The next week flew by, mainly consisting of Hermione's face buried in books and a series of unpleasant run-ins with her favorite roommate. She spent the next Saturday making her way into being part of a new trio with Lyra and Todd. They sat by the lake and studied for a while, but for once Hermione wasn't mad when her studying faced frequent interruptions with questions from Todd or off-topic observations courtesy of Lyra. On the contrary, they were the two people that were making the 1940s feel more like home for Hermione. Although she had a great time with Charlus patrolling, she never really saw him: they were in different houses, different years, and from what she had seen so far, he spent almost all of his free time with Dorea.
Soon, it was Sunday morning again, and Hermione prepared by herself for the meeting to plan the Yule Ball with the rest of the prefects who happened to be of her gender. Hermione's desire to be prepared warred with her frustration over the outdated practice, and in the end, she decided to try to delegate responsibility to the prefects who were more excited about it. Hermione couldn't prevent herself from doing a bit of research on it during the week, though, and felt a little frustrated with Hogwarts, A History for neglecting to mention the annual balls and their planners.
Hermione was surprised when the three Slytherin prefects arrived first and together. She had met all but one, and finally introduced herself to the seventh-year, who she learned was Mildred Bulstrode. This explains a lot, Hermione mused. The rest of the Houses filtered in, with everyone on time but the Gryffindor prefects, who also came in a group. Hermione was beginning to see why Slytherins found her House members so irritating. Just after Hermione started the meeting, Riddle strolled in, with a sincere-sounding, "Apologies for interrupting, ladies, I forgot about your meeting," before he stalked off to his room. Hermione was disgusted to see almost all of the other prefects practically swoon at his presence. Sure, he was attractive, but couldn't they see how insincere he was?
Since the Ball changed little year to year, there weren't too many things that needed to be decided. Instead, tasks needed to be assigned. "Why don't we discuss what we need to do before the Ball? I'll make a list, and then we can divide up the tasks evenly."
"We'll need food," piped up a short Hufflepuff girl that looked incredibly familiar.
"And drinks," added one of the late Gryffindors, laughing.
"OK," Hermione acknowledged, jotting things down. "We also need a band, I assume." A few of the other students nodded in response.
"We will need appropriate decoration, of course." Dorea chimed in.
"Yes. And I believe we need to procure professors to supervise," Hermione's statement was followed by a chorus of groans and reluctant nods. "I'm happy to talk to the professors," Hermione assured them, pleased to secure the task that seemed least repugnant. She doubted she would attend the ball, anyway, so there was no use wasting her time making it perfect. "Other than that, we will need people on decorations, music, and food and drinks can go together."
"I think the Slytherins should take charge of decorations," Dorea suggested in a snobbish voice. "We have the most class."
Hermione had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "You can head decorations, Dorea, since you seem so enthusiastic about it, but I think we should have other Houses involved so we don't end up with a green and silver Ball." After a lot of bickering, a young Professor Sprout- who Hermione learned was the one who brought up food- took on food and drinks with the rest of the Hufflepuffs. The Gryffindor girls took charge of the music selection, and the Slytherins and Ravenclaws teamed up to work on decorations, making the decorations group almost twice the size of the rest, but the Houses clearly were even less unified than they were in 1998, so it's the best Hermione could accomplish. Since Hermione had her own task, she relinquished herself of most of the responsibility of the Ball and promised to meet with them closer to the ball to go over details and check on everyone's progress.
September quickly slipped into October, but although Hermione had made a few good friends in the past, she couldn't help but miss her friends and family in the future. Partially because of this, and partially because Dumbledore was an excellent professor, Transfiguration quickly became Hermione's favorite class.
Hermione smiled and waved as she saw Lyra sitting in the corner. Lyra had quickly grown on Hermione and become her closest friend in the past. Though her and Luna were never close in her own time, she wondered if she had been missing out. Lyra was incredibly perceptive and had a very calming effect on Hermione, which she usually needed these days. Her close quarters with Riddle hadn't been as awful as she had expected, but they argued over everything and nothing. It was very different than being Head in her own time, when she cohabitated with Ernie Macmillan. Though he could be really irritating, he didn't get under her skin the way that Riddle did. And Hermione could ignore him; Riddle wouldn't allow it. There was something so dominating about his mere presence that it was impossible to pretend that he wasn't there. As if she needed a reminder that she needed to get closer to the Horcrux-hoarding Head Boy.
