A few landed in Dumbledore's beard and he didn't even bother brushing them off.
Tea and pasties were served moments later by the woman in pink, who had turned out to be a disturbingly young Madam Puddifoot, in the flesh. The woman cheerfully exchanged some gossip and comments about the weather, then she left them alone, swaying her way back into the shop.
It was then that Dumbledore's expression became serious and focused and he lost all trace of the previous amusement.
"So, Mrs. Granger, what's your story?" the wizard asked, "What are you so eagerly hiding?"
"As I told you professor, it's complicated."
Dumbledore said nothing, he laced his fingers in front of him and held her gaze inviting her to articulate, which was easier said than done. Hermione pulled the collar of her blouse off her sweaty neck and cleared her throat.
"Where to start?" She scoffed embarrassed, "I've been wanting to meet with you for a long time already, but I wasn't sure how you were going to react to what I had to say… In fact, I'm still not quite sure whether what I'm going to do is the right thing to do or not... It's just, that I don't have too many options left."
"You've been waiting to meet… me? How so?" Dumbledore asked, now visibly intrigued.
"Yes, professor." Hermione confirmed, running a finger along the thin edge of her porcelain teacup, which vaguely resembled one of the sickly sweet pink mugs in Umbridge's office, "You see, Professor, the fact is, we actually know each other."
"I'm sorry Mrs. Granger, but I pride myself on having a very good memory, and I must say, your face and name don't ring a bell."
Here goes nothing, thought Hermione before speaking again.
"Oh, this is where it gets complicated, professor. You see, we do know each other, just not yet." It took a moment for Hermione's message to sink.
"Mh ... are you suggesting that you are from… the future?"
Hermione locked eyes with Dumbledore and nodded.
Her throat was dry and her hands were shaking conspicuously, this was the first time she said it out loud, and it sure sounded horrible. She couldn't blame the headmaster for the doubtful and skeptical expression on his face.
"You'll understand that I can't believe what you're saying, right?" He asked, smiling at her politely, as if she had put on a foil hat and revealed to him that the aliens were just around the corner.
"Of course, it wasn't easy for me to believe that at first either." Hermione conceded.
"How could you have travelled back in time? And for what purpose?"
Hermione sighed.
"A Time-Turner and I don't know for sure, it wasn't exactly my doing."
"Mrs. Granger, as surprised as I am that you know what a Time-Turner is in the first place, I hate to be the one to tell you, you should have looked further into it before making up your story. You see, that type of device can't let you travel more than…"
"Five hours into the past..." Hermione finished for him, then bit her lips while Dumbledore looked at her sternly again.
"Well then you see why I can't believe your story… I doubt you and I will have known each other much better in the next five hours." He scoffed and brought his cup to his lips holding her gaze.
"I know about Ariana." Hermione blurted out suddenly.
"What?" Dumbledore nearly choked on a sip of tea.
"I know about Ariana, I know about your father and those Muggles, I know you have a brother and he hasn't talked to you since your sister's funeral, I know about ... Grindelwald… you two knew each other… you… loved… well…"
Dumbledore's cup rattled against the floral saucer as he set it down with shaking hands.
His gaze hardened and Hermione clearly saw him draw his wand even though the coffee table partially covered her view.
"Is that so? Well, silly me, I was hoping this would be an interesting story, but I see now. He sent you, didn't he?."
"He?" Hermione asked, blinking rapidly.
"What does he want now? Has he hired you? Is this a provocation? A warning? I said I wasn't going to meddle but…"
"He?" Hermione felt the ground drop from under her feet for a moment, "Him! No! No I wasn't sent by Grindelwald, professor, heaven no!"
"How else would you know ...?"
"I told you!" She snapped, "I also know you… you like lemon sherbets, at least in the future you do, you have a bowl in your office and you force the damn candies on anyone, and in the most absurd situation! Your office! Right… you have a phoenix in there! Her name is Fawkes!"
Bingo. Dumbledore's jaw had dropped and he stared at her with wide eyes.
"How do you...? Why would I tell these stories to a girl of ... how old? Sixteen? Seventeen? You don't look older than any of my students."
"Why, I'm twenty-four I guess… I was seventeen when I got here seven years ago… although I have a few doubts… wait. That's not important now." Hermione took a shaky breath, "Look, I know, it's hard to believe, but someone must have tampered with a Time-Turner before forcing me to go on this journey. All I know is one moment I was on the verge of winning a battle and the next, someone from the opposite side was throwing me back in 1931."
"A battle?" Dumbledore frowned, "Oh, Merlin's beard, let's hear it, what year would you be from?"
"1998" Said Hermione without missing a beat, which might have been the reason Dumbledore seemed slightly less suspicious when he spoke again.
"Impossible." He whispered leaning back in his chair.
