Time traveling left Hermione with the same sort of queasiness as she had felt when she was twelve years old and had wrongfully drunk a glass of cat-hair Polyjuice potion. She had actually done it, then: traveled decades back in time. Her stomach grumbling and her head still decidedly foggy, she stood up and surveyed her surroundings.

Hogwarts's familiar spires greeted her.

She was alone on the grounds in front of the castle, surrounded by a grove of willow trees to her right and the murky waters of the Black Lake to her left. Rubbing her tired face with her hands, Hermione smiled weakly as she realized that she was at least someplace she recognized.

In any other instance, time traveling would have left her at the exact same location she had first been in (that is, the Headmaster's office), but she was unfamiliar with the magic of the amulet she had used. She could have been planted anywhere, she realized. The amulet had done her a favor by putting her squarely in Hogwarts territory. She grasped the chain still snug around her neck.

If it had wanted to do her another favor, it would have taken her back to the 1930s, when Lord Voldemort was still in the orphanage.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably. Could she really kill a child?

It would be easy to destroy a young Voldemort if he had not created any Horcruxes. Though she was unsure as to when exactly his first murder occurred, she knew Myrtle had died sometime in his Hogwarts career. She wasn't sure whether Myrtle's death had resulted in a Horcrux, but she knew that by the time Voldemort graduated his soul had split at least once. This meant that encountering a teenage Voldemort would exacerbate her issues and create multiple problems for her, for she would most certainly have to face him if she wanted to stay at the castle.

And she didn't have anywhere else to go.

Sighing, she looked around at the beautiful, empty lawn and came to the conclusion that it was still summer. No students seemed to be lazily loitering around the campus, and she could barely hear any commotion from the castle itself. Even the lake seemed oddly peaceful and undisturbed; she couldn't hear the calls of the giant squid or any noises from the fish or merfolk. If term had already started, she would have already received some sort of indication by now.

Hermione almost sat down on the tufted grass lawn. It looked so soft, and her bones were tired and weary. She hadn't rested properly in months. Shaking her head, Hermione knew she had to get on track for the task ahead; before she decided to sleep on the foliage, she knew she would have to face the faculty at some point, namely Dumbledore. She was certain he would be teaching already, and he had always held a certain pity for the unfortunate and hapless. The six months she spent on the run with Harry and Ron had hardened her, but she could play the victim well.

She steeled herself for an uncomfortable encounter. If the older Dumbledore were right, she would have to stay in this time for the rest of her life. She couldn't reveal herself to anyone, not even her former headmaster.

As she approached the great entrance doors to the school, they creaked open for her. Surprised, Hermione jumped back but then resolutely composed her features and walked inside.

The entrance hall looked the same. If she turned, she knew she would be able to see the vastness of the Great Hall. Her feet itched to take her to Gryffindor tower and see the common room again. Other than the library, she missed her old common room the most.

Still, as soon as she walked inside, she paused. The doors behind her shut loudly. Would it be unwise to continue walking as if she knew the castle by heart when she was so obviously foreign to its current inhabitants? If it were summer, was Dumbledore even in the castle? He wasn't Headmaster yet, she knew; she had read about Armando Dippet's tenure in her favorite book, Hogwarts: A History, a while ago.

"Hello?" Hermione called out, hoping somebody would hear her.

"Eh?" A gruff voice exclaimed. Out from beneath the darkness hopped a short middle-aged man whose hair seemed to grow like sparse, unwelcome grey weeds on his head. He scowled at her. "Classes don't start for another day! Off with you," he shouted, attempting to shoo her with the handle of a broom.

"It's all right, Pringle," she heard, turning around to face a much younger Albus Dumbledore. His beard was auburn, and he was far less wrinkly. She found it didn't suit him quite as well as old age.

"Excuse me," Hermione began, her forehead creasing with worry. She hadn't thought her background through and was hoping to have at least several minutes more to conjure up a believable cover story.

Dumbledore squinted at her. His eyes seemed clearer than they were when she last saw him, years from now.

Assessing her for a moment, Dumbledore then nodded and smiled at her. "Come with me, child," said the wizard before promptly walking up a tall staircase which, she knew, led to the Transfiguration rooms.

"I come here seeking your help. Or at least the school's help," Hermione said as Dumbledore shut the door behind him. His office, which was located in the same place McGonagall's was in her own time, appeared to possess the bustling atmosphere Harry had originally described. In the corner of the room, a small iron cage held a brightly colored parakeet who squawked at her entrance. This bird wasn't Fawkes, but it was beautiful nevertheless.

"Oh?" Dumbledore asked in response to her statement, sitting down on a large leather armchair and motioning for her to sit across from him.

