Notes: I'm thrilled with the interest this fic has received so far. Since I've actually got a lot of it written, I'm going to post another that really sets the stage for the main plot. This chapter is told from two different viewpoints, neither of which is Hermione's. We'll be back to her POV in chapter 6.
I do not post "trigger warnings" for depictions of bigotry, but do keep in mind that just because a character says certain things does not mean that I, myself, hold such views.
Chapter Five: In Perspective
Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.
Arcturus Black scowled imperiously at the house-elf Dusty. "Bring up a bottle of red wine from the cellar," he commanded. "The 1895 vintage."
"Yes, Master," the elf squeaked. It Disapparated at once.
Arcturus turned to his guests, his trim, thin moustache curved faintly upward, in contrast with his mouth. "I deeply apologize," he said in rumbling bass. "I did not anticipate your visit."
The two guests leaned forward. "I am the one who should apologize, cousin," said Pollux Black. "But I think that it is important that you and Abraxas know this."
The third man, a blond wizard with his hair tied in a queue and wearing extremely expensive dark green robes, nodded.
Arcturus leaned back in his chair as the house-elf reappeared with the wine. "Master's wine, just as Master asked for," he reported.
"Good. Now find something to clean. Do not interrupt us," Arcturus snapped. The elf vanished again.
The head of the Black family opened the bottle and poured the aged wine into fine crystal. "To purity of wizardkind," he remarked, raising the wineglass in a toast.
"Purity," Pollux and Abraxas murmured in unison.
They sipped the wine and set down their glasses as Pollux Black began to speak. "As you know, Arcturus, I was invited to Hogwarts by Slughorn."
Arcturus lit a cigarette and nodded.
"It is the first time in three years that I have been there, of course," he said. "And the first time since my… appointment."
Arcturus managed a faint smile and fingered the Order of Merlin medallion that he wore, charmed to his tuxedo-style black robes, purchased from the Minister for Magic.
"Well, I'm afraid Sluggy may be slipping. At least, I hope that's what it is." Pollux frowned, his thin hair shifting on his head to expose untidy bald patches, in contrast with the stylishly balding and well-groomed Arcturus. "He was determinedly promoting the Head Boy, you know the one of unknown pedigree…."
Arcturus and Abraxas nodded. They had both heard of the young Slytherin prefect who came out of nowhere and apparently had managed to charm all the older pureblood boys of the House into following him. It was a disturbing situation, to be sure, and Arcturus had point-blank forbidden his son Orion, a fourth-year, to have anything to do with the young man. Abraxas did not have any children yet.
"That, I suppose, is not so surprising. I got a good look at him, and he was wearing a ring that Walburga tells me he claims came from his wizarding family. He must have some wizard ancestry, but his surname is unquestionably Muggle. However, what truly disturbs me is that Slughorn was also promoting a new girl who just came to Hogwarts now, for her seventh year. She is apparently involved with the Riddle brat and is Dumbledore's cousin once removed."
Arcturus and Abraxas looked up sharply. Pollux grinned, pleased to have the attention and respect.
"The thing is, Dumbledore has no cousins—at least in his father's family. His mother, however, was a Mudblood. And this girl is from that side of the family."
Arcturus looked disappointed. He puffed a breath of smoke and sipped his wine. "What is your point, Pollux? It's unfortunate if Slughorn is promoting the spawn of Mudbloods, but what is that to us? I've always known the man was one academically impressive Mudblood student away from turning blood-traitor."
Pollux leered. "At the dinner itself, Avery's son spoke up to ask the girl something. He seemed to think that Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been friends as boys."
That did get Arcturus and Abraxas's attention.
"She was flustered, and did her best to deflect, but it was highly suspicious to me, and I took the liberty of investigating. Muriel Prewett is the most talkative witch you could imagine. You will have such a wealth of information at your disposal when your Lucretia marries Ignatius Prewett, cousin. And Bathilda Bagshot is even worse. Listened to her neighbors from the hedge, she did. The rumor is true, and it's actually much more scandalous than that." He leaned forward, grinning with a mouth full of yellowed teeth.
"Well?" Abraxas said. "Let's hear it."