"Unlikely, I guess…" Hermione corrected, pointing at herself as to the ultimate proof that it wasn't impossible after all.
"This is... utterly absurd!"
"I know!"
"I have too many questions! Questions it would not be wise to answer Miss Granger... Oh, this… this is bad." Dumbledore looked around as if he expected someone to jump out of nowhere to reveal that all this was nothing but a hoax, "But, even if this story were true,"
"Which is," Hermione interrupted.
"Even if it were, why did you wait seven years to ask for help?"
"I thought that getting in touch with people I knew in my future would be dangerous, that it could mess things up too much. So, I hoped I could solve the Time-Turner mystery on my own."
"And then what happened?"
"It turned out I couldn't fix it. I don't even know where to begin with, not from Muggle London anyway. Which is why I was hoping you'd help me. You're quite famous already, well, it will come as no surprise, but you're a big shot in the future too..."
"That still doesn't explain the past seven years. I'm sure you realized long ago that you couldn't do much to get back to your time." Dumbledore wondered out loud, "Seven years is a long time, Mrs. Granger ... What were you sacrificing yourself for?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in questioning expression, yet Hermione could see in his eyes that he had already found the answer to that question.
"Well, during the first few days I was here, I came across the orphanage." Hermione said exhaling loudly through her nose, "I let myself be distracted ..." she shrugged.
"Mrs. Granger, I'm trying to believe your stories, but if you keep lying we won't be able to work together." Dumbledore sighed, "Tell me about the boy."
"The boy?" Hermione's heart sank into her chest.
"He has something to do with your future ... you stayed hoping you could change something or make something go a certain way."
"No ... I… of course the fact that he was magical prompted me to finally get in touch with you, I had one more reason to, but that was it."
"Oh how convenient, Mrs. Granger!" Dumbledore snorted and Hermione blushed a deeper shade of red, as she realized her lies weren't working with him, "I should believe you were sent fifty years into the past and that, by pure chance, you ended up in the orphanage of a boy who probably descends from Salazar himself!"
"What? I don't know what you..." Hermione stammered, her head suddenly light and empty.
"Mrs. Hermione, if you know so much about me, I must hope you also know I'm not an idiot… he talks to snakes… do you know just how rare that is? I'm sure it won't take me too long to trace back his father and figure out who the mother is…"
Hermione pursed her lips.
"Yes, I came across a personality who will prove crucial to my future and I wondered if that was why I was sent here. For the past seven years I have been trying to figure out why here and why now..." Dumbledore nodded, finally satisfied with the answer apparently, "I tried to figure out what the person who sent me here was up to."
"And then the boy started having episodes of involuntary magic you could not handle and you decided to ignore your worries and contact me…?" Dumbledore finished with a smug note in his voice, like a child putting together all the pieces of a puzzle she was trying to hide the pieces of.
Hermione shook her head no and Dumbledore's gaze sharpened.
"Not exactly."
"So what happened? Why did you suddenly need help?"
"Since I arrived, Professor, I have tried to act on events, I know I was wrong, I am ashamed of it, but I certainly did not come from a rosy future. The temptation ..."
"Anyone in your position would have tried ..." Dumbledore admitted.
"Well, I've tried everything, even involuntarily at times, but it seems like whatever I do or don't do ..." The wizard's eyes widened for just a second there, but Hermione didn't notice while looking for the right words.
"Events continue to unfold exactly as you knew they would unfold, don't they?" Dumbledore finished for her, hitting the target this time.
"Precisely." She answered.
"My meeting with the boy?"
"It has happened in history as I knew it... I'm not sure whether it happened exactly the same but still." Dumbledore nodded and then looked up at the sky as if lost in his own thoughts.
"This conversation is the first real different thing in the events of my time, professor. This is change itself."
Dumbledore seemed on the verge of contradicting her, but then, his expression changed radically, as if he had suddenly changed his mind about how much of his thoughts he was willing to share.
Hermione frowned, but before she could think more of that, the older wizard spoke again.
"So you think you've just successfully changed the future?" Dumbledore asked calmly, picking one of the pumpkin pasties from the serving tray and nibbling at it.
Hermione couldn't help but notice how it was almost scary the way he had suddenly changed his whole demeanor.
She shrugged.
"I don't know at this point, but it was worth a try." The older wizard nodded briefly.
"Apart from our meeting per se, then, how can we work to help you, Mrs. Granger?"
"Do you believe me then?" Hermione asked with renewed hope.
"I can't say I won't do my investigations to confirm that Grindelwald is not related to you in any way, but I have a feeling that such an absurd story is hard to come up with..." said Dumbledore.
"Fair enough," Sniffled Hermione, "I was hoping we could work together on the Time-Turner that sent me back here, it might be possible to fix it somehow, or at least figure out the principles that made it work in the first place." Hermione suggested.