"I've been homeschooled for six years," said Hermione, sitting gracefully and flashing Dumbledore a grateful smile. "My parents were wonderful wizards, and they wanted to teach me the ways of the magical world by themselves. They had rather a disdain for institutions." Her eyes darted up to meet his face. Hermione wasn't a bad liar, but she preferred to be as honest as possible; she wanted a background that would stay true to herself while remaining something she could remember and recite at a moment's notice, but she hadn't had much time to plan this story through.

"They were killed last month," she stated, glancing down at her hands, which lay clasped over her lap. This wasn't entirely untrue. Though her parents weren't murdered, she would never see them again. Hermione licked her lips before continuing. "I'm not sure who did it, but it may have been Grindelwald. We were in France when it happened."

"I see," Dumbledore replied, looking thoughtful.

Hermione dared herself to look hopeful. "I've been staying with my Muggle aunt, but she's sick and I'm worried she won't be around for much longer. And I promised my parents that if something happened to them that I would continue my education. I've heard of Hogwarts's reputation, and I wished to ask whether… well, I wanted to know whether it would be possible for me to complete my last year here."

She leaned back in her chair and watched Dumbledore with bated breath. She wondered whether she had gotten the timeline right; Grindelwald was most active in the early 1900s, and if she was indeed in the 1930s as she thought then it wouldn't have been implausible for her parents to be killed by him. And, she reasoned, she had left the murders up for interpretation. If she wasn't certain, then if the facts didn't match with her tale she hoped she could claim ignorance.

Dumbledore looked at her behind his half-moon spectacles. Even now, so many years before she knew him, he exuded an air of magnanimity and knowledge. She felt he could see right through her.

"I didn't quite catch your name, Miss…?"

"Granger," she stated quickly. She couldn't imagine answering to anything else. "Hermione Granger."

She knew there would be no point in lying about her name since she had no other wizarding relatives, and she had already told so many half-truths.

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm sure we can make some arrangements," Dumbledore replied after a moment of quiet deliberation, leaning forward in his chair. "You'll have to see Headmaster Dippet first, of course, and then you will have to be Sorted and obtain your school things. Have you any money?"

"No, my parents had run into some financial problems and my aunt doesn't know anything about the Wizarding world," said Hermione cautiously, cursing herself inwardly for not thinking of this issue before she used the amulet. Granted, she hadn't had any time to take anything but a candy, which she subconsciously felt for in her pocket. The small lump was still there.

Dumbledore frowned but then stood up. "Say no more, Miss Granger. I'm sure the school will be able to loan you a uniform and some books."

"Thank you," she said before looking up at him, unsure whether she should ask the questions still nagging on her mind. "I'm sorry, I've been traveling for some time and I was wondering whether I could ask you the date. And… your name."

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm the head of the Transfiguration department here at Hogwarts," he responded, his eyebrows furrowed. He seemed to glance at her suspiciously. "And it is September 1st, 1944, one day before the start of term."

Hermione stood still. 1944 was over ten years later than the time she had assumed it was and had wanted it to be. Thankfully, her cover story was still plausible. She knew Grindelwald hadn't been defeated until a year later by the very man she was standing next to, but the fact that it was 1944 meant that Voldemort was at Hogwarts.

This posed a very big problem.

"...thank you," said Hermione finally, a question beginning to take shape in her mind. How was she meant to destroy Voldemort if he were her classmate?

She wanted to hurl.

Armando Dippet was very old. He had only three stray wisps of hair left on his head and seemed as if he had lost all energy decades ago.

"Hogwarts is a beautiful school," she said upon greeting him and shaking his thin, pockmarked hand. His face looked stern and was marked with hundreds of infinitesimal wrinkles, but he sat up higher after her compliment.

"It is indeed a sight to behold," Dippet agreed. "We should get right down to business, Miss Granger. Do you know anything of the four Houses?"

"Some," Hermione lied. She knew everything there was to know about Hogwarts and its history, but it would be suspicious to reveal that. "I know their names: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, named after the four founders of the school."

"Correct." The headmaster looked pleased. "All students must be Sorted into a house upon their arrival to the school. This typically occurs during their first year, but seeing as you are only now joining us, we shall have to do it now before the official school year begins."

Hermione nodded, secretly happy to be Sorted again. She was eager to hear the Sorting Hat's convictions and already yearned for the comfort of the Gryffindor common room.

"Accio Sorting Hat!"

The frayed old witch's hat flew into Dippet's arms, and he stood up before placing it gently on top of her head.

The hat began to speak to her in a hoarse voice:

Interesting. Very interesting. It seems as if you've been Sorted before, though I have no record of your initial placement. What were you… a Gryffindor?

