A/N: Thanks for the follows and especially the reviews, which I really appreciate. In case anyone is about to be wondering: yes, evacuation from London really did begin fractionally before war on Germany was declared. It's strange to imagine it now, but that was life for thousands of inner-city children in 1939. Scary.

~oOo~

Elizabeth was crying and it was his fault – though not for the usual reason it was his fault that girls cried around him. She just didn't want him to go away.

Mrs Cole had given him an awkward pat on the shoulder and told him to be good before hurrying away to deal with some crisis or other, leaving just the two of them loitering by the door.

"I'll be back next summer," he said, stiffly, not really accustomed to this sort of situation. She nodded weakly, sniffing, and then suddenly she was throwing her arms around him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

It was damp, unexpected, and completely awkward. After a few seconds, when she had released him, he said goodbye in a voice that had gone a bit squeaky and left before anything else weird could happen.

Someone was nailing a poster to all the telegraph poles along the road – he didn't pay any attention until he noticed the same thing happening on the next street, and the next.

MOTHERS

SEND THEM OUT OF LONDON

The bold lettering was accompanied by an image of a boy and girl not much younger than him. That must have been what everyone was listening to, crowded round the wireless earlier that morning. There was a war coming.

King's Cross was packed: he had to pay attention to avoid being shepherded along in one of the long lines of children waiting for trains. On every noticeboard the same flyer had been hastily pinned up.

EVACUATION OF CHILDREN FROM LONDON

Friday, 1st September

Up and Down business trains as usual. Main line and Suburban services will be curtailed while evacuation is in progress during the day.

Between Platforms 9 and 10 he took a deep breath, feeling so much more trepidation than he had felt last year. For the first time since discovering the existence of other wizards, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to join them. He wondered if he would ever see Elizabeth again – wondered what would happen to her – and wondered whether he cared. After some considerable time had passed, and eleven o'clock was rapidly approaching, he forced himself to step through the barrier into the other world.

~oOo~

Dear Zorion,

I hope you don't mind me writing. I miss talking with you and it's so lonely here. The weather has been typically Scottish, too – horizontal rain all week.

One good thing is that they've given me my own room, which is clearly so all the purebloods don't risk catching anything from me (Dippet didn't even try to make up another reason). So at least I don't have to listen to conversations about which boy is richest or which hair product is best, or whatever it is that twelve year old girls talk about. I remember finding it irritating even when I was twelve.

I miss reading news from the muggle world, though I know none of it can be good. The teachers told us about the war, and of course it's all the muggleborns are talking about. Lots of them have fathers and brothers who will be called up any day. They're terrified. I know that history has taught us that our worlds don't always mix well, but I can't help but be angry when I see how everyone is sitting back and doing nothing. There's barely one among the purebloods who could care at all how many muggles die, so long as it doesn't affect them.

Sorry. I got carried away there. I've been keeping that bottled up for a while. You must be far too busy to listen to me.

If you're not busy, do you think you could spend some time with Nifty? He's doing so well with his reading. Tell all the elves I miss them.

It's not even October yet, and I'm already looking forward to next summer, though I'm sure you – and particularly your younger self – won't share my enthusiasm.

Love from,

Hermione

~oOo~

Archer Evermonde (b. 1862) was elected Minister for Magic in 1912 and again in 1917. He is best remembered for enforcing the International Statute of Secrecy during a time of great upheaval in the muggle world. Mr. Evermonde is now retired and devotes his time to breeding Abraxans.

Dear Hermione,

Please refrain from making so many apologies, endearing as they are. Let me assure you that I have absolutely nothing with which to occupy myself, though don't imagine that I wouldn't make time for you even if I did. Incidentally, I have been continuing to help Nifty with his reading, though he makes it quite obvious that he (understandably) prefers your tutelage.

It hurts me to acknowledge that in the distant past I was in support of keeping the two worlds separate, thinking it best for each to manage its own affairs. There was so much conflict between wizards and muggles that at one time almost everyone agreed. In the present era, your main culprit is one of our ex-Ministers. I enclose his card so you can see for yourself how favourably his cowardly actions have been remembered. However, don't lose hope and think that all magical folk will shut themselves away. My younger self has been collecting the first souls of the war – Polish wizards and witches who died helping their muggle friends.

