Tom Riddle woke up early the next morning, as he tended to. He got dressed and worked on a Potions essay at his desk. This is already shaping up to be a dull year, he thought miserably, as he wrote about the myriad of possibilities with a Polyjuice Potion gone wrong. Unfortunately, opening the Chamber would not prove to be an option this year, so he would have to spend his time cementing the loyalty of his followers, an important but nonetheless unpleasant task.
At five to eight, Riddle slung his school bag over his shoulder and headed down to his meeting with Prewett. He rolled his eyes inwardly; he hoped this meeting didn't also end in a fit of tears. Surprisingly, Prewett was already downstairs, furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment.
"Morning, Prewett. You're early."
Hermione woke up at seven o'clock in a sweat. I can't keep putting this off, Hermione thought. I need to figure out a plan.
Hermione racked her brain for all she knew about Tom Riddle. She could already tell from her observations yesterday that he was quite well-liked, and he seemed to already have his Death Eaters in order, as Hermione suspected. He didn't need another follower or admirer. But what other approaches could she take? If she antagonized him, she would risk her life, and that would hardly help with getting him to spill his secrets. And if she tried to befriend him, he would dismiss her. But if she kept her distance, he would forget about her.
After copious notes (all written in disappearing ink, of course), and re-reading passages about Voldemort in several of the books she had brought with her from the future, Hermione decided the best course of action was to make Voldemort come to her. He already seemed suspicious of her background, so she could play that up- but not too much, or she would risk forcing a confrontation. Dumbledore had taught Harry that Voldemort loved trophies- she would just have to make herself one worth collecting.
Feeling slightly comforted by her planning, and trying not to think of the fact that she was play cat-and-mouse with Voldemort, she crept downstairs. Luckily, he wasn't there yet, so she started working on her Potions essay.
A few minutes later, she heard footsteps and looked up to find herself face-to-face again with her least favorite person.
"Morning, Prewett. You're early."
Hermione forced a smile. "I didn't sleep great last night," she shared.
"Sorry to hear it," Riddle responded a bit abruptly as he sat down and took out a piece of parchment. Hermione couldn't help but notice the elegant way he moved- as though everything was one fluid motion. "Now, for the patrols. I discussed tentative schedules with the other prefects on the train, but we will need to finalize and meet soon about future patrols. Patrols are planned out for this week already, which have been going as scheduled. There is an empty slot for Saturday night, which I was hoping you could take along with Charlus Potter." Hermione's stomach did a little backflip. "He's one of the Gryffindor prefects, and also missed our train meeting."
"That would be fine. Why did he miss the meeting?," Hermione asked, attempting to make conversation.
"I don't concern myself with other people's affairs. You can tell him at breakfast about the patrol." Merlin, he's bossier than I am.
"I suppose I can do that. I think we should meet this weekend to discuss the patrols and the semester as a whole. Let's say Sunday morning, after breakfast. We can hold the meeting here." Riddle opened his mouth slightly to respond, but Hermione kept talking. "I think it would make sense for you to alert everyone-" Riddle looked distinctly irritated now. "-since I'm new."
"We can hold the meeting here, but I don't want you bringing people around to the common room all the time. I think we should pre-approve any gatherings." Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at Riddle's bald attempt to regain control of their meeting.
"I was planning on throwing a party with all of my old friends, but you told me just in time." Hermione reminded herself that she was supposed to be somewhat nice to Riddle, but it was so difficult. "I would also prefer if you didn't have any friends," she inadvertently choked out the last word, thinking of his Death Eaters, "in our common room," she finished.
Hermione noticed Riddle's face twist itself into a knowing smirk. Does he know I know about his Death Eaters? How would he know that? Hermione shifted in her seat, slipping her fingers around her vine wand, terrified but steeling herself for confrontation.
"Don't worry," he replied after what felt like ages. "I won't bring any girls up here." He smirked and left the common room. Hermione felt heat rise up in her cheeks. Of course that's what he would think, she scolded herself, letting her grip on her wand relax.