"Apparently, the esteemed Deputy Headmaster and the Kraut blood-traitor are poofs. I would bet anything that they carried on a—what do the Muggles call it?—a homosexual affair. What an ugly word, that. Muggles," he sneered.
Arcturus looked disgusted. "Pollux, this is infantile. I thought you had something important to say, and instead you are giving me salacious third year Hogwarts gossip. I could not care less if a wizard is a poof, or has affairs of any sort on the side, as long as he does his duty to wizardkind."
"But that's just it, they haven't. Both childless bachelors, even now. And Dumbledore won't duel the blood-traitor even with the entirety of the British wizarding world begging him to. Suspicious, isn't it? And little Miss Green, the cousin, was quite obviously aware of that bit of sordid family history and did her best to hush it up."
"What, exactly, are you trying to say?" Abraxas cut in. "That the girl is spying on the students of Slytherin House for Dumbledore?"
"No," Pollux said. "For Grindelwald."
There was a silence.
"Not, of course, that Dumbledore has any objection to it. If you want my opinion, they've joined forces behind the scenes."
Arcturus fingered the rim of his wineglass, puffing on the cigarette until it was ash. Finally he spoke.
"That would be very detrimental to our cause if so. Dumbledore and his current protégé—"
"Septimus Weasley?" Abraxas Malfoy asked.
Both Black cousins scowled. "Yes," Pollux said sourly. "Absolute disgrace that Cousin Cedrella married the filth." He glared at the tapestry that adorned the parlor wall. A recent scorch mark marred the spot where their first cousin Cedrella Black's name used to be. "He is a Muggle-loving idiot, making the proposal to conduct raids for Dark artifacts in wizarding families' private homes. But as annoying as it is, it is to our advantage that the opposition consist of fools such as Weasley and Dumbledore, who propose policies so radical that they do not stand a prayer of passing muster. It makes us look good. Grindelwald, though…." He trailed off, not saying anything more.
The wizards finished their wine. "Lucretia is a prefect," Arcturus finally said. "She shares a dormitory with Green, Dumbledore's relative, but she has not given me to believe that she dislikes the girl—or wants to get involved at all, for that matter. I can't say I object to that. Safer for her to stay out of politics."
"My Walburga is also in the dormitory," Pollux said, "and she does not like Green. Druella is there as well, and she profoundly dislikes the girl. I could… inform them?"
Arcturus nodded slowly. "It is not preferable to involve young pureblood witches, but if they do have an existing dislike of the girl, it would be foolish not to put it to use."
Hogwarts.
Tom Riddle was furious and frustrated.
He was so close to finding out what secrets Hermione Green was carrying. So close. He was actually inside her head for a brief moment—until she shoved his presence out with power that shocked him.
The details just did not fit coherently into a story that made sense. That she was spying on Slytherin—on the Knights—on himself for Dumbledore was the most obvious explanation, but there was one piece that just did not fit that theory.
Tom had no doubt that Dumbledore suspected him in the Chamber of Secrets incident, and Green's little innuendo to Slughorn about it could have been something that Dumbledore put her up to. Or, he had to admit, she might have figured that one out on her own. She was smart enough. But the one piece that did not work was the Dark Arts book. Dumbledore simply was not the sort of wizard to give any pawn of his full access to Dark information, especially not on a subject about which Slughorn himself had said the old coot was fierce. He would pick and choose what his tools knew, withholding information from them that he deemed too dangerous, not give them the bloody book about it to read for themselves and make up their own minds. Tom had been so shocked when Druella Rosier presented him with that list of books on Green's desk—what a petty-minded little bitch she was, so very useful—that he had had to check the Room of Hidden Things to be sure that "his" copy was still where he'd found it a year and a half ago. And it was. Green had her own copy of that Darkest of texts, for some unfathomable reason.
Tom had then considered the possibility that Green was interested in the book for the same reason he had been and was planning very Dark magic right under the old codger's nose—or had already done so. He had made inquiries of those catty harpies she roomed with, Druella and Walburga, being sure to Obliviate them afterward, about whether Green had any portable possessions to which she seemed particularly attached. The only such object either of them could answer for was the small beaded bag he had seen her carrying around. She had that thing with her during the Slug Club dinner, and he had taken the liberty of casting some invisible diagnostic charms on it when no one was looking. There was an extremely powerful Extension Charm and an anti-theft jinx, but nothing else. Of course, he could not answer for what she might keep inside the bag, but he really did not detect any Dark magic percolating out of it.
