so, today i have an unfortunately long authors note for you all. please take a moment to actual read at least the first half of it.
when i posted the last chapter, i told you all i was unsure about when the next chapter would be posted. it's actually a miracle i got this posted today, considering the circumstances i've been going through this week.
there will more than likely not be an update next week. or even the week after. because my grandma died this past thursday. she is the second grandparent i've lost right before my birthday, and she died almost the exact way my mother did. i'm going through a very hard time right now. i will be going out of town this upcoming tuesday and won't be back until that thursday. chances are after all that i won't want to write for a few days. it took everything i have to even finish and edit this chapter because i'm so torn up about her death. i sincerely apologize. please respect my decision to utilize this time to be with my remaining family members/grieve over the next week or so.
(you can stop reading the an at this point if you wish)
anyway... i just wanted to say THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MORE THAN 100 FOLLOWS ASDFGHJKL that's crazy i never thought this story would be that good, especially with the way my thoughts are constantly flicking from one to another and such.
also, i've gotten a couple comments about hermione being ooc. please keep in mind that she's 12-years-old, in an unfamiliar time, with no one but the boy who has been bullying her for seven years, and she's been told that basically saving the darkest soul to ever exist rests in her hands. so, of course, she wouldn't be as brave as she once had been. she will get her bravery back, though. don't give up on hermione just yet.
(sorry if that sounded bitchy. long week.)
also, in my opinion, this chapter sucks. i just kinda lost it after i found out what happened. sorry.
disclaimer: i do not own harry potter.
December 16, 1938
Hermione sat back in her seat, smiling down at the Charms essay before her. It was the last day of classes before Christmas break, and considering the past month and a half she's had, she was really looking forward to a break.
She sighed softly, sitting back in her seat. She couldn't remember when she'd turned into such a pathetic coward. She subconsciously traced the words engraved on her left forearm; the scar might be invisible, but she could still feel that hurtful word raised up upon her flesh. She found herself doing that a lot lately, tracing over the scar. She'd made the mistake of doing it in front of Tom a couple weeks ago and he'd been convinced she was hiding something from him. It took her three days to satisfy him with the explanation that it was a place she had accidentally injured herself when younger. She could almost tell he didn't believe her, though, and that thought terrified her. She knew he would not hesitate to hurt her if he knew she was lying.
A shiver run up her spine and she didn't have to turn around to know that Tom was staring at her. She felt like hitting herself for so acting so cowardly. Refusing to turn and meet Tom's gaze, she pulled another of the books her parents sent her out of her bag, Wuthering Heights. She allowed herself to indulge into the book, losing herself between Heathcliff and Catherine, but quickly found herself growing annoyed by the female lead by the time Professor Rounmorf dismissed class. Carefully bookmarking her page, Hermione gathered her stuff together, so annoyed by Catherine that her previous joy at being released for break slipped away.
"You look like you're in a foul mood. Either you're not content with your essay or you've been reading another one of those Muggle novels."
Hermione didn't need to look up to see the smirk she knew was plastered on Tom's face, but she did anyway. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at him fully for the first time in a month and a half. She always forgot how beautiful he was, even at such a young age.
She let out a huff as they exited the classroom, hoping he hadn't seen her cheeks flush. "Catherine Earnshaw is an absolute nitwit."
Tom raised his eyebrows, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "Catherine Earnshaw?"
Hermione grabbed her copy of Wuthering Heights out of her bag, handing it to Tom. He flipped through the pages, immediately recognizing Hermione's handwriting as she scattered notes and thoughts across the pages. The act had originally annoyed him – he couldn't borrow a single book from her without it being all marked up! He had grown to enjoy her little thoughts, though, and her anger she often expressed towards the characters amused him more than the actual book did.
"Catherine Earnshaw picked to be with a man – not her true love – just because he was higher in society than her true love was. She chose being seen as a respectful, loyal wife rather than true love!"
