Warnings: Character death, OOC but with reason, and a required brush up on facts about Tom Riddle. You may trust the HP wiki page on this. Lengthy chapter compared to my previous ones. Hermione's Interlude.
There was one negative effect that accompanied trying to save the day: survivor's guilt.
And when your best friend was the Boy-Who-Lived himself, you could bet a million galleons he'd rub off on you.
The tendency to apologise for no reason whatsoever; the tendency to cling onto happy memories for dear life because without them, your life wouldn't be so dear. The exceptionally annoying tendency to try to save people and ultimately being the cause for at least one death by the end of the year.
And the occasional tendency to contemplate suicide because your life couldn't get shittier.
Hermione buried her face in her palms. Things were going so well. They were down to the last horcrux. It had taken two months only, and this owed to all the research she had instigated. Finally she had sneaked into Dumbledore's office to get more information on what exactly happened to Tom Riddle in his sixth year and last year in Hogwarts.
She didn't see anything new, at first. Riddle Senior had been killed at the end of his murderer's fifth year; the same year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, Myrtle had died, the first horcrux had been made and Tom Riddle had stayed back during the summer to frame Hagrid for her death.
But Dumbledore's "important notes" sheets also included a few interesting details.
Riddle's father had been knocked out by a killing curse, yes, but he had also been found with a deep gash across his chest.
Tom Riddle had appeared charming to the teachers, and Dumbledore had previously made it sound like he'd been the only one to not fall for his charms – but his notes said otherwise.
Tom Riddle had been bullied at school. At some point in his sixth year, this had changed. He supposedly started making friends. Dumbledore's notes indicated that he wasn't sure if Riddle had already started a group of followers by then, or later.
Tom Riddle's memory in second year had also told Harry that he'd ordered a basilisk to kill Myrtle, but Dumbledore's notes mentioned how odd it was that Riddle sometimes acted like he was just obeying orders. Not an Imperius, but actual blackmail.
Sadly, this had happened in the past and Hermione strived to learn about the objects that the deceased Headmaster had suspected to be possible horcruxes.
They destroyed six. There had been hope. There had been strength. A new page in War.
All went into the fireplace when Molly Weasely died during a Deatheater attack at Diagon Alley.
Funnily enough, it wasn't sorrow that drowned them. It was guilt.
Hermione felt guilty because she had first suggested going shopping instead of Molly, but her offer had been turned down and she hadn't even put up a fight.
Ginny felt guilty because she had argued with her Mum that morning, and she hadn't even said goodbye.
Ron felt guilty because he'd let her go shopping, unlike the others, who'd known it was too risky.
Harry felt guilty because that morning he had told Ron he envied him for not just having a Mum, but having such an amazing one.
And Remus had brought in her corpse that afternoon, shaking, shocked, sorrowful, enraged.
It had been hell for Ron, and Hermione had spent hours alone with him in a locked room, kissing him, holding him, telling him that things would be alright one day. Ginny later knocked at the door, trembling and vulnerable in a way Hermione had never seen her before.
Telling them that she hadn't seen Harry ever since she told him to leave her alone.
That was seven hours before.
It was the first time Hermione had caught him trying to kill himself. Her first guess had been that he was at Dumbledore's office. With the wards gone, she risked apparating there.
And she had been very right. Harry was facing the window, his back to her, holding his wand to his forehead, his hands shaking. "Avada Ke- "
"Some Gryffindor, you are."
He spun around, and her first thought was that he looked shittier than Ron. Internally, she groaned. They were supposed to take care of each other – the three of them. Instead, she and Ron had each other, Ginny and Remus wanted to be alone, and Harry needed someone.
But war meant times of tough luck. She smiled shakily, and the next second embraced him fiercely, thinking nothing would happen to Ron, Ginny and Remus in one night. They stayed like that for a while – unsleeping, holding each other in a way only soul siblings could.
The next day, they were forced to stay with Minerva because she had found out that the hideout had been burnt to a crisp – and remains had been found.
