Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any part of its wonderful universe.
As the beginning of a new school year drew closer, students with their families started filling the streets of Diagon Alley, making it difficult to navigate and forcing people to push past each other. The streets were loud, crowded and Hermione loved it. She almost felt like everything was normal, if she disregarded the fact that she didn't recognise any of the students.
She took the opportunity to owl her letter to Headmaster Dippet during her lunch break, pressing past a throng of people on her way to the Owl Post Office. It was a warm day, and droplets of sweat were forming along her spine, making her blouse cling uncomfortably to her back.
As she entered The Owl Post Office, she realised it was as bustling as the streets outside and she anxiously tapped her foot on the floor as she waited for her turn.
Hermione was starting to get accustomed to working. She had the table numbers memorized, she had learned how to balance a full tray and her feet didn't feel like they were dying every night when she removed her shoes.
As the last customer exited the café for the evening, she breathed a small sigh of relief. She was really tired today. In an effort to make as much money as possible before (hopefully) going to Hogwarts again she worked from opening till closing and it was exhausting. Not as exhausting as when she used the Time Turner in third year, but it was definitely top three.
She massaged her neck with one hand and therefore almost didn't catch the bag Mr. Carpenter tossed to her. Her cheeks burned red hot when she saw that the bag contained a small assortment of foods. He'd noticed that she smuggled leftovers.
The proper thing to do would be to thank him, but she mostly resembled a fish on land as her throat refused to produce any sound.
She clutched the bag like a child might a teddy bear. Mr. Carpenter had already proceeded with the closing up-routines.
The pride that the Gryffindor House was so famous for wasn't just an asset. While it had proven handy in death-defying situations (which she and her friends found themselves in much too often, in her opinion) it was also a hindrance. Right now, that pride stopped her from thanking Mr. Carpenter. Her pride refused to let her openly acknowledge the fact that she'd sunken this low. And her cheeks burned again, but for a different reason.
That night she found it more difficult than ever to fall asleep. Was she really such a coward? She had always had a hard time accepting academic failure, but when had her fear of showing academic weakness spilled over into her personal life? When did emotional vulnerability become a weakness in her mind?
She looked out the window at the pitch black sky and sighed. It was going to be a long night.
A few days after receiving the shopping list from Hogwarts, Tom Riddle made his way down Diagon Alley, trying to touch – and get touched by - as few people as possible. He had arrived early – he had never needed much sleep – but he didn't mind having to wait for the shops to open. He had missed this buzzing activity of wizards and witches gathering in one place, their magic communicating with each other without most of them even realising it.
He had his ration of money to buy school supplies in his pocket, and he was currently debating which books to buy in pristine condition and which to buy cheap. He loathed having to buy things second hand. An entire parchment filled with items and various markings beside each item rested safely inside his robes. He always changed out of his muggle clothes at the first opportunity he got – most often at The Leaky Cauldron.
He sat down at a bench. Adding further items on his list, he frowned. He needed to restock on crystallised pineapple; the amounts Professor Slughorn required meant that Tom's budget was tightened even further.
It would all be worth it in the end, though. Soon people would be buying him gifts, going to him for favours. The frown turned into a satisfied quirk of lips.
As Hermione stumbled down Diagon Alley with her hair in all directions and shirt barely buttoned, cursing herself for having overslept, she bumped into someone who was walking rapidly in the opposite direction. She got the wind knocked out of her for just a second, and had it not been for the stranger's sudden grip on her bicep, she would have fallen. Maybe she should slow her pace a little, she thought as she rubbed her shoulder.
"I beg your pardon, Miss."
Hermione smiled. "Oh, that was quite my –"
However, her smile of gratitude froze on her lips when she glanced up and met the dark gaze of a young lord Voldemort. "— quite my fault," she ended breathlessly. She had barely been able to stop her jaw from dropping.
His hair was impeccable and no blemishes marred his skin. His clothes were worn, but clean; he looked like a proper wizard. The only thing betraying his true colours was the slight sneer curving his lips. He gave her a fast appraising look, probably noting her occupation, how uneasy she was of the situation (he probably thought she was taken away by his good looks, Hermione thought bitterly) and how she managed to seem even poorer than he himself was, before deciding that she was no one of importance. He gave her a short, polite nod goodbye before stepping around her to continue his shopping.
Callous arrogant bastard.
Hermione stood rooted to the ground. It had all happened so fast. Adrenaline shot through her body in a delayed reaction and she was feeling a bit faint. She placed a hand on the spot where he'd grabbed her. Would she have a bruise tomorrow?
As she continued towards the café, albeit in a slower pace than before, she promised herself to make a chart of Tom Riddle's early years as soon as she came back to her room.
Throughout the day, Hermione tried to shake the meeting with Riddle off her mind. One thought lingered though. One extremely irritating thought.
Like most callous arrogant bastards, Tom Marvolo Riddle was drop dead gorgeous.
Objectively she knew that this was only the truth. Subjectively she hated herself for having noticed at all. Harry and Ron's teasing about Gilderoy Lockhart would be nothing in comparison to the scolding she'd get if they knew about this.