Soon Hermione was jolted from her thoughts by the start of class. "Today we will be turning teapots"- with a wordless wave of his wand, teapots flew from the front of the class to each student's desk- "to foxes. Because foxes are more complex creatures than those we have worked with previously, you might find this rather difficult."
Five minutes into practicing, the farthest anyone had gotten was Hermione's teapot. Her handle was turned into a snout, and the other end had grown a beautiful, bushy tail, but she had no luck on completing the spell as of yet. As the class drew to a close, Hermione hadn't had much more luck, except that now her teapot could see and was looking at her disapprovingly. Even more annoying, Hermione noticed that Riddle, who sat behind her, was looking rather smug, reading while a well-behaved fox sat contentedly at his feet.
Dumbledore was passing through, giving tips and encouragement to the increasingly dejected Transfiguration students. "Excellent start, Hermione. I think you'll find with a bit of practice you'll have a full-fledged fox."
Dumbledore turned to walk back toward the front of the room without commenting on Riddle's achievement. Something of this sort had happened every class thus far. And though Hermione knew that Dumbledore detested Riddle because Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets, and Hermione had done no such thing, she couldn't help but compare it to how Snape treated her, and was thinking of all the times Snape had ignored her or ridiculed her when she heard her voice say, "Excuse me, Professor." Dumbledore turned around, still smiling.
"Yes, Ms. Prewett?"
Hermione wavered for a moment. This wasn't like standing up to Professor Umbridge when she denied Voldemort's existence, or to a Death Eater disguised as Professor Moody when he ridiculed Neville. This was Dumbledore, her favorite professor, ignoring the wandwork of a boy who had already used it to perform incredible, but dark, magic. But Hermione couldn't help but comment, anyway. "I think you've forgotten Riddle's fox."
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore's voice had a hint of coldness to it that Hermione had never heard before. Everyone's eyes were now on their exchange, including Riddle's. Hermione could feel his stare burning behind her, but didn't dare turn around. "Excellent work, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore spoke quietly before heading up to the front of class. "I think that's all for today. Please continue practicing the spell and I will see you all on Thursday."
Hermione quickly packed her bookbag and rushed out of Transfiguration, not waiting for Lyra and not looking behind her. But she wasn't fast enough. Just as she'd gotten past the door, Riddle grabbed Hermione and pulled her into a secluded hallway. Hermione's eyes widened as she felt a chill run down her spine. "What are you-?"
"What was that, Prewett?" Riddle interrupted with a snarl. Hermione could see his eyes glowing red in the dimly lit hallway.
"What do you mean? I was defending you!" Hermione was trying not to antagonize Riddle, but it was difficult to not be angry. "Professor Dumbledore has been practically ignoring you. I just… I don't know. It was obviously a bad idea." Hermione looked up at Riddle angrily. "I'll leave you to fend for yourself in the future."
Riddle didn't look placated. "What are you playing at? I don't believe for one second you are trying to defend me. And for the record, I don't need anyone to fend for me."
Hermione moved forward, refusing to be glued against the wall out of fear any longer. "I just wanted you to know," Hermione said in a livid whisper, "that I when I beat you in grades this year, it won't be because Professor Dumbledore likes me more." And with that, she stormed off, not heading in any particular direction other than away from Riddle and away from their common room. Hermione was frustrated with herself for losing control with Riddle; they had been arguing frequently but this was the first time things had gotten really heated, and the first time he had completely dropped his facade. As the semester wore on, Hermione was wondering more and more if Dumbledore knew what he was doing by sending Hermione back. Riddle and her seemed to have a knack for getting on each other's nerves; she was sure that almost anyone would have an easier time gaining Riddle's trust than her. Why couldn't he have sent Ginny back? Or Luna? They would know what to do.
"It has to be you." Dumbledore's words echoed through Hermione's skull not for the first time. She desperately wished she knew what he had meant. Some days she wished that she had questioned him more, but knew that it would have been fruitless. Dumbledore had been determined not to give her more information. But she needed it. She needed someone to tell her how to proceed. And that's when Hermione decided she needed to go to Dumbledore; she knew there was more in the letter he had written himself than had been let on- or at least, she had to hope there was.