She didn't cry. She couldn't feel.
She thought it was quite strange that her mind had calmly accepted the fact that Ron was dead. It didn't think of the love they had briefly shared, but the friendship that had lasted for years.
And then she realised infatuations came and went, but being a good friend gave you an eternity of respect and remembrance.
She should have taken advantage of her clear mindedness and kept an eye on Harry, some would say later.
But she couldn't have. For, you see, Hermione Granger had never been clear minded. She always thought too much. With every death of a loved one, she had to contemplate on the wisdom gained. It was her form of closure.
From the death of her parents – who, as far as the manipulated muggle world was concerned, had died in world war III – she learnt that if you didn't let your little bird go, she'd die with you; and yet if you did let her go, she'd be the death of you, but in the end your death was inevitable, and the faster you accepted that and granted your little bird her freedom, the better it was for everyone.
From Theodore Nott's death she learnt that to regret having been born and to die by your father's hand and smile because you got the escape you wanted, was the saddest life anyone could ever have.
From Molly and Ron, she learnt that if you've been good to others, kind to the good, respectful to the kind, then even in death, your love prevailed. From Ginny and Remus, she learnt that the most passionate souls could dim if they weren't careful enough.
From Dumbledore she learnt that you could be manipulative, scheming and lie to the Boy-Who-Lived about his enemy, but if it was all for a good cause, you'd be respected.
And from Harry she learnt that if you ever wanted to make your best friend feel like shit and put the whole world – Muggle and Wizarding – into doom, all you had to do was jump off the Astronomy Tower the same time said best friend rushes in.
She refused to think of anything else for the first few hours. She was angry, dammit. She wanted to be alone, but her Transfiguration teacher refused to let her out of her sight. She forgot all student protocol and wailed into the older woman's cloak, and soon her professor was crying, too, because with every question Hermione threw at her, hope began to fade: Why did he do it? How hadn't it occurred to him that he had a bloody prophecy to fulfill? How did it happen?
Had they been too hard on him?
Why hadn't they talked to him?
And then she progressed to more rational questions.
Had Voldemort spoken to him, coaxed him to the very edge? Were the wards up now?
What were they going to do?
As soon as she voiced out the most important question, as if in cue, a death eater stormed into the office.
The professor hadn't even had time to take out her wand. Before she knew it, his body slumped to the floor, unbreathing.
A wandless Killing curse.
They said only the darkest of minds could perform such a feat wand less. But what was a dark mind but one hidden from the world by shame, rage and overwhelming pain?
And so Minerva followed her student warily, wand in hand, as the girl walked across the grounds casually, sometimes flicking her wand, sometimes staring at them, bored, until they fell to the ground like flies, sometimes actually bothering to say the full spell.
And then Lucius Malfoy, cunning as always, scored his first victory, and it was Minerva's turn to fall to the ground, as if her life had no other purpose. He cursed, as he had lost his aim.
On any other occasion it would have bothered him that he was going to be killed by the kind he detested the most. But in that one moment, his respect changed sides. Just for a moment. She was so powerful, and it was hard to not acknowledge it simply because her parents were filthy.
Of course, if he had known that temporary insanity fuelled her power, things would have been different.
He regained himself, and held his head high, as he waited for the powerful Mudblood to kill him.
Instead, she whispered a most vicious, "Crucio."
Even the dark lord himself could not have performed such a blinding, intense, all consuming torture curse. He was glad to die by the hands of this creature – and suddenly not so glad anymore, because the pain had reached him to a point where his mind began to resort to hallucinations.
"You killed me, Lucius," his wife said sadly. "You said you wanted the best for me, and you did give me the best. I got an end to my miserable life."
"It'll all be over soon." Potter walked to his form. "For a bastard like you, the pain will last forever, but I'm sure it won't be that bad. Just an eternity of pain."
And the boy was right. Even after death, Lucius' spirit screamed in pain.