"You still have the original Time-Turner?" Dumbledore's eyes filled with renewed interest.
"It is broken to pieces, but yes, I kept most of it."
"Well that would be an excellent starting point, already."
"I'll owl you the broken pieces as soon as we get back then."
"About the boy…"
"I can't say any more than I have already said about him, professor."
"Fair enough." Murmured Dumbledore, quoting her, "May I suggest you get the boy out of that orphanage? I don't think it's the best option for him. He has way too much control over what should be involuntary magic."
"I'm already looking for a job closer to Diagon Alley, Professor, and for an apartment, but the prices for housing in London are really out of my league at the moment."
"Does it have to be London?" Dumbledore asked with a smirk. He widened his arms in a gesture that included their surroundings when Hermione looked at him questioningly, "I know Tomes and Scrolls is looking for a helper, we could drop by and talk to old Bert, see if he's still looking."
"Can we ?! Really?" The smile that spread across Hermione's face was so wide it almost hurt.
"My brother and I are not on very good terms, as you said earlier, but I know he took over a pub here in Hogsmeade years ago," said Dumbledore, biting into his second pastry.
"Sure ... The Hog's Head Inn" Hermione whispered, how come she hadn't thought of it before?
"I can't put in a good word for you," Dumbledore shrugged, "But it might help to know that Aberforth is a sucker for lost causes ... I'm sure he'll rent you a room for a ridiculous price if you can convince him. .. "
Hermione felt her heart swell, heartened by the fact that young-Dumbledore had finally felt more like old-Dumbledore than she had thought possible.
In fact, she felt so glad that their meeting had provided her with all she had been looking for and more, that she failed to notice how the man was easily taking the reins of hers and Tom's life ever so smoothly.
When Dumbledore dropped her off at the gates of the orphanage about an hour and a half later, Hermione threw herself across the courtyard and up the stairs to the front door, she flung herself into the house and rushed up the stairs.
She threw the door open so violently that Tom, still sitting on her bed, flinched in fright.
It wasn't until Hermione met his angry eyes that her enthusiasm subsided.
"Did you know I was different?" He said cutting to the chase.
"I ... yes, I knew." Tom's expression hardened.
"You knew it." He hissed the words.
"Yes, Tom." She admitted locking the door behind her.
"You, you weren't afraid of me, why?" he inquired.
"Well… because I'm different too, Tom. We're the same, you and I."
Hermione had imagined a burst of anger at that point. She braced herself for the worst. For years she had lied about her nature, she had kept the wizarding world out of Tom's knowledge ... his anger would have been logical.
To be honest, she had been preparing for about a year for the inevitable moment when he would accuse her of denying him the truth for so long.
However, to her surprise, the black clouds in Tom's eyes immediately dissipated and on his usually pouty lips slowly unfolded one of the widest smiles she had ever seen on his face.
"You are like me!" He nearly screamed as he jumped up on the bed and pointed a finger at her, clearly surprised that he hadn't considered that option earlier.
"Yes, Tom, I'm like you." Hermione confirmed smiling, infected by the euphoria on the boy's face.
"You are like me!" Tom repeated incredulously, "I ... I thought that ..." his voice choked on a lump in his throat and suddenly, tears began streaming down his face.
If Hermione was confused at that point, Tom was shocked, to say the least.
"Tom, my love, why are you crying?" Hermione asked moving a few steps towards him but stopping under his shocked gaze.
"I don't know ... I ... I thought you lied to me."
"Lied?" Hermione asked, getting a little closer, "Tom, I'm sorry I didn't explain everything to you sooner, I wasn't sure it was my job to tell you that ..."
"Not that," Tom sobbed, more and more visibly upset by his own absurd physical reaction, "You said we would be together forever. The two of us."
His voice choked again on the last words and he looked at her as if asking for help in dealing with the strange avalanche of feelings that was overwhelming him.
Hermione felt her heart tighten at the sight of the confusion on Tom's face.
"Did you think I promised to stay with you just because I knew you were going to live in another world eventually?"
Tom nodded, blushing slightly and trying to wipe away the tears with the back of his hands.
"But you ... you are like me ... so you knew ..."
"I knew we were going to leave together, Tom."
"We ... will we go away?"
Hermione nodded and approached until she was standing in front of him. She offered him a wider smile and his pupils visibly dilated.
"Will we go away, away from here, away from the others?"
"Yes, Tom, we will go far away, among our people, you will love it."
Tom stared at her in awe for a long moment, fat tears still swimming within the frame of his lashes.
"Do you want to talk about what Mr. Dumbledore told you, Tom?" Hermione asked brushing away a strand of stray hair from his sweaty forehead.