Tom hadn't heard Hermione go on a rant about true love among characters since she went on about The Great Gatsby. He glanced at her curiously, handing the book back to her. "Did she now?"
"Yes!" Hermione fumed, placing the book back inside her bag.
"Care to explain?" Tom asked as they reached the dungeons, turning to the painting of a Roman war that served as their portal to the Slytherin common room. "Bezoar."
The portrait swung open, allowing the two students in. The common room was mostly empty, save for a few older students in one corner. Tom and Hermione made themselves comfortable on a couch right in front of the fireplace, and Tom watched Hermione carefully as she pulled the book out of her bag again.
"So in the book, Catherine meets Heathcliff – and she loves him! But then she meets Edgar Linton, and she thinks she loves him, too. So she has to decide who to pick – Heathcliff was an orphan, and he grew close with Catherine before Edgar even came into the picture! Edgar, however, is high in society. So Catherine picked him."
Tom raised another eyebrow at her. "And why is that so bad?"
Forgetting about her fear of the boy before him, Hermione fumed again. "Because! Because Catherine picking Edgar and not Heathcliff – it's terrible! It literally ruins everyones lives!"
"Does it now?" Tom asked, an amused grin spreading across his face.
"Of course! Catherine and Heathcliff's marriage has such disastrous results! And Heathcliff ends up marrying Isabella but is so abusive towards her – I assume because of what he believes to be unrequited love for Catherine – so she ends up leaving him! No one ends up happy."
"So if Catherine had simply married Heathcliff, everyone would have had a happy ending."
"Yes, exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.
Tom smirked at her before looking down to the book, flipping through it again. "You know, that could also be applied towards wizarding society."
Hermione, unsure as to what he was referring to, didn't say anything.
"You know, the whole 'pick who you love or who is best for you' thing. With blood status."
Hermione caught onto what he was saying, and glanced towards the fire before looking back to Tom, who was still flipping through her book. "I suppose so."
"Think of it this way," Tom began, tracing his finger over her name on the inside cover of the book. "Imagine you fell in love with me. And I you. But Malfoy was also in love with you, and you were somewhat interested in him. We both ask for you hand in marriage. Who are you more likely to say yes to: Malfoy, a man you do not love but could offer you a stable life and a high position in wizarding society, with enough money that you would never have to work; or me, a man that you do love, but a lowly orphan with almost nothing to offer you?"
Hermione thought his question was rhetorical until he looked at her, his blue eyes meeting her gray eyes that should have been brown, and searched for an answer.
She looked away from him, her sight focusing on the smoldering embers inside the fire place. "Well, of course I'd choose you," she said softly. "Of course the rational act would be to choose Malfoy, since he could – as you said – offer me more stability, but if I truly loved you, of course I'd pick you over him."
Tom was quiet for a moment before slipping his hand into hers, pulling her to lean back against the couch. He gave her one of his rare, soft smiles, lacing his fingers with hers. "I'd pick you, too."
Hermione felt her heart leap. Was he simply saying he'd choose her because he simply didn't like other people? Or could he possibly mean he'd choose her over anyone, because he could see himself truly loving her?
This could be progress! Hermione ecstatically thought to herself, looking down to her left hand, interlocked with Tom's. I have to tell Draco.
Draco was exiting the Great Hall after dinner that night, full and tired, when Hermione pulled him into an empty classroom.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Draco muttered after Hermione had cast locking and silencing charms on the room. "You could have, I don't know, told me you needed to speak to me instead of pulling me into an empty classroom against my will!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Draco, stop being such a little girl."
Draco scowled at her, recognizing the tone of her voice as one she had often used with Weasley. "Whatever. What's the point of this?" he asked, stifling a yawn as he sat on a desk.
"I think I've made some progress with Tom," Hermione said, sitting across from him.