It is strange that after centuries of living here without you, a mere two months is enough to make me expect to see you around every corner. All the elves keep asking when you will return, as if hoping I will change my answer to someday sooner.

Zorion

He sealed this envelope – the fourth – with shaking hands. It was utterly ridiculous how many drafts he had burnt. This was the least effusive of the four, and he still wasn't entirely comfortable with it. Somehow, although his head was telling him to write something polite and distant, his quill was hell bent on some kind of poetic expression of sentiment. The internal conflict was driving him insane.

~oOo~

Dear Zorion,

I wasn't having a very good day, but getting your letter really cheered me up. I'd like to blame the Slytherins, but actually it's my fellow Ravenclaws who are the worst – ironic, since they're supposed to care about intelligence more than blood. I should have picked Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, but there we are.

The weather has improved this week, which was a nice birthday present. Tiggy baked me a cake which was thoughtful. She also drew a picture of the two of us using the paper and crayons I bought her over the summer. I've hung it on my wall and it makes me smile! I'm sure Nifty is making better progress with you; you're a very good teacher.

In case you were thinking I'd forgotten the 'mission' – I've not seen very much of Tom. Since he almost murdered four of his housemates he's been in a separate room and I don't think he really talks to anyone. Perhaps he seems a bit less angry, and more downcast than last year. I've been wondering if something happened over the summer.

If only everyone could just stop fighting – the British and the Germans, the purebloods and the muggleborns. Grindelwald. Voldemort. I'm so tired of caring and worrying about it all. Do you ever envy other people their ignorance? It must be lovely to go through life believing you can't change anything.

I miss you.

Hermione

~oOo~

Dear Hermione,

It is unforgiveable that after more than a year I was still unaware of your birthday. Please accept my apologies, yet again. Unfortunately my artistic skills leave something to be desired, so I decided against emulating Tiggy's present. Instead, I'm working on something for you here – you'll have to wait to find out what it is.

I hope you aren't letting the words of some arrogant children affect you… it should be rather easy for you to prove that magical power is not related to blood. But perhaps you are saving up the satisfaction for another day, when they become slightly more worthy adversaries.

I don't think ignorance is ever enviable, but I understand you. Unlike you I deserved my fate – don't pity me. Until recently I admit I barely cared about anything. My actions all along have been selfish or apathetic. It has taken me a thousand years to come fully to terms with some things I did in youth… in the end there is only one solitary thing I can feel no regret over.

The house seems darker without you in it.

Zorion

He knew he had to stop writing – it was doing nothing at all to curb his developing feelings – but every time he got a letter he experienced a euphoric sensation that he couldn't seem to deny himself. Confusion massed in his thoughts, so loudly he had a permanent longing for a firewhiskey to take the edge off it. When he imagined the two objects of his affection, it was no longer obvious which he would choose over the other. One was such a distant memory; he had barely noticed until it was compared with the clarity with which he could see Hermione in his mind's eye.

Apparently absence made the heart grow fonder, but he didn't think anyone had ever meant a thousand years of absence. On the other hand, in the month Hermione had been away he had thought of her constantly. He had never allowed himself to imagine that his former lover might not take him back when they were reunited, but for the first time a doubt began to creep in. This house was his home; the elves and thestrals his friends. Would he swap that certainty for a second chance at the happiness he blew a millennia ago? Was there an alternative? A treacherous voice started up in his mind. In this house, she would never know. If it didn't work out with Hermione, she would never know I had been unfaithful. He tried very hard to shut the voice out.

~oOo~

"You're even quieter this year." They were sat together in Charms, as in every lesson they shared by virtue of the fact that nobody else wanted to be associated with either of them. It had taken her weeks to decide on saying anything at all, wondering if it were better to let him make the first move, but that was evidently never going to happen.

"Are they still not speaking to you?" She indicated the other Slytherins.

"Evidently." She could tell from his tone that she was angering him. It was like talking to a wild animal. She changed tactics.

"There's a duelling club just started. It says fifth years and up, but anyone can try out for it, in a pair. I wondered if you wanted to go."

He looked puzzled, though she didn't know whether it was by the abrupt change of topic or the nature of the request.

"Alright," he said eventually, and the conversation was over.

It was worrying how little she knew of him and how little she could read him, but pursuing a tentative friendship still seemed like the only smart course of action. Her mind had stopped screaming Voldemort every time she set eyes on him, and that was a start. Was it some sort of betrayal of Harry? Surely he would wish Tom Riddle did not become Voldemort, and if having her as a friend could help that cause… If only Harry were here, because she knew somehow that he would understand and make her feel better about it all.