Tom bit the inside of his lower lip. He glanced to a wooden box laid on Hermione's desk, then seemed to decide he had more important things to talk about now and reached forward, sticking both his hands in her curls.
"Will we really go?"
"Yes, we will, Tom."
"Together."
"Yes, together."
"We're special, different from them."
"We are different, yes."
"We'll get away, far away from here, forever." Hermione giggled as a small smile curled his lips.
"Yes, Tom. As a matter of fact, I have already made arrangements for an apartment and I'll start working in a book shop soon!"
"An apartment… for the two of us?" He asked twirling her curls around his fingers with dreamy eyes.
Hermione nodded enthusiastically.
"Are you mad at me, Tom? Are you mad I didn't say something sooner?"
Tom leaned in closer and placed his forehead on her chin.
His hands left her curls to rest on her shoulders.
"Good people make mistakes." He whispered, "Just... don't lie to me, ever."
"No, Tom. Neither of us will lie anymore, ok? Do you want to talk about what…"
"Promise." Tom hid his nose under her neck, breathing in her scent.
"Promise… what? I said I won't lie…"
"We will be together, forever. Promise me." Hermione sighed.
"I promise." she lied, ignoring the pang of guilt in her belly.
"That old man... he took you from me today." Hermione felt somehow uncomfortable hearing those words, she tried leaning away from Tom to get a glimpse at his face but he hugged her closer making it impossible for her to move, "I don't like it."
"Tom?"
"I don't… I hate it."
"He helped us, Tom, Mr. Dumbledore helped us! You should be glad, he helped me find a job and a home for us, and he did bring me back, didn't he? Come on now, we have a lot to talk about!" She wriggled more firmly from the strange hug and successfully broke it.
Tom looked up through his long lashes with a skeptical frown, then in the blink of an eye he lost all trace of anguish and smiled.
Hermione smiled back at him, secretly wondering how could he manage to go from furious to happy, from relieved to sad to jealous, all in a matter of seconds.
That this child was capable of feeling the most disparate emotions, was clear to Hermione by now. She had repeatedly had proof of his ability to 'feel' over the years, and had slowly learned that no, Tom was not the ataraxic monster that she had expected would result from the use of Amortentia.
What she was noticing though, more than a lack of feelings, was a poor control over them.
It was as if Tom could not distinguish one feeling from the other when they showed up in more than one at a time, which gave him very little ground to understand how to deal with any of them.
The nervous breakdown he'd just had was evidence of some sort of alexithymia.
Somewhere in the back of Hermione's mind, the image of the crying Tom from last summer resurfaced and her smile wavered slightly.
That morning too… he'd been tired from the trip, nervous about the vacation, jealous of the man who had shown too much interest in Hermione, angry at Dennis…
"Tell me about this Wizarding World, will you? About our new home, and this Hogwarts place, the book shop, and…" And soon Hermione was torn from her train of thought and distracted by Tom's hundreds of questions.
Life in Scotland came like a breath of fresh air.
It was easy, carefree and quite happy.
The small apartment over the Hog's Head was small, but cozy and cheap.
Tom had been much calmer since they had left London, so peaceful and joyful that it had been easy for Hermione to forget all their previous problems and doubts.
Their days had quickly become a well-tried and placid routine.
Every morning Tom and Hermione would wake up giggling and smiling, they would spend some time cuddling, telling each other about their funny dreams and sipping their pumpkin juice, a drink Tom had surprisingly fallen in love with.
He had never been much of a sweet tooth before but, since he had landed in Honeydukes for the first time, his taste had radically changed, much to the despair of the dentist's blood in Hermione's veins.
Not a day went by without her finding chocolate frog wrappers hidden under the mattress or Treacle fudge empty boxes buried under the bathroom sink; Tom's pockets were bottomless pits of Fizzing Whizzbees, Fudge Flies and Salt Water Toffees.
He would constantly leave his Sugar Quills around the house and their sugary imprints were clearly visible on every piece of furniture in his range of action.
If Hermione had had to finance Tom's new sugar addiction, there wouldn't have been a job that would have paid enough.
Fortunately, Tom's disproportionate daily dose of treats was kindly sponsored by the attractive ladies who worked at Honeydukes, who were all quite eager to shower 'such a handsome little man' in chocolate and candy whenever he blinked his long black lashes at them.
Aberforth Dumbledore took care of the rest of their meals instead.
The man had been very reserved in the early days of their stay, but he had let himself be conquered by Tom's charm soon enough.
They had established a little routine skit that involved Aberforth complaining about Tom and Hermione always showing up in the kitchen when he was about to serve dinner or breakfast.
Tom would then embark on long monologues on the suspicious amount of fragrant delicacies in the man's kitchen, praising the chef for his marvelous cooking skills, often improvising little nursery rhymes to celebrate this or that dish.