In the end, a simple Stupefy spell from the back brought her down. It was unclear why Snape hadn't shot a killing curse instead.
LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY
"Are you going to kill me, Miss Granger? With your mind, I mean," asked Snape, his voice cool and neutral.
"I can't," she said lifelessly. "I'm trying to but I'm tired. Drained. No fuel." She gazed around the room. "Is anyone around? Hearing range?"
"No."
"Okay, then. You're a spy, right?"
"Minerva told you?"
"No. I guessed. No one is stupid enough to kill Dumbledore without a reason."
Snape breathed deeply. "You know," he started carefully, "With Potter gone, my life has no purpose."
"What? Did you fancy his Mum, or something?" she asked dryly.
A few minutes of silence. "Holy shit. You've got to be kidding me."
"Unfortunately, I am not, Miss Granger. And do have some respect for the dead."
"I don't want to think about this. Why did you decide to tell me?"
"Always fast to catch on," he complimented her. She really didn't have a good feeling about this. "I'm going to let you escape –"
"How?"
"You save the world. I die. The end." She had never heard this sort of humour from him before. His sarcasm had never been anything short of eloquent.
She sighed. "Fine. I won't interrupt. Now do explain the plan."
He graced her with a smile – a very, very small one, but a smile nevertheless. Her stomach lurched at the thought that the first smile she saw from him might also be the last, because he sure did sound like he was going to sacrifice himself to cause a distraction. And boy, she was right. "Facts first. There is an effective way to change time – nothing like your silly device. You kill him. Time changes and a satisfactory number of people would live. But," he said sharply, "You cannot survive there for long. In two months your system would begin to decline – you will literally start to fade. Unless, a seer from your own time offers you the right potion, within two weeks."
"That has got to be the craziest idea of time travel," she said. "Now, don't get me wrong. I'd love to leave this place. If I fail, I would be disappointing no one but myself. I've got nothing to lose, just like you," she said quietly. "But why a seer? Why can't I just carry the potion myself? What potion is it? Certainly can't be a legal one, if it's a backup for a particular time travel spell. At this point, I know legality is a dream, but aren't most illegal potions associated with side effects? And why can't we just kill the bloody snake and finish him off?"
"Because to kill him you'd have to be Harry Potter. That is what the prophecy says."
"The prophecy also said that were Harry to die, it would be by the hand of Voldemort. He defied destiny by killing himself. If the main idea of the prophecy has changed, why can't this change, too?"
"Now, miss Granger. Are you telling me that you fully believed Po – Harry was so weak minded as to kill himself? Now don't take me wrong," he continued seriously, "There have been many Gryffindors who have resorted to this method of escaping the world. Life is crueler to some more than to others. And the boy suffered, I admit. But he has seen more pain and death before – in fact, if I don't recall correctly, every death fueled his anger and determination to destroy the Dark Lord all the more. Unfortunately, it is foolish to believe anger equals mental strength. He did not have motive to die…"
"But Voldemort gave it to him." She breathed heavily, beginning to understand where this was going. "He talked to him longer than he usually did."
"And Potter didn't notice a thing. He was vulnerable. I shall not use the word weak, but I shall use vulnerable. It is no one's fault, Miss Granger," he snarled, as she began to cry, "Or, if you disagree, then it will be all of us who are to blame. Some situations simply are neglected. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, the annoyingly true Chosen One. No one would have guessed."
"So he did die by Voldemort's hand, technically, because Voldemort had taken over." she sniffed. "You're obviously not going to tell me why I can't just carry the potion myself. Who's the seer?"
"I've already informed them of their task," he said, completely ignoring her question. "The spell is in Bellatrix's room. Parchment, on her table. She's quite careless."
"Throw facts at me. Facts that Dumbledore had lied about. I know you know."
"You can't come back."
"Don't want to. And I wasn't asking about those sort of facts."
