"Would you like a candy, Ms. Prewett? I have lemon drops and strawberry pops."
"I'm fine, thank you, Professor." Hermione was squirming around the chair in Dumbledore's office, there in response to a summons she had received at breakfast this morning. Although Dumbledore's presence had provided such a comfort upon her arrival as a sort of anchor to her past and future, she was couldn't help but feel nervous as she had not spoken one-on-one with her Transfiguration professor since she and Tom had very publicly become a couple.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you here." His blue eyes had their familiar twinkle, but he was as hard to read as he had ever been.
"Yes, Professor."
"What are your plans for the holiday?"
"Excuse me?" Hermione was expecting a reprimand, not an idle chat.
"I merely inquired about your holiday plans."
"Of course, sir. I apologize. I'll be staying here. You know that I have to stay until the dance, and considering I have nowhere else to go, I'll stay on for Christmas and New Years as well."
Dumbledore smiled at that. "Yes, Horace—excuse me, Professor Slughorn—assured me that he informed you of your duties to lead the Ball. But I've noticed that you've made many friends since you've been here, such as Ms. Lovegood. Surely you can accompany her for the holiday?"
"Well, I haven't been invited, sir. And besides, I'm fine with staying here over the holiday. The castle feels more like home than anywhere else at this point." Hermione smiled sadly, thinking of past holidays with her parents that seemed like lifetimes ago, when in reality they were only a few years back. The last couple Christmases during the war had been bleak at best. It would be nice to at least celebrate the holiday, even if she couldn't be with her parents.
"Is there another reason you're looking forward to staying here over the holiday?" Dumbledore's eyes had turned piercing, but not unkind.
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir. As I said, I have nowhere to go." Hermione forced a chuckle.
Dumbledore smiled kindly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know I shouldn't be asking you about this, Ms. Prewett, but I'm concerned about how close you are becoming to Mr. Riddle."
"And why would that be, sir?" Hermione asked somewhat more sharply than she intended as she fidgeted with her blue and bronze scarf.
"While Mr. Riddle is an exceptional student, like yourself, I have reasons to be concerned about him. To put it bluntly, Ms. Prewett, I am becoming increasingly concerned for your safety if you persist in this association."
"May I ask why you are just telling me this now, Professor?" Hermione had been wondering this for a while, but had assumed it was out of respect for Tom's privacy. Dumbledore's current to-the-point attitude had made her question that conclusion, though. Why would he hold back and then assassinate Tom's character in one meeting?
"I have my reasons, Ms. Prewett, but at this point, I cannot in good conscience hold my tongue on the subject, though it may be wise to do so."
Hermione tried to stop twisting her fingers around in her lap and straighten her spine. She was mostly successful except for the fact that her right hand had a vicelike grip on her left. "And why would it be unwise, Professor?" Hermione tried to keep her tone casual in hopes that Dumbledore would do something exceedingly unlikely: slip up and tell her more information than he ought to.
"It is generally considered unwise to spread gossip about one's own students."
"But you think it's more than just gossip?" Because I know it is.
"What gossip have you heard, Ms. Prewett?"
"You're the one that brought up gossip, Professor."
Dumbledore surveyed her curiously. "I see that perhaps I underestimated you, Ms. Prewett. You are aware that Mr. Riddle is dangerous?" Hermione felt the familiar pressure of someone trying to break her Occlemency walls.
"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed. "It is not advisable for you to have information about the future. Wasn't it you who said that?"
"I don't know what you mean, Ms. Prewett." Despite his uncharacteristically snappish response, the attempt ceased.
"Even the person you have become in the future wouldn't send unprepared schoolgirls back in time, Professor. I think I know how Legilimency feels."
"Well, I can see that this meeting has reached a natural end. I will not be here over the holiday, but I will be reachable by owl. Please feel free to contact me should you need assistance."
"Thank you, Professor. I hope you have a lovely holiday," Hermione said flatly as she exited the office. As Hermione closed the office door quietly behind her, running through the meeting in her mind, she didn't notice Tom in the same hallway. In fact, Hermione didn't know when he had popped up, only that he was staring at her intently as she turned around to walk toward their common room.
"Tom! You scared me." There were two sentences she had never expected to say so lightly. Tom did look a bit scary, though. He was mostly in shadow but enough of his face was lit by a nearby candle to make out a harsh expression.
As Hermione was quickly becoming accustomed to, Tom didn't respond to her directly, instead scrutinizing her before half-asking and half-demanding what she was doing coming out of Dumbledore's office.
"Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk about my accommodations over the holidays."
"Why? Doesn't he know that you're staying here?"
"He wasn't sure; he thought I might be going to Lyra's. I think he was just checking up on me." It was true, technically, but the subject of the checkup would be better unmentioned.
Tom seemed to be mulling things over, idly putting his arm around her and walking toward their common room as more of an automatic reaction than anything. "Everything alright, Tom?"
Tom nodded slightly, sending a loose lock of hair down his forehead. "I just find it interesting how close you are with Professor Dumbledore." The word "Professor" was pronounced in a mocking voice, an edge to his tone that would have sent Hermione into sheer terror just weeks before.
"And why is that interesting?"
He shrugged, but as always with his shrugs, it looked forced and calculated, not even approaching the casual effect he might have intended.
"Tom?"
"You had mentioned that Professor Dumbledore was the person that told you certain interesting tidbits about me. Will you tell me if that's true?" Damn. Right to the point.