Hermione would then pretend to drag Tom away from the delicious foods and towards some self-warming soup awaiting to be eaten straight from the can in their room.
Aberforth would theatrically sigh before inviting them to sit at his table, smiling to himself under his thick beard at the speed with which Tom would rush to his seat.
After the first month they could have probably avoided the skits and just sit at the table, which by now, was usually set for three anyway, but it had become their little game and no one seemed to want to give up the theatrics.
Hermione spent most of her time at work, sorting the books on the shelves, updating Bert's inventory, something he seemed to have neglected doing for the past two hundred years, and sifting through volumes that might be useful to her own research
She and Dumbledore had exchanged a few letters regarding their research, but unfortunately there hadn't been any significant breach yet. Time travel was a rather new field of research these days and written material on the subject was very little and very rare.
Tom for his part, spent his days in pure awe, embracing this new world, exploring Hogsmeade, dreaming of the day he would go to school, chatting with anyone who would give him a shred of time and mostly pestering Aberforth with questions while pretending to help out at the Inn.
Sometimes he would spend the morning behind the counter at Tomes and Scrolls, especially on weekends, when the village filled with students, and far too many boys flocked to the shop to peek at Bert's new young employee.
On days off, Hermione and Tom would visit Zonko's Joke Shop, Honeydukes, and The Three Broomsticks. They would read together, take long walks and sometimes go stare at the Shrieking Shack from afar, telling each other ghost stories and riddles.
Sometimes Hermione would tell very well-censored stories of her experience at Hogwarts and Tom would always listen carefully and then shower her with questions about this or that potion, about the houses of Hogwarts, about the duels at midnight, and was it true that there were mermaids in the lake? Have you really seen them? What was the story about the Bezoar again? Tell me the one with dragons!
With all that going on, winter had sneaked up on them in no time at all.
They had moved to Hogsmeade in September and in a heartbeat it had been Christmas; before they could have blinked, Hogmanay's day and Tom's birthday had come and gone and then Burns Night had followed.
On Father's Day, Tom had given Aberforth a courtesy box of Chocolate Cauldrons, a move that had stunned Hermione and officially made Aberforth the first man Tom was not hostile to.
The wizard had thanked Tom gruffly, then, halfway through dinner, he had retired to the backyard claiming he had to deal with some gnomes infesting the tool shed and had returned half an hour later with a wet beard and red-rimmed eyes.
In no time, spring filled Hogsmeade with pollen, bees, butterflies and wildflowers. The landscape shook off the shimmering blanket of snow and donned a dazzling green cloak.
It was then that Tom found himself missing London for the first time in his life and that Hermione found out that there was no magic to alleviate allergies. Not that she knew of at least.
She and Aberforth learned to endure Tom's angry howls as, in between sneezes, the boy took it out on the rest of the world.
He would also tear and kick anything that was green or had flowers, perhaps hoping to inflict equal frustration and annoyance on mother nature.
It was surprising to see that although Tom had become really annoying with his outbursts (made slightly ridiculous by his perpetually running nose), the closer the day of his departure to Hogwarts got, the sadder Aberforth turned.
Hermione could understand how the man felt, she was sure she would miss Tom dearly, she was also a little worried about him being away from her for the first time, under Dumbledore's sole supervision; however Hermione was also thrilled with the adventures that awaited him and she was looking forward to him going to school, which was the positive outlook that Aberforth lacked altogether.
The night before Hermione took Tom to Diagon Alley, Aberforth had been particularly grumpy, and if Hermione hadn't already had that conversation a million times she would have found the expression of childish pouting on the big bearded man's face quite funny.
"Isn't it early to go shopping for school supplies? School is still a month or two away..." Aberforth sniffled as he dropped a half-cow-sized steak on Tom's plate that night.
"We better go a little earlier, Abe, Dumbledore has already sent me the school funds for Tom's uniform and wand anyway... it's not like we're sending him to school earlier." sighed Hermione.
"Plus, I want to see Wizarding London." Said Tom, looking at the steak before him, undecided on how to deal with it.
"See? He wants to go. Can we use the floo then?" Hermione asked again, unable to offer advice on the steak and just shrugging at Tom's silent request for help.
"Of course you can use the floo, I just don't get it, what's the rush? I wouldn't be so ecstatic if I had to send my kid to my brother…" Aberforth grumbled as he glanced from Tom to the steak, recognizing just then that the whole boy probably weighed less than the one piece of meat.
"I want to be able to read my school books before I go to school... like Hermione used to do, right?" said Tom, stabbing a baked potato and biting into it, leaving the steak issues to the adults, "What's wrong with your brother, anyway?"
"Nothing is wrong, Tom, he wants his books, Abe, why are you fighting this?"