"Okay, Hermione, I know we're supposed to be siblings and all and that we're supposed to fix this thing together, but I don't need to know what kind of things you and Rid – "
"For Godric's sake, Malfoy, nothing like that!" Hermione shouted over him. Through the dark light in the room, Draco could see her face had gone slight pink.
"Oh," he said lamely. "Well, then what happened?"
"Well, I think he might have admitted he has feelings for me." Hermione explained, in depth, the conversation she had with Tom earlier that day, including Tom's example about himself, her and Malfoy and what he said after she gave him her answer. Draco was quiet for a moment before he began laughing.
Hermione, shocked, stared at him. "What?"
Draco kept laughing, clutching his stomach, almost falling off the desk as he doubled over. Hermione stared at him, her patience growing thin, as she waited for his laughter to die down. Finally, Draco caught control of himself.
"it's just so bloody like you and Riddle to admit you fancy each other through the use of some old muggle book."
Hermione glared at him, daggers in her eyes. "I do not fancy him."
"Dumbledore said-"
"I know what Dumbledore said!" She crossed her arms across he chest. "But that couldn't have possibly been right, could it? In the original timeline, I was born more than fifty years after him. There isn't a possibly way we could be soul mates, is there?"
Draco gave Hermione a sympathetic look. He really did feel bad for her; she had spent the past seven years of her life fighting this man and everything he stands for, only to suddenly be thrown back into his childhood and being told she is his soul mate and it's up to her to save his soul.
Draco mentally chastised himself. No more pitying Granger.
"Well, Hermione, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I don't exactly think Dumbledore is wrong." She sent daggers at him again. "Look, Granger, he's probably the only person in Hogwarts history to be as brilliant as you. Even though he turned all dark and stuff. You guys are quite a bit alike. I noticed it sixth year."
She didn't respond, but continued glaring at him. Draco sighed. "Look, sixth year I was working directly under him, Granger. And I had nearly every class with you. Your mannerisms and his are nearly exact and the two of you think at close to the same rate."
Hermione sighed, looking to her lap and then to Draco.
"I know he ruined your life and made things unsafe for you, Granger. I know that. It's understandable that you'd have a hard time accepting this, but it's been a month and a half since you've known. We – well, you – still have time to keep him from becoming that man who ruined everything. Okay?"
Hermione met his gaze finally. "When did I become the coward and you become the reasonable one?"
Draco scowled at her. "I am not a coward, Granger! Come on, it's getting late, and we've got a train to catch tomorrow."
December 25, 1938
Tom was the only first year Slytherin to stay behind for the Christmas Holidays. He didn't mind much; he rather enjoyed the privacy. After he had... convinced, for lack of a better word, Lestrange and Rosier and Malfoy and Black to be his... acquaintances. He would never call them his friends. The only friend he wanted – or needed – was Hermione.
Tom silently sighed as she entered his thoughts once again. She'd been gone for nine days and he was... bored. He had grown used to Hermione always being so close by, always there to discuss classes or a book or anything, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. Tom huffed, sitting up in his bed. He hadn't expected to receive anything for Christmas – at the orphanage every year, all the orphans received a new pair of socks, so he'd grown to not expect much – and was quite shocked to find two presents sitting at the edge of his bed. He stared at the pile, slowly sitting down beside it. He'd never received a real Christmas present before.
He picked up a rather large box first, from professor Slughorn, filled with crystallized pineapple. My favorite candy!, the card read. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. - Professor H. Slughorn
Tom found himself chuckling lightly at his Professor's attempts to place himself on his good side. He shook his head slowly as he turned to his other present, which was much smaller than the first.
Tom, the card read,
Happy Christmas. I wasn't sure what to get you, but I hope this suffices.
With love,
Hermione
He carefully tore the wrapping paper off the present and found a thin, black journal, with metal protectors on the corners of it. Towards the bottom, in silver, said TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Tom flipped through the pages of it, stopping when he reached the back cover. Hermione had written another note on the back of the last page.
Maybe you can write me a book one day.