Before sitting at her new House table, she visited her old one to deliver the message to Charlus that he was stuck patrolling Saturday night. Hermione quickly realized that she had no idea what Charlus looked like. Not all families could have as strong a family resemblance as the Malfoys, she mused. After asking a few friendly Gryffindors that made her miss her old House, she finally located Charlus Potter. Now that she knew he was a Potter, she could see the resemblance; his features were similar to Harry's in shape, but his eyes and hair were the same chocolate brown, and his hair was neatly parted rather than hopelessly messy.
"Hi, you must be Charlus. I'm Hermione, the new Head Girl."
Charlus took a minute to answer, as he was in the middle of eating. "Hi, Hermione. It's a pleasure to meet you," he finally replied, giving her a questioning look.
"Riddle mentioned you missed the train. I did as well, and I guess they stuck us with Saturday night patrol. Shall we meet in the entrance hall?" Charlus was very agreeable, and seemed less annoyed about the designation than Hermione had expected.
After making her way over the Ravenclaw table, Hermione waved to Lyra and sat across from her, who had her Divination dreams textbook next to her plate. Before Hermione could even greet Lyra, a Ravenclaw boy Hermione recognized from Herbology the previous day sat down next to her unexpectedly. "Hello, Lyra," he nodded to Lyra, who gave him a small smile but otherwise didn't look up from her book.
He turned to Hermione, his face arranged in a smile that reminded Hermione uncomfortably of Cormac McLaggen, though they looked nothing alike. Reginald was traditionally good-looking- tall, broad and tan with light brown hair and bright green eyes. "I'm Reginald Bones. Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you at the opening feast. I was detained."
"I heard you got hexed by a third year boy on the train," Lyra interjected.
Reginald looked rather annoyed at the interruption. "Yes, well. He surprised me and-" He was saved from explaining further by a rush of owls entering the Great Hall. Hermione was surprised when a tawny owl dropped a note into her lap. Opening it curiously, Hermione couldn't help but inwardly groan as she read.
Dear Hermione,
Please accept this invitation for dinner in my office at eight o'clock Friday with a few of my favorite students.
Warmly,
Horace Slughorn
Hermione looked up to find Reginald inches from her face, reading over her shoulder. "I see you've been invited, too. Bones is an old wizarding family, you know." Hermione didn't bother responding, but that didn't slow Reginald down. "Would you like to go together? I'll make sure you don't get lost." He flashed a smile that was apparently meant to be inviting but looked to Hermione like he was planning to eat her.
Hermione tried to think of a good excuse, but couldn't. She reluctantly agreed, privately thinking that Friday couldn't come slowly enough.
Against her wishes, the rest of the week flew by. Although Hermione had already done her seventh year, the material was different enough in 1943 that Hermione felt as though it were a new school year, not to mention the fact that she had to adjust to all new classmates, most of them rather unpleasant. Reginald took the "yes" to Slughorn's first gathering as an invitation to sit next to her in half her classes, making Defense Against the Dark Arts particularly unbearable as Lyra wasn't there to act as a buffer, and Reginald had become her de facto dueling partner. At least he was willing to work with her, though; Potions with Olive Hornby regularly required Hermione to do the work of three people by herself. Luckily, she had some experience with brewing Polyjuice Potion.
On Friday night, Hermione was deeply regretting her decision to accept Reginald's invitation. She was trying and failing to help her hair lay flat when she heard a knock on her bedroom door. She opened the door to find Tom Riddle on the other side.
"You have a visitor," he paused to shoot her an irritated look, "in our common room." As though to put Hermione in a worse mood, he pronounced every word as though it were a sentence.
As Hermione stepped through the door to their common room without replying to Riddle, she saw that Reginald was, indeed, there. She had to stop herself from laughing when she saw that he was trying (and failing) to prevent Crookshanks from scratching him. "Hello, Reginald."
"Hermione. You look amazing." Hermione had to stop herself from shuddering as Reginald eyed her like a piece of meat. She instantly regretted the small amount of effort she put into her hair.
Hermione saw Voldemort start to make his way to the portrait hole. Still irritated at him, she called out, "Riddle! You're on your way to Slughorn's office, too, aren't you?"