"If your Hermione was a know-it-all, boy, doesn't mean you have to be too..." Muttered Aberforth ignoring Hermione's question, "Not with that pretty face and sharp brain of yours, you'll get straight O's without having to open a book, believe me!"
"My Hermione?" Smirked Tom, glancing at Hermione, who rolled her eyes and glared at the older wizard.
Aberforth seemed to shrink slightly under Hermione's poisonous gaze.
"Don't listen to him, Tom, good looks are definitely not everything in life, your brain will prove much more useful." Hermione snorted, but Tom had lost interest in the conversation at the mention of 'His Hermione' and was now staring into space with a wry smile.
"It's just that ... I'm sure once you buy the books time will fly even faster! Don't come crying when he is in school and you feel alone ..." Aberforth whined.
There was a long silence then.
Hermione smiled at Aberforth with a knowing expression until he realized he was talking about himself more than about her and blushed slightly along the line of his beard.
Hermione diverted her gaze and her eyes fell back into Tom's plate.
"Abe, when you bought that steak, what were you thinking exactly?"
"Well to be honest, I bought it for myself..."
"Sure you did..." Hermione laughed sarcastically.
"Why… we don't know what they'll give him at that damn school! The boy has to grow up, he needs some meat!"
"Oh my, he'll be fully grown if he gets to a quarter of that monstrosity." Hermione laughed, Tom suddenly snapped back to reality and turned a worried glance at the meat on his plate. He didn't speak much after that and refused to swallow more than two forkfuls of the huge slice of cow.
Diagon Alley from the 1930s wasn't too different from what Hermione remembered from the 90s.
The street was noisy, crowded, and completely enveloped in the sweet aroma of hot waffles that came from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.
After a first half hour ransacking the shops for the best deals, Hermione had to yank Tom into a street corner and check that his jaw was not dislocated, as he seemed unable to hold it in place.
Perhaps she would have enjoyed Tom's wonder more if it hadn't been terribly nostalgic to be there without Ron and Harry at her side.
"This place ... has it always been here? Are we in London?" Tom asked for the umpteenth time as she briskly dragged him away from Flourish and Blotts' window, knowing that if he managed to get in there, she would have never been able to get him out.
"Yes we are in London, Tom, watch your steps! I'm so sorry... madam?" Hermione offered, smiling apologetically to an old Hag that Tom had nearly pushed off the sidewalk in an attempt to peek into a window.
"Where do you buy wands? Oh ... Hermione ... Hermione look! They sell brooms!"
Oh, hell no! Hermione had spent enough visits to Diagon Alley with her nose pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, no, this guy wasn't going to be obsessed with Quidditch, not if she had a say in it.
It would have been scary enough to think that Tom could suddenly become a red-eyed snake-like monster, there was really no need to add the fear that he would break his neck every other day chasing flying balls, thank you very much.
"We're almost there, Tom, but if you'd rather stop here... I can go on my own, I bet Garrick will be happy to help me." She shrugged.
"Garrick?"
"The guy working at the shop." Hermione made sure to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"Oh" Tom gave one last glance at the crowd squirming before Quality Quidditch Supplies, then he quickly dragged Hermione away, oblivious to the smirk on her face, "I'll get lost if you leave me here anyway!"
Ollivander's shop was completely identical to the one in the future, it also smelled the same and Hermione felt a strange tingle in her belly as her eyes found the pale, hazy ones of a slightly younger Garrick Ollivander.
Hermione had dreaded this day, knowing that Tom Riddle's wand would be of paramount importance in the future. However, it wasn't as if Tom could go to school without a wand, nor could he use one that didn't choose him as its master, so there was very little she could do about it but watch fate unfold once again.
"Let me guess ... first wand?" Ollivander asked cheerfully as his measuring tape began buzzing around Tom before the boy could even confirm.
"Precisely, Mr. Ollivander." Hermione smiled and gestured for Tom to open his arms and let the tape do its job. He obeyed without taking his eyes off Garrick.
"What's your wand hand, Mr.?"
"Mr. Riddle and I'm left handed," Tom replied, whereupon the tape left Tom's right arm altogether to measure the left one instead.
"Mr. Riddle, hm? And this is your ... well she seems a little young to be your mother! Maybe your sister?" Garrick smiled kindly in Hermione's direction but it was Tom who answered.
"She is Mrs. Granger, and she is mine." He quietly announced, Garrick gave Hermione an amused smile as she returned it with an exasperated one.
"May I ask what wand do you have, Mrs. Granger? Where did you buy it?"
"Oh, mine is a 10¾" vine wood, with dragon heartstring core. " She replied, "I bought it… well here actually."
Garrick looked surprised as if he knew something was wrong.
"It sure sounds like one of ours." was all he said, hesitating before returning his focus on Tom, "Mr. Riddle, try this," he said producing a wand from one of the four boxes he had stacked on the counter as he spoke.
