She'd let him stay that night.
He'd sat there, in the dark, the crimson curtains of her four poster bed closed shut as the hustle and bustle of the girls' dorm drew to a close, his hands on his lap, his head drooped, staring at the pattern on her sheets.
Tiny golden stars, woven through silk - swirls depicting a waining moon, a fairytale landscape or so. He'd traced the thread with the tips of his fingers, his mind numb, waiting for her to come back.
They'll be wondering where I am soon enough.
He hadn't meant for the girl to die. He hadn't meant for anyone to die. Not yet, at least. He'd made plans to create a horcrux - yes. But those plans would only be put into action once he had all the necessary tools together, which wouldn't be for another decade or so, according to his calculations. The cup, the locket, the diadem, the sword, the heirloom and - He hadn't quite determined what the last vessel for his soul would be yet. He'd thought of a memento from his Hogwarts days. A quill perhaps? Too common. His diary had been considered, of course. Perhaps that would do? He wrinkled his nose - not quite as impressive as the founders' personal belongings, or an heirloom from the Gaunt family - if he could even find a suitable one. Then again… it will be important. Soon, it will be considered the most valuable of all.
It couldn't be a half-arsed attempt made from the corpse of a fourteen year old girl. Or could it?
It would seem like perhaps he didn't have a choice. Time was running out. Foolish, foolish. It was supposed to be a little scare, that was all. Demonstrate his power by opening the chamber. Cement his status. Not close the school and lose his access to magic.
He'd have to act quickly.
First things first. Make the horcrux. Then pin the blame. He'd found that shivering oaf of a Gryffindor - Rubeus was his name. Rubeus Hagrid - hardly decent wizarding stock, probably half giant, with a mad fascination for the dangerous. No one knew what the creature that had terrorised the castle was. Only the Slytherins knew of the chamber - and they wouldn't sell him out. Indeed, Hagrid and his fondness for acromantulas would be the perfect scapegoat. It's for the greater good. If I leave, the wizarding community has no chance of a glorious future. Hagrid is hardly going to be their salvation, now is he? He doesn't belong in this world, anyway. It's best he go.
He saw a limp, pale girl's body on the ground, glasses askew, a trickle of blood, the sound of running water. A hiss.
He shuddered.
Best not to dwell on those thoughts. How quickly life is extinguished. There had been fire in the girl's eyes before. A cold flame of sadness, but a flame nonetheless.
He saw blank, dead black eyes. No light.
Just darkness.
Foolish thoughts.
Time to seize the moment. It was critical he act quickly. He need to get rid of evidence, plant a new culprit -
Perfect.
And yet…
He'd told himself he would not create a horcrux until he had all of the vessels together. Or at the very least all of the victims ready. It had to be done with purpose. If he was to split his soul into seven - seven, the most powerful of all numbers - he needed to do it properly. He'd already started to plan the symbolism behind it.
He'd kill Dumbledore for the sword - the man would die for his beloved house. The old wizard would crumple to the floor in a moment, his auburn hair clashing with the blood Tom would let flow. No merciful killing curse for that one. Just pain. Pain and a river of crimson that Godric himself would be proud of. Slit his throat with the sword, and smile. He could almost picture the Transfigurations' master in his mind. The sheer disappointment - knowing disappointment, the kind that didn't truly expect any better - etched across his face.
Dippet or Slughorn for the cup? he mused. Such trusting fools. Unless… There were no heirs to Gryffindor, nor were there any heirs to Ravenclaw. He was the last of the Slytherins… but Hufflepuff..? Whoever was the heir of Hufflepuff would have to go then. How to kill them… Maybe something merciful? How kind, Tom. he told himself. A drink for the cup. Poison for the cup. He grinned. The irony is still perfect. Poison indeed.
Maybe the head of one of the pureblood families for the diadem. Make an example of him. Hang him from the ceiling, parade him. Malfoy, Lestrange, Black, oh choices, choices, how tedious. His lips twisted into a smirk. More irony. The death of one of those inbred fools for the diadem of wisdom and intelligence.
The heirloom. He didn't even know what it was - he'd find an heirloom once he met the Gaunts. The kill was obvious. Riddle. The filthy muggle will pay for what he's done. A strange sensation pulled in his chest. He ignored it. This was the only horcrux which he would be prepared to make before the next decade was up. After all, he wouldn't want poor papa to die too early, now would he? Not before they'd been… properly introduced.
The locket. My locket. Much like the other vessels - he had no idea where it would be. He would find it though, such an artefact didn't simply vanish. Part of his mind knew who he had to kill for it. Or who he ought to kill. He'd read somewhere that a great man should never have too many distractions.
She was a distraction. She'd driven him mad. She was the first person to understand him - the first person whose conversation didn't bore him. But she doesn't quite understand. Not fully. She'd given him a look of such… disappointment when he'd shown her the chamber. Of course, she known immediately what it was. He'd expected shock at worst, appreciation at best. After centuries, he had finally found the chamber of secrets - how could she not express excitement at that too? How could she not understand the magnitude of the discovery? Why was she so… frightened? Why did she look so sad, so let down - so disappointed in him?