Tom looked down at the journal, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his stomach. He's gotten Hermione something – he hadn't told her he'd gotten her anything, of course – but he didn't expect anything back. He thought back to the necklace he had sent her – an old gold chain with a seashell on the end that he had found during one of the orphanages trips to the beach. He's found the chain close to the store line, and the shell its self he had found in the cave he was so fond of. It was a dumb gift, he decided, again flipping through the journal. She's going to be disappointed with it.
Tom nearly growled at himself, standing up harshly and getting back into bed. Since when did he care about anyone other than himself?
Since the first time you saw Hermione bloody Pope at Flourish and Blotts, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. Tom glared at the cold stone walls, Hermione's face swimming around his thoughts.
He didn't even know why he watched her that day, or why he had been eager to be sorted into Slytherin once she herself had been placed within the house. He never even planned on talking to her. Not until Professor Slughorn partnered them together in Potions. He cursed his Professor, blaming any and all interactions with Hermione on him. He normally didn't waste his time interacting with other people, especially not girls.
So what made Hermione any different?
Tom flipped over in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Well, for one, she isn't a ditz like the rest of the people I've met, Tom thought to himself, knitting his eyebrows together. Stop thinking about her, damnit! She'll be back in a week. Isn't that good enough for you?
Tom sat up straight, a new thought in mind. She'll be back in a week. You've literally wasted nine bloody days wallowing around without her, Riddle! He glanced at his nightstand, the journal Hermione gave him laying there. He picked it up and grabbed a quill and some ink. He flipped the journal open to the first page, his hand moving quickly with the quill between the journal and his bottle of ink. The words seemed to flow out of the tip of his quill, filling the front and backs of the first one, two, three, four, five pages in the journal. He finally stopped, rereading all he had wrote. Hermione was still unaware that she belonged to him; maybe this journal would help him do that.
After securing the journal in his nightstand drawer, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, writing Hermione's name at the top of it.
Hermione,
Thank you for the journal – I like it quite a lot. It was very thoughtful of you to personalize it for me the way you have. I await your arrival back to the castle next week.
Happy Christmas,
Tom Riddle.
He scowled down at the parchment. He wasn't very good at trying to be sentimental – he didn't care enough to show sentiment of any kind. It was just something he couldn't do. Not even for her.
Shaking his head, Tom dressed and headed up to the owlery. He suspected it would be a long, lonely holiday.
December 31, 1938
Hermione sat at the desk in her bedroom at Pope Manor, reading over Tom's short letter one more time. Holding the letter in one hand, she reached the other up to trace the ledges in the seashell that now hung around a gold chain on her neck. As simple of a gift it was, Hermione absolutely adored it. She looked at the small box next to her, putting down the letter to pull it closer.
Upon removing the lid, she pulled out a ring – it was completely black, the top flattened into a rectangle across the length of it.
She wasn't sure why she got him a birthday gift. She didn't feel obligated to or anything. She had seen it on display in a shop while shopping with Georgia in Muggle London earlier that afternoon, and immediately thought of Tom upon seeing it.
"Are you really going to send him that?"
Hermione looked up to find Draco in her doorway, leaning against the frame. "Well, it's fitting, isn't it? He gave me one. It wouldn't hurt to give him one as well."
He gave her his infamous smirk. "This really doesn't help with your whole 'I don't have feelings for him' thing, Granger."
Hermione glared at him. "Why won't you just shut up?"
Draco's eyes widened for a second before returning back to his mask. "Whatever, Granger. Whatever you say."
Hermione sneered at him. "Get out of my room, ferret."
She smirked to herself as she heard Draco walk out of her room, muttering something along the lines of "not a bloody ferret" under his breath. She turned back to the ring, placing it in the box and tying it back up. She ripped off a small piece of parchment, scribbling a message on it and sending it off before she had time to change her mind.
Tom,
You once gave one to me, and now I give one to you. Happy birthday.
-H