"They are more important," he said curtly. "Once you've – killed him," he said slowly so as to clarify to her what her mission was, "You will have to face consequences. I do not have time to create a background for you – nor do you. You cannot head straight to Dumbledore, for no matter how evil Riddle is even back then, killing someone would still be unacceptable in the eyes of the law – or, at least, wherever it exists. So once the deed is done, you will have to think quickly."
She nodded. Some would have thought it was quite harsh of Snape to expect her to be that quick, but Hermione had learnt quite early that Snape only had expectations set for people who could very well reach them.
That's why he'd picked her in the first place.
"I'll Obliviate my way through, finish sixth year," she said quietly. He looked like he wanted to object, but he must have realised there was no other way – and that Hermione deserved a normal life. "It's no problem. Not much of a life, anyway. But one question – if I cannot survive without being given a potion by another, what about this person?"
"It'll be yours to offer to them once I've undone your locks, Miss Granger," Snape took out a flask.
Snape hadn't warned her that she would have to kill people on the way, but then again, he didn't have to. She wasn't thinking at all – she knew she'd regret it afterwards, she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't - but right now, her need to avenge her losses as far as possible worked to her advantage. When she reached the room, she found the hag with her back turned to her.
She needed a pinch of bitter, dark pleasure before she left.
"Hello, Bella," she cooed.
She swung her head around, and had just the minimum amount of time to register it was Granger before the other spat a spell and ended her life.
She locked the door, and picked up the parchment on the table. Black had left a piece of toast as well, and without the slightest regard of the corpse in the room, Hermione picked it up and chewed slowly. The incantation was long, and in normal circumstances Hermione would have appreciated the depth.
She breathed in deeply, glad for the recovery of energy, and pointed her wand to the ground.
LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY
The spell had worked, but the mission had not.
The first thing she had done once the two boys fell asleep – the night she had encountered them – was groan at her stupidity. Had she really let the thirst for revenge overcome her? Had she thought Riddle wouldn't be able to defend himself, and cast any spell so as to ensure his survival?
She'd expected him to kill her, but he hadn't. He hadn't tortured her, either. Maybe he didn't want to risk his already shaky reputation – but when he could hide the deaths of his father and schoolmate so well, why couldn't he hide the evidence of the death of a girl whom no one had seen before?
What was she going to do? Killing him was out of question now. Could she act like nothing happened? There were only two ways to overcome someone – attack, or embrace. And now she could do neither, because he'd never look at her like a normal human being.
And suddenly, the weight of her pain, her responsibility and her losses crashed onto her all at once.
Instantly, the cold, indifferent witch vanished, and she wept. She wailed. She screamed.
"Silencio" was a life saver sometimes.
In the week that followed, Hermione tried to pinpoint possible options.
Trelawney had once told her that one day, she would fail to kill someone, and to attempt to kill this person again, or let them be killed, would not be advisable. She had scoffed at that.
She had also predicted that Dean Thomas would choose the path of betrayal.
They later found that Dean was under an Imperius curse, and had been spying all along.
She had predicted her own fall would be by the hand of one who had never been understood. The next day, her body was found at Knockturn Alley, and a few witnesses said a man with protruding, rat like teeth had done it.
Oh yes, Hermione had learnt to forgive. She had learnt to respect.
She decided to pay heed.
She observed Tom Riddle for a week, and so far he had not shown any signs of a boy who'd set a basilisk on a schoolgirl and modified his uncle's memory in order to escape the sentence for killing his muggle father. Hell, he hadn't shown signs of disliking muggles at all.
These things had to have happened months, no, mere weeks before, considering his sixth year had just started. It just didn't make any sense. She had very, very carefully pried into his mind whenever they made eye contact, making him feel threatened in the beginning – but it was like he was hiding his memories from himself, just as Slughorn had done.
Also, back in the future, very few people had personally known him. The few who did had been the ones not from his year, and they hadn't known he was a half blood. But in his own year, Hermione witnessed several references to his blood status. Why would they whisper, though? Why not spread the word, since they hated him so much? Also, Voldemort was described as a pleasant, popular young man. He sure as hell wasn't popular yet.
