Walking the familiar stone corridors, Hermione shrugs off a feeling of looming despair that threatens her freshly positive mindset.
Pausing at a massive window, she soaks in the beauty of the green hills of Scotland. They stretch on bountifully for as far as the eye can see. She could almost kiss them.
She is back at Hogwarts, one that isn't war torn. Her home. Her favorite place. The minutes until she can get to the library seem endless.
She had slept for three full days. When she woke up, she told Dippet and Dumbledore everything they needed to hear to let her remain at Hogwarts. They believed her. An assessment of her abilities was done, resulting in her attending as a seventh year Gryffindor.
Again? Or for the first time? This time business was tricky stuff. Hermione had decided to not trouble herself with these concerns until she had done more reading. The degree with which she could settle into this time was still yet to be determined, so for the mean time laying low while getting N.E.W.T. scores is the best option.
Of course, certain people remain skeptical of her. She doesn't blame them. How could anyone be expected to warmly welcome an intruder? That is what she is to them.
Now, entering the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom ten minutes early, she finds herself immediately under the scrutiny of Professor Merrythought. It almost rattles her. Still, she smiles and greets the harsh woman.
She seats herself in the back row and begins unpacking everything needed for the lesson. In the first class of the day, Charms, she had sat in the front and spent the whole class terrified at the inability to see everyone in the room.
Even still, she nearly jumps out of her chair at the sound of quick footsteps entering the room.
Someone gently clears their throat besides her and she shifts her gaze toward the sound. Standing beside her is an incredibly tall Slytherin boy gazing down in interest.
"If it isn't the girl I have heard so much about," his voice implores, draping over her like a cloak of velvet, "good afternoon."
He has a breathtaking smile that sits perfectly welcome on his porcelain skin.
"Yes, good afternoon." She forces her face to soften into something polite. No need to make enemies.
"If I may ask, what is your name?" Endlessly dark eyes gaze deeply into her own. He has eyes that see straight through you. Everything about him is sharp. As if all of the sudden, the world around him, just him, was too in focus.
"Hermione."
His eyebrows raise at her lack of an offered last name.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hermione. My name is Tom Riddle and I am—" he keeps talking but her heartbeat thundering in her ears drones his voice out.
She is standing in front of Voldemort.
Run away. Run away. Run away. Run.
RUN. NOW.
RUN.
NOW. NOW.
RUN FROM HIM.
Every fiber in Hermione's body is taut with the utter wrongness of the situation. No longer capable of logical thought, the only thing keeping her rooted in place is the other phrase drifting in her conscious.
You can kill him.
Could she?
This thought gives her a measure of confidence that was swept from beneath her feet merely seconds ago.
Voldemort has noticed her lack of attention and has stepped closer. His mouth forms words asking toward her health. Sharp teeth line the cavern of his mouth. A mouth that will speak the words of murder toward hundreds for his own selfish gain.
Murder. Horcruxes. Has he made any yet? That could be a goal of hers: to destroy his horcruxes so the day green light rebounds in Godric's Hollow it truly ends him and saves countless lives.
A feeling of urgency surges through her.
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips before scrambling to provide an explanation for her silence, "Sorry, I am mildly out of practice at making polite conversation."
This is true. The most she had talked outside of fight or flight was only to her best friends. And this can also apply to current ambiguous Hermione who has escaped the Global Wizarding War.
His features draw down in sympathy, "Apologies, I can gather formalities were not your priority as of late." He steps forward slightly, with raised palms. Dark eyes soften as they scan her tense form. Her own honey ones remain trained on him, tracking his every move. Constant vigilance.
With a hesitant nod, she ignores the screaming urge to take a step back. Hermione hopes and hopes and hopes that he doesn't see through her to find a girl from the future, who knows more about him than she should.
"Thank you for being so understanding," she trails off, not knowing what to call him. Tom. Riddle. Mr. Riddle. Or Voldemort. She can trust herself not to use his self given name since his looks are irreconcilable with those of his future.
"We can sit together if you would like, I can catch you up to speed on the coursework and answer any questions you have."
No, she would really rather not. But declining would be rude and she has already come across rude enough. Nothing is worth his wrath.
"That would be nice." A forced smile stretches uncomfortably across her face.
His Head Boy badge gleams as he gestures for her to sit down again. That was most likely what he was talking about when she stopped listening to him. Of course, she ignores the fact that if she had ever gotten to be head girl it would be the first thing off her lips in an introduction also.