~oOo~

Duelling club was held in the Great Hall, presumably because it was the only room large enough to accommodate the long platform that had been erected for the occasion. When he saw Professor Dumbledore was in charge he almost had second thoughts about the whole thing, but Granger was blocking the exit. At any rate, he would probably enjoy a chance to show off.

Plenty of older students were gathered around the platform, but he also noticed a handful of third and fourth year pairs waiting their turn to try out.

Professor Dumbledore was joined on the platform by Professor Merrythought, causing the general chatter in the hall to die away.

"Good evening everyone," he said cheerfully, and chuckled when a few people shouted the greeting back. Tom grimaced. "Tonight is the first meeting of our new club – thank you all for coming along. To get us started, Professor Merrythought and I shall demonstrate the correct etiquette we expect everyone to follow in these sessions. I'm afraid that anyone who wilfully breaks these rules will find themselves out of the group…But I'm certain that won't be necessary! Let us begin."

The Professors performed the bowing and pacing that he remembered learning about in his first ever Defence lesson.

"Today, we are only going to try to disarm our opponent. You may also use a shield charm to deflect their spells. Mr Weasley and Mr Johnson – would you demonstrate this for us, please?" Two older Gryffindors stepped out of the crowd. It was the dullest duel imaginable, and next to him Granger looked equally unimpressed.

They had to wait what seemed like ages while the others got their turn to try the exercise. A couple of third years managed it, and several more of the fourth years, but the rest were dire. He had just come to the conclusion that he could already beat anyone in the school when Professor Merrythought came up to them wearing a dubious expression.

"Hermione, dear… Tom. Are you sure you want to try this? It's quite advanced. We really only intended the club as a practice for the OWL and NEWT students…"

He was sure the Professor hadn't noticed, but he saw the flash of smug determination pass over Granger's face and thought it suited her.

"Please, Professor," she said, "It seems like a really interesting thing to learn, and we think we can do it." Professor Merrythought was clearly trying to prevent them from making idiots of themselves, but stopped short of actually saying so. Instead, she just nodded stiffly and ushered them up onto the platform.

How he longed to cast some proper spells – but now that he was stood up in front of everyone he decided he really didn't want to get kicked out of the club on the first evening. He bowed with the kind of meticulousness apparently only he was capable of.

She was fast. So fast, he didn't even have time to say the incantation for the shield charm. His wand was sailing gracefully towards her left hand and he took advantage of her lack of attention to cast his own Expelliarmus. She of all people ought to know he wouldn't need a wand for that.

The only person in the hall who didn't gasp in surprise as the second wand went flying through the air was Granger herself – if anything, she looked quite pleased. Once they were both holding the other's wand they began to cast again and he was more alert this time.

Her wand felt foreign to him, but it worked perfectly well all the same. They were trading spells at a rate much faster than any of the other pairs - it was exhilarating, that feeling of power dancing through him. The rest of the room had narrowed down until all he could see was the twitch of her wand arm and her ridiculous hair sticking out from her face. She was good – very good – but he was sure he was better, and longed to prove it.

He became dimly aware of talking, which became shouting. Granger clearly hadn't noticed, and he was damned if he was going to stop and let her win just to see what the fuss was about.

Then he was frozen to the spot – he couldn't even blink.

At the other end of the platform, Granger was in a similar state, suspended in a comedy action pose with her (his) wand slashed upward.

"I said: 'Thank you, Mister Riddle and Miss Granger: that will be enough.' – Several times, actually." Professor Dumbledore looked halfway between amused and annoyed, and the sound of snickering reverberated around the hall. Granger looked hugely embarrassed and he fought to keep his own expression neutral.

"Very good, both of you," continued their transfiguration teacher. "I think you will do exceedingly well… provided that your hearing improves by next week."

With a flick of his wrist, Dumbledore released the freezing spell and Tom just about managed not to fall over forwards. Granger was less fortunate, and there was so much laughter that he almost felt sorry for her. Seeing a perfect opportunity to act chivalrous in front of the teachers, he went to help her up and return her wand. She accepted his kindness with gritted teeth, and knowing that she saw through the act somehow brought the first genuine smile of the evening to his face.