The exchange stuck with Riddle for the rest of the day. He was incredibly frustrated; not only had Prewett stormed off before he could respond, but he really didn't understand why she was helping him. In class, in prefect meetings, and even in his own bloody common room she was always trying to undermine him, which is why Riddle couldn't understand why she would try to highlight his accomplishments in Transfiguration. And of course she evaded all of my questions. As always.
Riddle spent the day wrestling with how to proceed, but finally he decided to pursue a plan he had been thinking of for quite a while. In fact, he didn't really know why he hadn't proceeded earlier.
Accordingly, on the way up from dinner, Riddle gestured to Malfoy to follow him, and walked down to a dark corridor in the dungeons. During their walk, Riddle did not bother to look behind him to see if Malfoy followed; his followers knew the price of insolence. "Malfoy, I need to speak to you about something."
"Yes, my Lord?" Riddle couldn't help but feel smug at the the terrified look on Malfoy's face, but he would have preferred if that's how Prewett looked earlier. Her treatment of him after Transfiguration was still making his blood boil. The more he thought of Prewett, the angrier he felt, and the smaller Malfoy seemed to become in front of him.
"I'm going to need you to see to an unpleasant task for me."
Malfoy bowed his head slightly. "I would be happy to oblige."
"I don't trust the new girl, and she doesn't trust me. She seems to fancy you, so I would like you to get close to her. Find out what her secrets are."
"Of course, my Lord." For some reason, Riddle felt a little irritated at the glee in Malfoy's eyes upon hearing his assignment.
"Do what it takes. And don't disappoint me."
Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, thinking not for the first time of the mysterious time traveler, Hermione Prewett. Her recent behavior in Transfiguration Class was unsurprising, considering the letter he had received from his future self, but he couldn't help but be concerned for her. He knew all too well what it meant to be involved with a dark wizard, and that the pull to the darkness was often stronger than the pull to the light.
He had recognized the type of magic used on the letter almost instantly; it was written in a difficult type of invisible ink that took months to brew, and could only be read by the writer. The art had almost died out because it was seldom useful enough to go through the trouble of brewing the potion to write what usually constituted merely a note to one's self. In this case, of course, it was more essential. The ink used didn't tell him much, but it did make it obvious that Ms. Prewett's time travel was planned for several months.
Dumbledore had tried to reassure Hermione by acting as though the letter had left fairly clear instructions, when in reality all it said was: "This is Hermione, a time traveler with an urgent mission. Make her Head Girl with a pureblood lineage. Whatever you do, do not interfere in her relationship with Tom Riddle." The final line is what disturbed him the most; how could he let another innocent teenager get wrapped up with a dark wizard?
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," Dumbledore responded automatically.
The time traveler in question opened the door. "Do you have a moment, Professor?"
"Of course, Ms. Prewett. Please, sit. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Well, Professor," Hermione hesitated, clearly wrestling with herself about something. "I wanted to ask you about the note I handed to you a month and a half ago."
Dumbledore felt apprehensive, but knew that his expression wouldn't show it. "What about the note, Ms. Prewett?"
"Did it say anything about how to complete…" Hermione hesitated again. "...how to complete my mission?"
"I'm afraid I don't even know what your mission is, Ms. Prewett," Dumbledore answered honestly. But I do know who it's regarding, Dumbledore thought to himself.
"Are you sure, Professor? I don't mean to press, but, it seems increasingly impossible. Any help would be beneficial."
Dumbledore felt a swell of curiosity about what his future self told her, but knew that it would be unwise to know if he had chosen to keep it from himself. "I'm sorry, Ms. Prewett, but I am telling the truth. And I think it would be best if we didn't continue this conversation."
Hermione looked crestfallen, but nodded and rose to leave. "Thank you for seeing me, anyway, Professor. I appreciate it." Her eyes conveyed such a depth of loneliness that Dumbledore found it difficult not to offer her assistance, but held himself back. Seconds later, he heard the door shut, feeling a mixture of relief and sadness at his inability to help Hermione.