She settles in once more and her focus dizzingly flares back out from being on him for so long.
The classroom is full.
Her lungs squeeze. Her head whips to locate the door a few feet away. She slides her wand out of her holster.
It feels as if she has apparated right into a battle.
Voices bounce off the walls around her, warped. Before her breathing escalates too rapidly, she focuses her jumpy attention on the hair of the girl seated in front of her. It is coifed. In her time students do not coif their hair.
There is no immediate danger.
With a long exhale through her nose, her brain finishes reshuffling and occulmency walls slam down tight. She is a fortress. Even from her memories. Especially them.
Hermione sneaks a glance around the room and determines no one noticed her sudden fright. But, turning to the right, she finds Tom Riddle gazing upon her, eyebrows furrowed. He notices her attention and inclines his head, a dark curl falling across his forehead, before shifting focus to the Professor.
She wants to scream. Oh dear Merlin. She displayed weakness in front of Voldemort. He could use this against her now. If only she had known how affected she would be coming from The War. That isn't her only problem though.
Her thoughts hover back to the idea of just offing the dark wizard.
Is her thirst for revenge stronger than her thirst for justice? What are the consequences of actions in this time? Does what happens here directly reflect the future she came from, or has the act of time travel splintered off and made a new timeline?
Can she even get back to her original timeline? Surely, since according to the Self-Consistency Principle, anything done just produces the circumstances found in the future. But that was true for a mere five hour time travel.
Getting rid of the horcruxes seems like the least intrusive to the timeline out of all possible actions she could take against Voldemort. She has no doubt in her ability to find them. The only matter is how she would destroy them. Her two options are basilisk venom and fiendfyre. Killing the basilisk would risk altering the timeline too much. She has to master the fiendfyre curse. She also has to keep him from making more than he already has. Which should be only two.
"Hermione." A voice rumbles, too close to her ear. "Would you like to cast the spell or counter it first?"
His form fades between this one and an even paler one with red eyes and no nose. One grins wickedly at her and the other stares calmly. She is glad her brain reminds her body to keep breathing because if it was up to her she would forget.
Now is as good a time as any to see what he is capable of. To determine how prepared she should be.
"I can counter." He nods, and she wills herself to be calm, even without knowing what he will cast. She should have been paying attention to class.
They stand and move to a corner of the room where other students aren't already practicing.
Shifting into a comfortable position, she prepares herself for the worst.
He moves quickly, wand twisting in a knobby shape she recognizes as the jelly legs curse just as a spout of soft orange light expels from his yew wand in her direction.
Hermione casts the counter curse and pauses, unsure of what to do next. He looks nothing but intent, as if ready to counter something she will send his way.
She repeats the jelly legs curse then holds her wand steady for all but a second to ensure it sends in the right direction then rapidly slashes the motions of a full body bind curse. Afterword she proactively casts a shield charm. Everything comes out with too much strength. An even more surprising amount for a wand she hasn't gained the loyalty of yet. Like even it knows she has to stand firm against this opponent.
Tom Riddle dispels both of her attacks, but looks mildly surprised at her forcefulness, "We were only to practice one curse at a time."
A blush heats her face.
"Oh. I, I am sorry." Her hands thread together, the walnut wand awkwardly sticking up between them. "It's a result of habit."
"No worries." He winks. He actually winks at her.
The end of his words are punctuated by wand movement in the shape of dancing legs. Hermione counters with the general finite but, before she can send the same jinx back at him he follows through with a knock back jinx. She still counters it.
The pair trades off back and forth between mild jinxes and curses for the rest of class. Hermione grows increasingly frustrated that she can't manage to hit him with something. She realizes that is not the point since this isn't a real duel, but she is irritated none the less.
Professor Merrythought ends class and Hermione wastes no further time in summoning her bag and rushing out of the room.
What, did she expect the Dark Lord to be subpar even at this age? No. Did she hope still hope so? Yes.
The man of the hour nimbly slides into step with her, grinning from ear to ear.
"That was fun." He exhales, breathless and in excitement, almost more to himself than to her.
"I suppose." The Gryffindor purses her lips. Although, a small part of her agrees with him. She hurdles that part of her over her Occlumency walls, never to hear from again.
—
Tom loathes that he has to take a gentle approach with her. She is so very wary and reactive. He resigns himself. He can be something solid to lean against.