Riddle turned slowly and looked at her with murderous eyes. "Yes, I am. But I don't want to disturb-"
"Don't be ridiculous. You should walk with us." Apparently Riddle's veneer of politeness was stronger than his clear repulsion to the idea, as he agreed. It was difficult to tell who was more upset with this arrangement: Riddle or Reginald. Although Voldemort would probably not be her first choice of a buffer, she was trying to spend more quality time with him. And the arrangement forced Reginald to make himself useful by preventing Riddle from cursing her on the spot.
The trio descended into silence as they left the common room. Reginald started talking about Quidditch, and Hermione quickly learned that he was keeper and captain of the Ravenclaw team. Once he dove into strategy, Hermione tuned him out as she was used to doing with Ron and Harry. She was interrupted from her thoughts, though, when she caught a familiar name. "Lyra plays Quidditch?" It was difficult to hide her shock. She tried to imagine Luna or Lyra on a broom, but the image wouldn't register.
"She's incredible," Reginald responded enthusiastically. "The best seeker I've ever seen. You watch her and it's like she's in some sort of trance, but then she dives for what looks like nothing and comes back with the snitch. It's insane, really."
"I can't wait to watch her play," Hermione responded mostly to humor Reginald, but she was genuinely a bit interested. Remembering their third wheel, Hermione turned to Riddle, asking, "What about you, Riddle? Do you play?" Hermione couldn't imagine Voldemort catching quaffles, but Lyra had surprised her so far.
"No," he responded curtly before darting into Slughorn's office without another word. Apparently his patience had worn out.
Reginald and Hermione followed him in, with Reginald's arm around Hermione. "Would you mind getting me a drink?" Hermione asked him sweetly. Luckily she had plenty of experience ridding herself of impulsive date choices.
"What would you like?"
"Firewhisky, I think." I'm going to need something strong to get through tonight.
Hermione took Reginald's momentary absence as an opportunity to insert herself into Riddle and Slughorn's conversation. As she approached, she noticed that Riddle had a fake smile plastered on his face. How does Slughorn not see through this?
"Professor," Hermione interrupted. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she lied, "but I just wanted to thank you for the invitation." Riddle's smile remained firmly rooted in place, but she could see his eyebrows narrow momentarily before returning to their position. It was so quick that Hermione would have thought she imagined it had she not known Riddle as Voldemort.
"Not at all, m'dear. You've impressed me this week. It's clear that you've inherited your aunt's knack for potions. Have you given any thought to what you might want to do after school?" Hermione had given it plenty of thought in her own time; having finished her seventh year back home, she had accepted her place with the Order of the Phoenix, putting her own life on hold indefinitely. Now, though, she knew that she would be lucky if she escaped Azkaban for killing the Head Boy standing mere feet away from her. Dumbledore didn't have to tell her that there would be no returning to her own time; she knew little about the intricacies of time travel but still knew enough to know that there was only one direction: backward.
In response to Slughorn's question, Hermione allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy that she would have a future in this world of the past. "Honestly, Professor, I would love to teach eventually. With my parents gone, Hogwarts already is starting to feel like home." She added the last sentence for Riddle's benefit. He had no perceptible reaction, but he was so unreadable that Hermione wasn't deterred. As Slughorn started to go through a list of people he wanted to introduce Hermione to, Hermione saw a genuine smirk pull at the left corner of Riddle's mouth before she felt a drink in her hand and a hand at her waist.
"Ah, Reginald," Slughorn greeted him before turning to Hermione. "I see you make friends fast, Ms. Prewett," Slughorn said, winking and chuckling. "I'll leave you two alone. Come, Riddle, I'll introduce you…" Slughorn's voice trailed off as he dragged Riddle away, leaving her with Reginald and a stiff drink. At least one of those things were welcome.
A few hours later, Hermione had managed to successfully dodge Reginald's lips, but she was a bit drunker than she would have liked, had she been sober enough to care. She was hiding in a corner with another glass of firewhisky, when suddenly, she felt lips brush lightly against her ear. "You haven't been spending much time with your date tonight," a familiar voice whispered before Hermione could tell who she originally thought was Reginald to sod off. "Meet me out in the hallway in two minutes."