"I would have beaten you," he said, as they parted ways in the Entrance Hall.

"Oh? Well, you can try again next week."

He was already looking forward to it.

~oOo~

Dear Zorion,

I have so many questions I want to ask but even if you would answer me I know a letter is hardly the place. If you ever wanted to talk about it, I wish you would talk to me, but perhaps you think I can't understand.

I'm really looking forward to finding out about my birthday present, but I hope you haven't gone to any trouble. I shouldn't have said anything, it's really not important at all.

Tom and I have been going to duelling club together, which is very strange. I keep worrying I'm going to forget to cast (a bit) like a second-year. Or that I'll remember I'm fighting Voldemort and start trying to kill him! I think he talks to me a little more each day, but I'm worried what he's planning. He seems quite lost and I think he might have started studying dark magic. I've been trying to think of the best way to get the books mentioning horcruxes out of the library, but haven't had any bright ideas yet.

I wish you would visit me.

Hermione

~oOo~

The weeks rolled on, with the duelling club becoming increasingly the highlight. He thought perhaps it was Hermione's favourite time too, because she always seemed to be daydreaming in class and never looked happy whenever they passed in the hallways or the library. In the duels, try as he might, he could never quite beat her – every time he thought he had learnt a new trick, she seemed to have the answer. The Professors looked even more surprised than him, since in lessons she was still barely average.

He wasn't sure when she had become 'Hermione' in his mind rather than 'Granger', but somehow it had happened and then there was no going back. Since everyone thought they were friends, they had to act like friends, and as time went by he was less and less certain whether he was acting or not. It didn't seem to matter much.

There was still nobody else who would be seen speaking to him, but he didn't really mind since he no longer had any desire to fit in with their old-fashioned ways. In the evenings, since he was stuck in his room, he immersed himself in reading. There could never have been a student who had gone through more of the library than he had; alchemy, divination, runes. Legilimency, curse invention, poisons. Necromancy, ancient rituals, blood magic – though there was precious little of those tempting subjects on the general shelves. He had his sights set firmly on the Restricted Section, where it was obvious all the interesting stuff was kept.

One thing was clear: he was definitely going to be something great one day. Just as soon as he figured out what, there would be no stopping him.

~oOo~

Dear Zorion,

I'm so sorry if I upset you or scared you off. Please forget I said anything. It's been nine weeks and three days since my last letter but it feels like nine years.

How did you spend Christmas? Tom and I went to the feast – there were quite a few students there, because of the war I think. I couldn't stop thinking about last year, and how much nicer that was. Except you left me then, too, and I never did work out if there was a particular reason.

Happy New Year.

Hermione

~oOo~

Dear Hermione,

I have treated you nothing but terribly and yet you keep reaching out to me. It gives me a hope I don't feel I really deserve. One day I will give you all the answers, but I admit I dread it. Your good opinion is a precious thing to lose.

As for visiting you, I have another confession to make. I did visit, briefly – I must have had some sort of idea to surprise you, which was stupid in any case. However, I forgot that you were… younger than I was remembering. I think it's best if I just meet you at King's Cross.

Again and for so many things, I feel compelled to offer an apology which must seem empty to you.

Zorion

~oOo~

Hermione must have read the letter a dozen times, becoming more confused with each repetition. What did it mean? She couldn't decide if he liked her, loved her or merely wanted her – or none of the above and the whole thing was another part of the elaborate charade her life had become. To make matters worse, she couldn't decide which she wanted to be the truth.

In her logical mind, she knew that she was desperate for affection and Zorion was the only person to have given any in the last year. It was clearly messing with her emotions. It was nuts to spend so much time thinking about him when she didn't even know what he really looked like; when he admitted he kept secrets from her – things she would apparently judge him so harshly on. When he had brought her into the past away from everything she had ever loved.

And yet… And yet, he seemed so honest in his repentance for the past. And those unknown things happened so terribly long ago. He was unique; had knowledge nobody else alive possessed. She had never talked to anyone like they had talked, and when they were together she felt safe. Safe and almost… happy. Did it even matter what he really looked like? She had been half in love with his mind, his voice and his hands even when he was invisible.

She had no idea what to think, how to feel, or what to write in response. Winter developed gradually into spring and still the letter remained tucked away in her bag, waiting for the right words which never seemed to arrive.

~oOo~