There was only one explanation she could think of: two major events lead to the rise of Lord Voldemort. The first had already taken place – the deaths, the creation of the first horcrux, and the framing of innocent people. A self obliviation spell could have been possible so as to escape being a suspect; and the second event would have to take place that very year. Something was going to happen, that would remind him of what he had done, and indulge in him a dark desire to conquer, destroy, and recreate.
This event – most likely one charged with negative emotion – would also convince him that everyone had to forget his humiliating past, his heritage. Either a mass obliviation spell – something she honestly hadn't heard of – or mass murder. Well hidden mass murder, possibly only his classmates and a few who knew of his status, such as the Head Girl.
Hermione was hurt, lost, and enraged. But she was also rational and brave.
It took a large amount of bravery to accept the fact that Riddle was not Voldemort. He'd obliviated himself – and Dumbledore, when inspecting his mind during the deaths, must have assumed it to be walls around the mind. In-depth Legilimency wouldn't be invented in another forty years. She had no doubt that Riddle could put up mind walls and block all thoughts if he tried. So why had he opted for obliviating himself?
Either because he wanted to be perceived as innocent, as though someone else had done it to him, or because of guilt and self shame.
And although her mind considered both possibilities as equally likely, her heart believed in the latter.
It took an even larger amount of bravery to accept the fact that she would have to watch out for him.
When she looked at him, she forced herself to think of his resemblance to Harry. It was cruel to his memory, but it was necessary. Another lost soul. The only difference being that Harry had received love eventually, but Riddle hadn't.
Love.
Could it be-?
What if Riddle did learn to love, but lost the girl in the end?
Oh, God. It was possible. Riddle must have felt an attraction to a girl at some point. He must have been closely associated, and gradually gained popularity. Later, something terrible must have- no,was going to happen, and it got him into a maniacal spree.
But she could offer a distraction. She could offer him a conscience, comfort when needed, and make him question his decisions.
She would be his friend, or love, if the time called for it. The idea didn't repulse her completely. If it was for the greater good…
But he'd have to trust her first.
It seemed incredibly farfetched, but Trelawney had said she'd have to protect the person she failed to kill. Riddle's promise forced her to relay to him any possible threats. She didn't find any reference of a binding Promise other than the Unbreakable Vow anywhere, and she doubted she would anytime soon.
Who else offers protection but a friend, a possible love interest or in the least, a trusted ally? In a twisted way, it made sense. Her destiny now quite obviously revolved around his – and if not her destiny, her mission.
If she ever felt like she wanted to give up on him, all she'd have to do was remember Harry's bemused, crazy smile before he deliberately tilted backwards and fell off the tower.
This decision to earn his trust prompted her to act normally – or as normal as she could. She had to befriend him gradually. He was suspicious as it was – and the fairly slow pace of her mission worked to her advantage, too, because she now had more time to tend to her mental wounds.
She wept every day since her arrival.
LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY
At first, Dumbledore had been overwhelmed by the good half of the truth she had decided to reveal to him.
The night she arrived, a few moments before dawn, she broke the protection locks and crept out of the dorm, and went straight to Dumbledore's room – or what could have been the closest guess to a Transfiguration teacher's room.
He'd been startled beyond belief – how did a girl who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, break through the wards? But he was still as patient as he had been as an old man. Although Hermione had been upset at him back at home for not revealing those things about Voldemort's past, she knew he must have done it with reason and let's face it, there was only so much you could hate a about an otherwise kind man who'd guided you throughout all your school years, and had sacrificed himself in the end. She was sort of glad that she now had a chance to prevent his death.
But the question was, would Dumbledore grow up to be the person he was meant to develop into if he never experienced the enmity of a grown up Tom Riddle in the first place?
She explained where she came from, what Tom Riddle had grown into – some would have called it foolish, but she would have told him at some point anyway. Better sooner. She carefully explained that Tom shouldn't die by the hands of anyone right now, and Dumbledore would not be the one to guide him away from his dark path. She said this because she knew that Dumbledore's paranoia and suspicion had also backed Riddle's change into a cruel man.