When Headmaster Dippet's answer arrived in the middle of the afternoon, Hermione needed to take a minute before she could muster up the courage to open it. Her butterflies swiftly vanished and were replaced by irritation when she read the answer. It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no. It held absolutely no information of her chances of being accepted into Hogwarts. It only said that a professor from Hogwarts was to visit her in the coming week, to discuss her situation. Not the Headmaster himself, god forbid! He didn't even provide her with a time or a date, just sometime next week. Her hopes of getting accepted into Hogwarts that autumn seemed more moot by the second.
Could this day get any worse, she asked herself, before knocking on wood. It was silly of her to challenge fate, since fate already seemed to have an eye out for her. Perhaps she scrubbed the tables a little too violently, because a customer flinched and Mr. Carpenter scowled at her. She sighed when he started walking toward her.
"I'm very sorry about that, Mr. Carpenter. I will be more careful in the future."
"Do you have a Gringotts' account, Miss Smith?" he said, completely ignoring her previous statement.
"Ah… no. No I don't, Mr. Carpenter," she answered.
"Well, create one. Today."
Her confused look only made his frown deepen. "Your upcoming salary, Miss Smith. You do still want it, correct?"
"Oh. Oh! Yes, of course! I'll arrange something today, Mr. Carpenter!" she said.
He gave her a curt nod before returning to the kitchen.
Wonder what time Gringotts closes.
She smiled. Who cares; I can move out of that flee infested hole they call a tavern!
The afternoon passed quickly after that. At closing, Mr. Carpenter stayed by himself, so that she could go to Gringotts. She changed into her casual clothes before leaving for Gringotts. As she climbed the stairs to the tall white building she could feel anxiety returning to her with full force – by this point it was almost like welcoming an unwelcome guest back into her life. What if they couldn't open an account for her? She had no idea what kind of magic they used when creating accounts.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. As she walked in, she looked around, trying to spot any differences between the present Gringotts and the future Gringotts. She drew a blank. This was truly a place where time stood still. Even the goblins looked the same!
Getting more nervous with every step, she walked over to one of the unoccupied goblins and cleared her throat. "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon," he replied impassively.
"Ehm…" She didn't know what to say. She felt her cheeks heat up as she tried to stutter her business. The goblin eventually took mercy on her.
"What may your business at Gringotts be, Miss?"
She calmed herself down, forcing herself to take deep breaths. "I would like to open an account," she said, blushing again when the goblin looked thoroughly unimpressed with her. It was difficult to tell whether he was only looking down on her because of his tall counter, or really looking down on her.
He wrote something on the parchment before him. "Do you or your family have any accounts here?"
"No. No previous accounts." Under his watchful gaze she felt forced to further explain herself. "I wasn't born in this country."
He made a few more markings on his parchment before leading her into a small room that much resembled an office. Parchment occupied every flat surface and huge cabinets lined the walls. He retrieved a stack of parchment from one of the cabinets, and gestured for her to take a seat, before sitting down himself.
"Well then. I have all the papers that you need to sign before an account can be opened. I suggest you read these thoroughly."
The way he stressed the word thoroughly made Hermione wonder how many people had received nasty surprises due to careful wording, so she slowly started reading the agreement. An hour and a half later she was almost done, and she had discovered a few clauses that she doubted many wizards and witches gave much thought to when signing. None of them seemed to affect her though, and there had not been any clause stating that an accountholder had to use his or her real name.
The goblin returned just before she finished, and, as he sat down, he asked whether she was truly done reading already or whether she simply couldn't bother reading any more. Judging by his tone, most people sat a whole day without fully understanding.
Hermione bristled. How dare he imply that she was a lazy idiot! "I read the agreement fully but I have some questions. Let's start with the ones strictly regarding money. How does paragraph 1, section 5b correspond to paragraph 4, section 2? They seem to be counteracting each other. And how does the bank take into account the different monetary values in different countries? Or the different monetary values of the wizard and the muggle world?" Hermione wasn't really interested in the answer, but she would give that snotty goblin a run for his money.
Two hours later, Hermione had run out of questions, the goblin had run out of answers, and both were panting slightly from an earlier heated disagreement.
"Well then. I think you understand the agreement now, Miss Smith. Sign here, here, there and here," he said, and pointed. As she signed, she felt more than saw her magic signature seep into the contract. She thought she finally understood how it worked. The bank didn't need a name because using a witch or wizard's magical signature was much more effective; it was like fingerprints, in a way. After signing, he gave her an account key, a parchment containing all her account information and showed her to the door. They were the only ones left in the building, and it was dark outside.
"An account update will be sent to you at the end of every month, Miss Smith, to help you manage your finances. Good night."
"Thank you for your assistance and good night," Hermione said before exiting Gringotts, an account and a whole lot of experiences richer. The way back to her room was made with light steps – tomorrow she would finally be able to get a better room!
The very next day Hermione returned to Gringotts, to retrieve some money. After a wild ride down the tunnels to her account, she opened the door to her vault to find a small stack of coins. She took all knuts, some sickles and only a few galleons. Seeing the vault filled with her hard earned money made her feel very proud of herself.
She immediately went to The Leaky Cauldron to get a room for the rest of the month. It was pricey but she could take it – especially since a free meal a day was included in the price! Upon entering her new room, she dropped her bag on the floor before flinging herself on the bed. Everything was clean, the sheets smelled fresh and newly laundered, and the bathroom was wonderful. Hermione was not a religious person, but room 31 felt very much like she imagined heaven would feel like.