"Tom… I can't tell you how I know what I know. You know that."
"That was a lot of words to dance around the one you meant: no."
"Tom…" Hermione repeated, frustrated and exhausted from her chat with Dumbledore.
Tom muttered the password as they reached their common room, not bothering to respond to Hermione.
Hermione repeated his name one more time before he disappeared into his bedroom. He rounded on her instantly, his gray eyes burning. "I have shared more than I care to admit right now with you, in addition to the myriad facts you mysteriously know about me. But I don't know you. You're not from Beauxbatons. You have much more information than you should. All I know is that you're a muggle-born witch named Hermione. I don't even know if that's true and I don't know your last name."
"I am a muggle-born and was very frustrated that Professor Dumbledore insisted that I hide that now. I grew up in England with muggle parents. They were dentists. What I told you about their memories is true." Tom continued to stare at her expectantly, the fire in his eyes unrelenting. His arms were crossed tightly, forming a sharp wrinkle in his usually perfect white button-up. Otherwise, he was all patience, not opening his mouth even slightly or providing any indication he would respond. Hermione knew that he wanted more information, but she was still scared to tell him that she came from the future. How would he react, knowing the depth of her deceit? Worse, would he want to emulate his future self, committing to his path? One thing Hermione did know, though, was that the future she knew was already in shambles.
"And my last name is Granger, which is something that not even Professor Dumbledore knows." As Hermione said the words, she wanted to pull them back, rip them from the air before they reached Tom's ears. But that was impossible, of course.
"Granger." He pronounced her name slowly, as though testing out how it sounded on his tongue. There was something intoxicating about hearing him say it; Hermione hadn't heard her name spoken aloud in almost four months. She had almost completely slipped into being a Prewett, no longer pausing when a professor called her name to remind herself that it was her. The reaction was automatic and swift, and she hadn't realized until this moment that she missed being a Granger.
Hermione nodded. "Granger." She repeated with a bit more force.
Tom closed the distance between them, pulling her close enough that she could feel his chest as his lungs expanded and contracted and his steadily increasing heartbeat, not quite matching her own. "Hermione Granger," he whispered in her ear, his tone no longer unsure, but holding all the confidence bordering on cockiness that she was used to from him. She wanted to be irritated with him, but it was comforting, if anything. He nibbled on her earlobe and trailed kisses to her mouth before slipping his tongue inside of her stubbornly closed mouth. "You will tell me everything eventually," he said as he pulled away. It wasn't a question, so Hermione didn't bother answering. It was becoming easier and easier to forget that she had the entire world on her shoulders.
The following morning, Hermione sat around the common room with the women spearheading various tasks for the upcoming ball. Despite her best efforts to avoid the group, Hermione decided it would not be quite so odious if she only met with those in charge of each sector. Besides, as unpleasant and unfair as her duties were, Hermione couldn't stand the thought of not fulfilling her responsibilities. That's how she found herself on a snowy Sunday morning talking to Dorea Black, Pomona Sprout, and a giggly Gryffindor girl named Hazel Smith.
"Is Riddle in his room?" Hazel whispered after Hermione called the start of the meeting.
"No, he's at the library, but considering that I am in charge of the ball, his absence shouldn't be a problem."
Hazel laughed much louder than her whisper. "I didn't want to talk to him; I wanted to talk about him. I can't believe you're dating him. I want to know everything." Hazel's voice had grown in volume, as well, but she was still whispering. The result was something between a shout and a whisper.
"It just sort of happened, but I think we should get back to this meeting, anyway."
Hazel rolled her eyes dramatically. "This isn't going to take long. You're just checking up on us. Besides, I bet Pomona and Black want to hear about this, too."
Pomona laughed and nodded good-naturedly, and Dorea reluctantly followed with a shrug and a twitch.
"Well, I meant it. There's not much to tell," Hermione said uncomfortably. Although she had overheard several of the tell-us-everything type conversations regarding relationships, she had rarely been involved in them and certainly never been the subject of interest. She went from having a secret relationship to being a pariah for said secret relationship, but of course now that she was dating a murderer people wanted details.
"Is he a good kisser?" Hazel asked, not letting up.
"The best," Hermione relented. What could it hurt? The four of them chatted for a while about Tom, and eventually Hazel's boyfriend, who Hermione learned was a Weasley. Hazel teased Dorea a bit about Charlus, but Dorea barely responded so the jittery blonde moved on quickly. The chat felt like a strange kind of normal, as though Hermione was stepping into someone else's life for a moment. But somehow, it was hers. Sometimes it was jarring to think about how much things had changed in the last few months.
Eventually, they got around to ironing out details of the ball, leaving Hermione sitting alone, sprawled out on the huge floor of the magically expanded common room, tasting salt as silent tears ran slowly down her face. She wasn't feeling sad, necessarily, but overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed from defending Tom to Dumbledore, telling Tom her last name, and talking about Tom as though he were a normal, sweet teenage boy who was going to sweep her off her feet. It was as though he had crawled up inside of her mind one night as she slept and now she couldn't shake him off. She thought about him too often, but didn't think about the future enough. There was no feasible future that enticed her, that she could want. She couldn't be with him while he became Voldemort, but what other alternative was there? She was just one person, after all, and he was the one person who would ruin the world. Hermione was hesitant to even hope that his fate could be malleable.