But Dumbledore was doubtful. He believed her – she even let him pry her mind, though she left out the essential details behind an unsuspecting wall – but he didn't think her theory was well thought through.
"He's dark beyond hope," he said. "He modified his uncle's memory to frame him for his father's death, and framed a half giant student for the murder of a young girl."
"I know that," she said gently. "But this is the way it was meant to be. A seer foretold this. In a way, it's an undeclared prophecy."
It had sounded very evasive, and a bit of argument occurred – he was more stubborn when he was younger, she realised – but he relented.
"But if things go too far, please, come straight to me."
She agreed, but she knew she'd break her word at least once. She had already left out the bit about the Promise completely, as well as a few details about the future – like, his death.
Hermione had also gathered all she could about a few matters and terms she had come across in the week she had spent. First, the Granger family. They were an unpredictable, not to mention exceptionally wide branched bloodline. Most had been homeschooled, secretive and their views matched either of the extreme sides of the Blood status acceptance spectrum. She could have ascended from a long line of squibs, or it was all just a coincidence, but it honestly didn't bother her.
It did mean, however, that the seer who was to arrive would have a back up story.
Dippet hadn't bothered to investigate her own story, because Dumbledore had assured him that he knew the family well. So it was simple; the new arrival would be her second cousin, still a Granger. This would make a possible difference in appearance easier to explain. She doubted if the new person would want to keep brown hair for the rest of their lives.
The Pureblood Tutoring School was also a confusing subject, but this speculation ended because the school was closing down and possibly never to be mentioned again. This would explain why no one in the future had spoken of another school. The ones who had claimed that only three schools existed could have been mistaken.
And then, there was Abraxas Malfoy. While Riddle seemed to have a few natural walls around his thoughts and once that was broken, his memories were muddled, Abraxas seemed to be cautious purposefully. His defense walls could only have been created. She had thought of him as pleasant and easy to get along with, and he still was, but there was something about him that screamed dangerous and she was surprised that no one seemed to think this way.
She vaguely recalled having eavesdropped on a conversation between Draco and Pansy. Harry had forced her and Ginny, so that they could learn more about what he was up to, actually, but they were just on a normal date. In fact, it was a forced sort of normal because they didn't want to talk about anything dark on off putting. They even brought in ridiculous conversation topics to feel more normal.
Grandfathers was one of them.
The youngest Malfoy had described him as charming and socially accepted when he was young. He had had a lousy mother, and rumour had it in the highest pureblood families that his father – Draco's great Grandfather – had tortured her. In fact, Abraxas Malfoy was more than partly responsible for Lucius' previous reputation as an influential man.
And then Draco begin to cry, saying that he couldn't take it anymore, saying he regretted having been born, saying he wished his soul had chanced upon a better form.
She and Ginny had silently agreed that they would tell Harry they came early because the date had ended soon.
But no one had mentioned Abraxas Malfoy that much. He died of dragon pox, may or may not have joined Riddle's organization during his school years. And as much as she loved mysteries, Hermione didn't like not knowing any risks involved during the course of solving mysteries.
And now two weeks had passed. The seer would arrive today. She took out the flask from her robe, prepared. She hoped it was someone she knew – familiar faces healed some just as much as they rubbed salt into the wounds of others.
The portal displayed a fair portion of energy – not as half as impressive as hers had been, but adequate. It took a while for the crackling to stop.
Hermione was very glad she had declined going to Hogsmeade with the Ravenclaws in the last minute. No one was in the library.
And when the mist passed, every single wave moving through her form, she had to focus her senses to make out the figure.
She didn't gasp. She just stated a very obvious fact.
"You're alive."
A/N: So who do you think it is? I must inform you that I shall, in fact, include Hermione's interlude after every few chapters. Just to explain things. Her View is just as important. And all your questions shall be answered.