Did he want to kill the Granger girl? There was something strange about her. She didn't seem to admire him. She didn't fall for his charms - not immediately at least. She didn't swoon or sigh. She'd blushed - maybe twice. When she spoke to him, it wasn't out of a desire to impress him. She didn't seem to feel the need to try. Instead, it seemed to be out of genuine love for the topics they were discussing, true curiosity. She wanted to know what he thought, his opinions - not get a pretty smile from him. He supposed she wouldn't be affected by him in the same way as others were, she had after all been chosen by the enchantment to teach him how to lie. She unsettled him.
And then she'd kissed him.
It hadn't been the drunken snog, or giggly experimentation he'd been accustomed to, filled with booze and cheap cosmetics. It had been kind. Kind and honest.
It was, in a strange way, as if Hermione Granger had tried to pry open his ribcage to take a good look at his heart.
A painful experience. But at least now he knew he had a heart. He grimaced.
Another conundrum. What if she doesn't approve of- No. She would either join him or oppose him. He hoped it would be the former. But should she choose the latter, then-
"How are you feeling?"
She was standing against the dark curtains in such a way that the light from her wand seemed to illuminate her face and messy hair, creating a halo-like effect against the crimson fabric.
Such ridiculous symbolism, he thought bitterly.
"I'm fine." he smiled weakly. Just perfectly fine. As usual. Tom Riddle does not get emotional.
She sat next to him on the bed. "Let me see that," she whispered, reaching out to a particularly nasty bruise on his cheekbone. He flinched.
"I said I was fine." he said acidly, pushing away her arm. She seemed somewhat undeterred by this.
"Oh dear, what am I going to do with you?" she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
She smiled sadly. "I happen to know what the future holds, Tom. I know what you want to do, what you have to do." She looked him in the eyes. "And there is a great deal of it that I disagree with."
"Such as?"
"I can tell what you're planning. Don't do it."
He looked away, his arms folded. "Don't do what, Hermione?" he asked, baiting her.
She closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms around him. He froze.
"The horcrux, Tom." she whispered, "don't do it. And… Hagrid. Spare him, too."
His eyes widened. They hadn't discussed the half-giant boy.
He laughed lightly - or tried to at least. "But- Hermione," he said with a polite don't-be-so-ridiculous smile - one that had often been used on Dippet, "the child is clearly dangerous. He has an acromantula,which he keeps in his room. I've even heard him name the thing, some horri-"
"Aragog. The spider's name is Aragog."
His eyes narrowed. She sighed. "As I'm sure you gathered, I know Rubeus Hagrid. He's a good friend." And I wish he had never been expelled for your crimes. "Please, Tom."
Something in his chest pulled, and sank and melted. His upper lip began to tremble. "But… what about me? I-I'll lose everything." He shook his head. "I can't let him go."
"I know you can't." she murmured, stroking his hair. "I know you can't."
"Then what are you asking me to?"
"I don't know. Change the past to change the future?" She laughed mirthlessly. "I know you can't do that, don't worry."
"Is the future really that bad? Have I influenced it that much?" he asked, interest growing in his voice.
"Spoilers." she whispered. "Now go to sleep, you and I have got a lot of thinking to do.".
The next morning, they'd risen early and worked out that it would take at least two to three weeks for there to be a proper inquest into the matter.
"They'll need to summon the governors first - their version of the inquest will take at least four days. They won't get the ministry involved until another week passes, and the ministry inquiry will take…" Hermione had paused, "at least another week or two? That'll leave us two weeks before the end of term to find an alibi."
He'd breathed a sigh of relief. She was on his side. Wasn't he? They'd then tried to think of options. She refused to compromise on Hagrid.
"But if he's a good friend, surely this version of the future is good..?" he'd murmured.
She'd hushed him.
"I'm not saying we should change what my present and your future looks like now. That's impossible. But it doesn't mean we can't change the details of what happened," she'd smiled at him encouragingly, "after all, only what I know of the future is set in stone. The devil is in the details, Tom. Besides, what I know is only here-say. So long as we can change the truth of-"
"Why do you care?" he asked. "Is the future really that bad?"
She'd smiled at him sadly, and he'd once more felt that familiar pang in his chest. She'd glanced back down at a sheet of scribbles in front of her and frowned, before writing some more.
"What are you doing?" he'd yawned.
"Making a timeline." she'd said, shielding the parchment from him. "Don't look. Spoilers." she whispered.
He didn't look.
"This makes no sense." she muttered.
He raised an eyebrow.
"What year did you say you were in, Tom?"
"Sixth year. Why?"
"And this is the first time you've opened the Chamber of Secrets?" she added, desperation creeping into her voice.
He narrowed his eyes. "Yes. Yes it is. I'd have done it earlier - but I wasn't sure whether or not I was actually the- Hermione? What's wrong?"
"The timelines. Our timelines are inconsistent." Her hands shook as she held the parchment. "In my world you're definitely in your fifth year when you open the chamber. You're supposed to be sixteen. Not seventeen. I-" her voice broke. For the first time, terror flooded her eyes. "This makes no sense. This makes absolutely no sense." she echoed.
"Tom, who are you?"
A/N. Annnd timeline inconsistencies! If this isn't the Tom from Hermione's world... then who on earth is he?! Please do review - I love reviews! Criticism/feedback/weird and wonderful comments/cake recipes/ questions - all happy and greatly appreciated! Have a really lovely day and thanks for reading!
x Calliope