She held the hat firmly on top of her bushy hair, hoping the Hat would recognize her nod without alerting Headmaster Dippet. She had almost forgotten it could read her thoughts.

Yes… I can sense the bravery in you. And the intellect. You would make a fine Ravenclaw, you know. Such curiosity!

This did not surprise her. The Sorting Hat had said the very same things during her first Sorting, and although she agreed that she possessed many Ravenclaw traits, she thought it made the best choice upon Sorting her in Gryffindor. She had met Harry and Ron there, after all.

Hermione covered up her sniffling and her already reddening eyes with an abrupt cough.

I see your ambitions, too, and what fine ambitions they are. And you certainly have no lack of cunning or resourcefulness, not to mention your complete disregard for the rules.

She paused. Those traits puzzled her. Though she knew she possessed them in the foreground of her mind, her own ambitions always seemed meaningless when helping Harry fight Lord Voldemort. In a way, she had taken his goals as her own.

It'll have to be…

"Slytherin!"

Hermione swatted the hat away from her, her wide brown eyes growing startled. She reached up to wipe the sweat clamming up her forehead, and she frantically rubbed her eyes as if willing the outcome of the hat to be washed away.

Slytherin? That was the last house she thought she would be Sorted in!

For the second time in a day, Hermione wanted to puke.

How could this be?

She was so sure of her placement that she hadn't even bothered to think of any other options. She was a Gryffindor through and through; she had been a Gryffindor her entire life and identified so much with the house that she wasn't sure whether she had imagined the Sorting Hat's proclamation.

Her racing thoughts were interrupted by Dippet's firm voice.

"I'll have our caretaker, Apollyon Pringle, escort you to the Slytherin common room. You'll find your books and uniform in the dormitory as well as some spare coins for you to buy a few items of clothing."

Hermione nodded numbly.

"Oh, and the password is 'Basilisk'."

Though she knew Pringle was not Filch, the resemblances between them were striking. They both looked foul and seemed to hate their jobs, relishing only in doling out detentions to the students. As far as Hermione remembered, Pringle was the caretaker that specializing in giving out corporal punishments to the students when they misbehaved. Hermione shuddered. It seemed barbaric.

When Dippet called for Pringle to take her to the Slytherin common room, he showed up muttering expletives to himself and looked very disgruntled to have been disturbed.

Idly, as he walked in front of her to lead the way to the dungeons, she wondered what he could have been doing that was so important.

The bottom of his robes, which were tattered and ratty, dragged behind him and were covered in some sort of dark soot. It left a thin coating of dust wherever he went. Hermione had half a mind to inform him that he was dirtying the castle up for himself to clean up later, but instead she followed silently.

She doubted he would have appreciated it.

After several minutes, they stood in front of a stone wall in a dark corridor in the dungeon. Hermione had only been in this wing of the school for her Potions class, but even then she had never ventured far into the dungeon itself. When she was younger, it scared her; the dim green lighting made the castle's lowest floor look like it was haunted.

"'Ere," Pringle said, frowning at her before proceeding to walk away. She almost turned back around to tell him the Sorting Hat had made a mistake, but instead she took a deep breath and mumbled the password.

The stone wall slid open to reveal a slightly better lit corridor, which Hermione reluctantly made her way through until she came face to face with a wooden door which proved to be the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

When she opened the door, she looked around the largely green, sunken room, complete with its black and purple leather-backed armchairs, skulls decorating the windows which she realized, startled, faced the Black Lake, and the ornate tapestries of famous wizards decorating the wall. The Slytherin dungeon was certainly beautiful, she had to admit, but it lacked warmth.

Sighing, Hermione closed the door behind her and sat down in a velvet armchair facing the fire, which seemed to be the brightest part of the dungeon.

She finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding before tilting her head slightly to better examine the common room. However, when she swiveled around she realized someone was sitting on the armchair next to her.

Hermione's mouth opened in shock but she made no noise other than a small whimper in the back of her throat.

Sitting before her was a man who looked around her age, his handsome face framed by thick dark hair. In the ghostly green light, his pale skin almost seemed to shine. Closing her mouth, Hermione placed a hand across her chest in an attempt to slow down her heightened heartbeat.

The boy's brilliant white teeth glimmered as he smiled wide at her. "I'm Tom Riddle," he said simply. His voice reminded her of molasses, smooth and dark.

Hermione blinked at him and proceeded to vomit all over the floor.

Author's Note:

I didn't want to stuff any more crap into this chapter because it's only the beginning, but I hope you all enjoyed it!

I know there still isn't a lot of Tom, but that'll definitely change soon enough.

Also, this is my first foray into a longer fanfiction so if I do something awful just let me know! Actually, just let me know your opinions regardless of what they are!

I'd love to hear your thoughts!