Tom hated to admit to being stumped, but he could not think of any reason why Green would be in possession of that particular book. But the fact that she was at all was ominous on a personal level, somehow. He wished, now, that he had not postponed creating his Horcruxes. The diary, of course, was not his fault. That was just too dangerous to attempt. He had had to shut up the Chamber of Secrets after the accident with that bumbling whiny second-year, and the book made it clear that accidental killings were very, very risky to attempt to use, as they did not always create the requisite damage. With an insufficient split, the curse could kill him instead of providing him security from death. The ring, at least, could have been turned into one, but he had not wanted to use the murder of that pathetic, degenerate Muggle to power his first anchor to immortality. His—ugh—father did not deserve that much honor. He had avoided taking the leap out of personal pride, and now he was wondering if he had made a mistake.
No, he was not comfortable at all with Green's possession of the book, nor with much else about her. Something was up, something very important, and he had to get to the bottom of it. Where to start, though?
Green says she's related to Dumbledore's family on his mother's side. Who was the old coot's mother? There's a starting place.
Pleased at last to have an idea, Tom headed to the library to look at old newspapers and genealogical records.
Six hours after beginning his search, Tom was gripping the table in triumph and disbelief. He had already frightened off a pair of third years who tried to get too close to his domain, probably by accident, but it hardly mattered. What he was doing was more important than their insipid Charms homework, or whatever it was.
He glanced around the library to ensure that no one was watching. Sure that he was alone, he put a Preservation Charm on the copy of the Daily Prophet dated August 1, 1910. Then he piled it on top of the papers already on the table. It was the fifth such paper he had lifted, but it was the most important.
"Geminio," he muttered, pointing his wand at the papers before him. A copy of each edition formed on top. He levitated the copies to the bookshelves and put the originals into his satchel. Then he picked up his bag and left the library. He headed straight for the Slytherin common room. There was a bushy-haired liar he had to interrogate, and she was not going to get away this time.
She was keeping to herself in the common room, her nose buried in a book, naturally. It was not one of her Dark Arts tomes, he noted. Ignoring the admiring looks he garnered whenever he showed up, he crossed the common room and stood in front of Green.
She looked up from her book. "Yes?" she said curtly.
"Outside. Now." His voice was soft and dangerous.
Hermione stared at him in evident fear. "What do you have to say that you cannot say here?"
He scoffed at this obvious attempt to avoid the inevitable. "This isn't Gryffindor House, Green, where everything is everyone else's business. Get up. I'm not going to hurt you, you silly thing. We just need to have a talk."
She stared back challengingly and disbelievingly at him, but finally put the book into that bag of hers and drew her wand. "You're damn right you won't hurt me," she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow and took her arm. Had to maintain the front that they were a couple, after all. Firmly he escorted her out of the common room, noting with satisfaction the absence of catcalls that would normally have been made if he had been anyone else.
Outside the common room, he pulled her into one of the abandoned classrooms and shut the door. She gripped her wand tightly, apparently expecting a fight. Tom raised his eyebrow again and instead withdrew the newspapers from his satchel. He spread them on the nearest desk.
"I've spent some time in the library," he said conversationally. "It's a fascinating place. You never know what you might find there."
She eyed him warily. "Get to the point, Riddle."
He continued airily. "These first four papers are quite interesting in their own right, of course. Such a delicious scandal, this ugly business with Dumbledore's family. But of course, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"
Hermione saw no point in lying. "Of course I know about it. It had nothing to do with me, though."