Tom looked at Hermione for confirmation and she nodded. His hands shook as he reached for the wand, Hermione felt excited for him, although she also knew, that wouldn't have been the right one.
The first wand was an olive wood one, with a dragon heartstring core, like Hermione's.
As expected, the wand did not react in the slightest to Tom's attempt to wave it and before he could even ask what was wrong, Ollivander had already snatched it from him.
"This then!"
Tom tried four wands more, none of which did it for him.
Ollivander was more and more intrigued and was now running between the shelves, pulling out more and more boxes, eager to solve the puzzle; Tom was growing less and less enthusiastic instead and was getting quite frustrated, Hermione was struggling over what to do.
She knew what the right wand would be… would it be ok to just cut the story short and say something?
At the eighth wand she couldn't take it anymore and, hating herself for it, she stopped Ollivander's umpteen trip to the back room.
"Mr. Ollivander, forgive me, I'm no expert but I have… well a hunch… wouldn't you have something in soft wood ... with a phoenix feather core maybe?"
Ollivander froze, he turned to Hermione with a confused frown, searching for a mystery in Hermione that she prayed he wouldn't find.
"Yeah ... as a matter of fact… I do have something like that." Said the man as he vanished under the counter. He resurfaced with two boxes and an indecipherable expression a moment later.
"Maybe my wand is not here… isn't there another shop?" Whispered Tom, but Hermione's focus was on Ollivander, the man was weighing the two boxes in his hands, undecided on which to open for Tom, then as if caught by a sudden thought, he placed them both before Hermione.
"Yew or Holly?" he asked instead of opening the boxes.
Hermione swallowed loudly through a knot that was tightening her throat. Harry's wand was in one of those two boxes.
She wanted to say holly so badly, if only to feel vaguely closer to Harry again.
"Yew." She said instead.
Half an hour later Hermione and Tom were sitting at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, behind a bowl of ice cream that might have fed a small village.
Neither of them had talked much after Ollivander. Hermione was still mulling over what had happened and Tom was lost in thought.
Hermione couldn't help but feel slightly shocked by the interaction with Ollivander. If she hadn't suggested which wand to try, would Tom still have found that one? Did Ollivander have another wand equally suitable for Tom or was it only a matter of time before the craftsman would have offered that wand to Tom? Had Hermione only speeded up the process?
She peered in the boy's direction and noticed the deep frown on his face.
"What's going on, Tom? Did we forget something?"
"Why doesn't anyone take me seriously when I say you're mine?" Tom snapped.
Hermione was caught off guard and didn't know what to say. She just stared at Tom, gasping with an expression halfway between amused and surprised.
Silly her, who thought he had been daydreaming of his leaving for school ... who would have thought he had such silly thoughts instead.
"What?" She finally asked, when she noticed he was very serious and was waiting for an answer.
"You heard me! Why don't people take me seriously when I say you're mine?"
Hermione had to fight not to laugh.
"Well, Tom, I would say the age difference could be one of the reasons, what do you think?"
Tom looked at her from head to toe, as if assessing just how much older than him she must have seemed to others.
"How many years will it take for me to be old enough?" He asked then returning to hold her amused gaze.
"Tom, that's not how it works!" Hermione laughed.
"How many years?"
"But you see, Tom ... the older you get, the older I'll get. By the time you're a charming and talented wizard, no one will want to believe you're with a witch as wrinkly and old as I will be!" Hermione joked.
"You won't be a wrinkly witch." Tom said gravely.
"Of course I will be, Tom, it's life and that's okay!"
Tom bit his lower lip and stirred some of the melted ice cream in their bowl before speaking again. Hermione wondered what he had just forbidden himself to say.
"So let's put it this way, let's say you'll always be like this, as you are today ..." He said.
"Which is impossible." Hermione smiled, but fell silent when he scolded her with a look.
"Let's say you'll always be like this, then in how many years?" Hermione rolled her eyes but when he hinted he wouldn't drop the subject she snorted.
"Oh come on, answer me."
"If I didn't age anymore, which is impossible," Hermione conceded with a note of exasperation, "Maybe in six or seven years, someone might even believe your nonsense!"
"Why do you say they are nonsense?" Tom frowned.
"Do you want a full list?" Tom snorted and looked away for a moment.
"You'll be mine, you wait and see. You already are, as much as I'm concerned." He moped.
"And I guess I don't get a say in this? What if I like blondes? Or redheads?" Hermione arched an eyebrow, Tom looked at her with a defiant expression, then he snorted loudly.
"In six or seven years I'll be so handsome and powerful, I'll totally sweep you off your feet, whether you like them blonde or bald!"
Hermione guffawed at those smug words, even Tom had to visibly struggle to hold his serious face.
"Laugh as much as you want, whoever laughs last laughs louder!" He smiled as Hermione doubled over with laughter.