Tom smirked predatorily at her. "It most certainly doesn't, Green. Because as interesting as these papers are, this one is even more so." He picked up the fifth newspaper. "August 1, 1910. A new Transfiguration professor is appointed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore." He smiled at Hermione. "Many accolades for the esteemed professor's academic achievements, and then this bit about his family." Tom observed with pleasure how Hermione squirmed at that. "'Dumbledore is the eldest child of the late Percival and Kendra Dumbledore,'" he read. "'He also has a younger brother Aberforth, pubkeeper at the Hog's Head Tavern in Hogsmeade, and a deceased younger sister, Ariana. Dumbledore's father had no near kin, and his mother, a Muggle-born witch, had only a childless Muggle brother and Squib sister-in-law.'" He set down the paper and peered at Hermione. "Childless, it says."
Hermione stood up and pointed her wand at him. Her hand was shaking.
"Don't bother with that, Miss Green. I really have no intention of hurting you. I'm sure that Dumbledore did a good job of forging records, but of course, things always get overlooked."
"You can't believe everything you read in the papers," she said in a jittery voice.
He ignored this, treating it with the contempt it deserved. "Now, here's how it's going to be, darling," he said in a tone of false sweetness. "You can tell me the truth, and it'll be our little secret—or I will prove to the whole school that you're a liar, and that Dumbledore is in on it too. It's your choice."
There was nothing for it. He watched her try to gather her courage. It was—inspiring, in a way. "I'm not telling you anything," she said.
"Very well, then." He forced her toward the side of the classroom, against the wall, and grabbed her chin, turning her face to his and meeting her eyes.
There was that brief moment of mental invasion before Hermione gathered her magic and slammed him out. He scowled, but this time he did not back down. He had been expecting it after that other day. He moved his hands to either side of her face and met her eyes again. She tried to force his mental presence out once more, but it was weaker this time. She felt memories edging forward, almost as if summoned by his magic. Then the mind barrier was down.
Hermione whimpered as he plowed through the memories closest to the surface. There was that book again. A shrieking, black-haired witch that Tom did not recognize. A tiny hourglass filled with red sand. Then people talking to her.
"Monday, September 4, 1944, Miss Green."
"Are we correct to assume, then, that you have traveled back in time?"
"You must have a plausible cover story."
"I believe it has to do with the creation of magical anchors in the new time."
"Miss Green, we cannot send you back."
Tom suddenly jerked out of Hermione's mind. He met her eyes, his own wide with shock. She backed away from him and pointed her wand at him again.
"I can cast an excellent Memory Charm," she said shakily.
His eyes suddenly narrowed, and he pointed his wand back at her. "But you won't, and if you try, I will block you, and then I will Disarm you. I think… we should collaborate. I think it would be very much in your best interest."
"Why should I work with you on anything?"
He moved closer. "Because," he said in a low hiss, "if you don't, you will find that your little secret isn't anymore. The Ministry might even take an interest in you and pull you right out of school, to be an experimental subject for them. They have no idea how to send someone into the future without severe damage, Green. Not that it would stop them, of course. Do you really want them to try with you? That would be… unfortunate, wouldn't it?" His mouth curled upward in a smirk.
She scowled at him and stepped forward. "Oh, so you're going to threaten me? You don't have nearly as much leverage over me as you think." She met his eyes again, though her Occlumency shield was up. "You asked me a lot of questions after Slug Club. Do you really want the answers now? I can give them to you."
He drew in his breath sharply. "What are you talking about?"
"The Chamber of Secrets was opened again in my time," she said in a low voice. "And it was found out that you orchestrated the entire thing the first time and framed Hagrid."
"I didn't frame him for anything," Tom said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "He was raising an Acromantula in the castle. That's what I reported him for."
"Everyone assumed that his monster was responsible for Myrtle's death."
Tom shrugged, unable to hide the smirk. "That's too bad."
Hermione scowled.
"Dumbledore took him under his wing," Tom said dismissively. "Which would have happened anyway. I mean, who else would take on an academically incompetent half-giant?"
Hermione glared at him. "He is gamekeeper for decades, and then he becomes Care of Magical Creatures teacher in my third year."
Tom looked respectively appalled, outraged, and nastily amused. "That hypocritical old man—I'm assuming he never earns an OWL in anything, and the old codger appoints him over qualified candidates because he's a protégé."
"He was a pretty bad teacher," Hermione had to admit. "It wasn't one of Dumbledore's better decisions." She stared hard at Tom. "But that is beside the point. Your misdeeds with the basilisk came out."