"Oh, I'm sure you will be the most handsome wizard ever, Tom, but I'm also sure," Hermione said chortling still and wiping a tear, "That there will be so many witches in line for your affection, that you will be spoiled for choice!"
"I'm not listening to you ..." Tom yelled, covering his ears with his hands.
"Whatever!" Hermione shook her head in disbelief and took a spoonful of mostly melted ice cream.
"You wait for me, though." Said Tom after a while.
"Mh?"
"Don't get distracted with some loser while I'm not here, it's not fair! Give me a few more years."
"Tom, you're being ridiculous now…"
"Just… you just wait for me!"
"I can't help getting old! Besides, I love you already, it's a different kind of love, but when you grow up you will understand, my love."
Tom gave her a dirty look, Hermione offered an encouraging smile.
It was not uncommon for a male child to have such strong feelings for a maternal female figure and, in Tom's case, it was quite understandable that his attachment slightly exceeded the norm, as Hermione had not only been his mother figure but also his savior, his only company and... well his everything.
She was hoping that soon, with school and friends his age, those perhaps slightly morbid feelings Tom had for her, would finally dilute, that he'd learn how to dose his affections.
"You've avoided aging for years already, keep it up and in a few years I'll tell you what kind of love you will love me with, love of mine." Hermione laughed at the threat he tried to tread into his words despite the silly topic.
"Okay, whatever you say, Casanova Riddle, I'll make sure to be swept off my feet, now eat your ice cream and let's go home."
"And let's go home... what?" he asked, blinking theatrically.
"And let's go home, my love!" Hermione snorted amused. Tom smiled.
"Now if I were you, I'd eat that ice cream and I'd stop pushing my luck… love of mine!" said Hermione, blinking theatrically herself.
Hermione and Aberforth took Tom to London on 1 September 1938 so that he could board the Hogwarts Express with everyone else, despite the fact that Dumbledore had offered to pick him up in person in one of the carriages the school used for the students.
It was a Thursday, the air was getting cooler, the sky was leaden and far from the clear summer sky they had enjoyed in the previous months.
Neither of the three spoke much on the way to the station, but Tom held Hermione's hand all the way to the crowded platform 9 ¾.
Once they crossed the barrier, and once Tom got over his initial astonishment at the sight of the train and the throng of excited children preparing to leave, the little trio retreated to a corner of the platform to say their goodbyes.
"Are you ready?" Hermione asked as she dropped to one knee in front of him, adjusting his shirt collar.
Tom nodded, his expression tense, but clearly excited too.
"Will you be careful?"
"I will."
"And be good?"
"Yes, madam." He smiled.
"I'm serious, Tom!"
"Me too! I'll be good!" he crossed his heart.
"Good boy." Hermione, sniffled, "And write home… we will be waiting for your letters!"
"If you've changed your mind we can always go home ... that barn owl brother of mine has nothing to teach you more than we can teach you ..." Aberforth said, moping conspicuously.
"He'll be fine, Abe." Hissed Hermione before turning back level her gaze with Tom's, "You'll be fine." She repeated.
"What will you do while I'm away?" Tom asked leaning his forehead against Hermione's. She smiled, losing herself in the depths of those eyes for a moment. Oh she was going to miss that little brat.
"Aberforth and I will be pouting until you come back for the holidays, I guess."
Tom smiled and let go of the handle of his trunk to reach into Hermione's curls.
"You better cry once or twice too…" He said pouting mockingly.
"OH! All the time! I'll be heartbroken!"
"Now we're talking!" They laughed nervously.
"You think about me every now and then, okay?" Hermione whispered.
Tom's pupil shrunk and he studeid her face carefully.
"You wait for me." He ordered in a funny commanding tone.
Hermione nodded.
"Sure, we'll both wait for you, my love." He bit his lips.
"Call me that again." He whispered leaning in closer and hugging her.
Hermione laughed as she thought back to the conversation they had had in Hogsmeade a couple of months prior.
She leaned back and peered at his face grinning mischievously.
"You go now, love of mine, have fun and behave yourself!" Tom laughed out loud.
"I'll write you a thousand letters, love of mine!" he said dragging the words so they would be as gooey as possible.
"Are the two of you fools quite done?" Aberforth scoffed, secretly amused by their shenanigans.
Tom smirked slyly, kissed Hermione's cheek loudly and quickly hugged Aberforth.
He vanished in the crowd of students boarding the train seconds later.
"What a cheeky little monkey!" Laughed Hermione.
"He really is!" Laughed Aberforth.
"Oh, Merlin, what is wrong with me?" Gasped Hermione, weeping hysterically all of a sudden.
"It's ok, dear, you cry all you want." Whispered Aberforth, sniffling suspiciously himself.