Tom sneered at her. "How? I'm sure the great Gryffindor hypocrite suspects me, but—"
"Your diary came to light."
Oh, naturally, he thought. He stared at her flatly. "Thanks for telling me. I'll make sure that doesn't happen now."
Her eyes widened in surprise and concern, but she quickly recovered. "And there's more, Riddle. I know you killed your father. Your Muggle father," she added spitefully. She glared at the big ring on his finger. "You framed your uncle for it and stole his ring."
He was staring evenly at her, a calculating look on his face. "Doesn't that frighten you, Green? Being alone in a room with a murderer?"
She hesitated.
"Did you get pulled into one of my memories and get frightened? Did you even know that it was just a memory?"
"What?" she whispered, almost to herself.
He was smirking. "Oh, for old times' sake, darling. Here." He reached into his satchel, shuffled around, and withdrew a leatherbound diary. He shoved it into her hands. "A piece of your past, is it? Maybe you should see if it still scares you." He knew he was being reckless, but she obviously did know all about the Chamber of Secrets, so intimidation was the best option available. People did have visceral reactions to unpleasant memories, after all. It was the simplest sort of response to manipulate. Obliviating her could permanently damage her mind, and that was not desirable. Now that he knew her secret, he could think of so many uses for her knowledge.
Hermione gingerly opened the cover of the diary.
Pages filled with neat, elegant handwriting appeared before her. Most of them had moving images embedded in them, like wizarding photographs, but deeper somehow. Hermione frowned.
Tom noticed that frown. A shadow of misgiving came over him. Maybe she wasn't frightened anymore. Or—maybe she had not come in contact with the diary at all, and it had been a friend instead who had done so.
"That's odd… I thought…." Hermione trailed off.
"You thought what?" he asked sharply.
"Nothing," she said at once. Seemingly more intrigued or confused by the diary than frightened of it, she reached into her beaded bag and withdrew a pre-inked quill. She turned to a random page and started to write in the diary.
My name is Hermione—
Tom yanked the book out of her hands furiously. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed. The words continued to remain on the mostly full page, the ink drying by the second. He pulled his wand and cast a cleaning spell at the page. The words vanished. He glared at her. "Did no one ever teach you it wasn't polite to vandalize other people's property?" he taunted.
Hermione was staring back at him, something like relief etched across her face. "I'm sorry. It's rather less intimidating than I remember." Her voice was light.
Tom shoved the book back into his satchel. "Well, then, we're back where we started. I know you're a time-traveler, and you know things about me that you shouldn't. Something has to be done about that."
"Does it, now."
"It does." He regarded her appraisingly. "Slughorn thinks we're an item. As base as that is, I think it's still your best cover for the amount of time you'll be spending with me."
"I really don't recall agreeing to spend any time with you."
"You are laboring under the delusion that your agreement is necessary." He gathered up the newspapers, put them into the satchel, and turned to her. "I still have many things to find out from you. All that takes… time." His mouth was set in a cold smirk.
End Notes: For this story I am not following Rowling's interview statement about who the Horcrux victims supposedly were. Several of them make very little sense in the context of established information and timing. For example, it is hard to believe that he located and dug up the Ravenclaw diadem in the single summer before starting work at B&B rather than the ten years after. But more relevant to this story are the claims that Myrtle and Riddle Sr. were victims for the diary and ring. I'm not sticking with either claim here. From the text, it's not clear if Myrtle's death was a deliberate murder, and diary Tom has memories from after her death (including knowledge of his parents). The timing of the Riddle murders also doesn't work well for any of them to have been Horcrux victims. The infamous talk with Slughorn almost certainly occurred in Tom's sixth year. Harry's interpretation is that he already knew the procedure and just wanted to know what Slughorn thought might happen to a person with more than one Horcrux. Ergo, there is no reason for the talk to have occurred if he himself had made two already. Also, he was still wearing the ring during that talk. The only way this can work is if you assume that the spell can be performed on a split that already exists from a past murder, which maybe it can. But for plot reasons, I don't want him to have any at this point.
As far as the politics and Grindelwald connection are concerned, much will be made clear in a couple of chapters. I will say this much, though: I'm not following fanon on it.