Disclaimer: All familiar character's belong to J.K. Rowling

Chapter 8: Consider Me Riddled

The remainder of the week went without incident. No news was reported on Grindelwald and Riddle seemed to have lost his interest in Hermione. The silence however made Hermione uneasy. She doubted either wizard had decided to give up on their plans on taking over the world. She had however taken some precautions regarding thwarting Riddle. Dumbledore had asked the Care of Magical Creatures professor to keep an eye on the roosters and made plans Friday evening to pay a visit to the Riddle Manor in Greater Hangleton which is why Hermione found herself watching the clock that afternoon during her tea with Rosaline.

"Hermione ladies sip, not slurp, nibble not gobble!" Rosaline looked appallingly at Hermione who was vengefully stuffing macaroons into her mouth. Rosaline had somehow forced her into a grey silver town dress that showed way too much skin and a beautifully embellished curvette that made her head itch. Hermione had drawn the line with the strappy heels and to Rosaline's irritation sat in her living room barefeet.

"Any plans this weekend?" Rosaline asked.

"I'm not going shopping with you Rosaline."

Rosaline pouted but she took no notice. She had plans anyway not that she was going to tell Rosaline. She could hardly say I'm busy finding a way to the most evil wizard in the world's top secret headquarters to have a snoop at their plans on taking over the world. Rosaline would lock her up in an ivory tower and throw away the key.

"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying!" Rosaline scolded.

"How dare you accuse me of such impropriety?" gasped Hermione.

"What was I saying?" Rosaline challenged her.

"How you had nothing to wear for the event you're going to this weekend." Hermione guessed hopefully.

Rosaline smiled apologetically and Hermione kept her surprise hidden as she mentally patted herself on the back.

"Are you sure you don't want to go? Anyone whose anyone's going to be there and I don't mean celebrities. Academics, politicians... Apparently Diggory's going to be there. The minister I mean not the professor. Though he-"

"Woah hold on a second. What event-?"

"Ha! I knew you weren't listening!" Rosaline smirked. "It's the White Ball tomorrow night fundraising for the war effort against Grindelwald."

These people really do milk any excuse to throw a party. Why hadn't Dumbledore mentioned the event? It was a clear opportunity for Hermione to read the anti-Grindelwald British scene.

"Wait, so how come you got an invite?"

"My sisters one of the event planners. So I'm guessing you want to come?" Rosalines eyes twinkled mischieviously. Hermione wondered if this was the infamous mother of Blaise Zabini.

"I'm still not going shopping with you."

Rosaline shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her tea.

"Say, you should ask Slughorn to go shopping with you." Hermione snorted at the deeply offended look on Rosaline's face.

Hermione entered Dumbledore's office at eight that evening wearing a white lace blouse, high waisted black velvet cropped trousers that fit snugly on her legs and a thick black winter cloak. Her head was covered with a simple black skull cap. Dumbledore had donned a handsome royal blue suit complete with leather cap toe shoes in place of his usual robes. Hermione looked at him in pleasant surprise. Rosaline must have dressed him.

"Good evening Hermione" Dumbledore greeted her before passing her a little sack of floo powder.

"The Hogs Head"

Hermione coughed as she came out of an absolutely filthy fireplace. She smiled when she saw the state of her lace blouse. Dumbledore followed her shortly and offered her his arm before walking out of the dingy pub with a nod at the landlord. Before she could observe the Hogsmeade of 1942 she was sucked into the familiar feeling of disapparation and now stood in the corner of a dimly lit alleyway. Hermione disillusioned the both of them.

"Just this way I believe." Dumbledore guided her out of the alleyway and into a street where one house stood out impressively above the rest. "The Riddle Manor."

They stood before black cast iron gates of a white Georgian manor with arched sash windows and Viennese balconies. The imposing front door was adorned with swan neck pediments supported by great corinthian columns. It took her breath away.

Dumbledore looked at her expectantly.

"Won't you do the honours?" Dumbledore encouraged her kindly. Hermione nodded as she weaved her wand in a complicated pattern chanting a runic spell under her breath before pointing it to the house and finishing with an "Oculi". She could feel the magic leave her and bind itself around the building before radiating out a hundred yards.

"Well done Hermione!" beamed Dumbledore.

Hermione tucked her wand away smiling. She almost felt like she was back in her first year again, performing a spell in class, safe from the cruel world outside. But she wasn't. She was placing a detection spell to prevent the murders of the Riddle's from their only heir. Now wasn't that a sobering thought.

As Dumbledore offered her his arm again she hesitated. "Sir, do you think we could visit them?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I just want to see if they're the horrible people Riddle made them out to be." She said defensively.

"And what would you gain in confirmation of that fact, Hermione?"

He wasn't saying no at least.

"It'll help me see him as a human being, sir." Hermione said quietly.

Dumbledore sighed. "I am guessing you've already formulated a plan?"

Hermione grinned.

Ten minutes later Hermione was knocking on the Riddle's door dressed in a white chiffon blouse and an ankle length black velvet skirt. She was holding up the weight of a haggard old man in rags wrapped up in her winter cloak. A grey eyed old woman in a pinafore answered.

"Good evening Miss, I am so sorry to be a bother but I saw this man keel over just outside this house and was hoping to use your telephone to call a doctor." Hermione's voice was heavy with concern.

"Ah you better come in, love." The old woman helped her bring the old man into the house. "Just through here" She pointed at a door on the right of a grand entrance hall with an elaborate dual curved staircase.

"What is the meaning of this?!" came a threatening voice from the balcony on the landing above.

"This man is injured master. I'm just telephoning Mr. Brown for him." Hesitated the old woman.

The man slowly came out of the shadows and walked down the stairs. Hermione, concerned for the servant, decided to speak up.

"My apologies sir. I saw this man fall over outside your home and saw he needed immediate medical attention. We will intrude on your premises for only a little longer till I see to it that this gentleman is in safe hands."

The man was now standing intimidatingly over Hermione a sneer carved on his lips. He had a straight nose, dark eyes and wavy black hair combed perfectly to one side. He wore a silk dressing gown over a deep blue pyjama set monogrammed with T.R. in gold. Hermione didn't need the monogram to know exactly who stood before her. This man was a near carbon copy of Riddle. Right down to the slight dimple on his chin. The only noticeable difference was his age. Tom Riddle Senior had streaks of grey in his hair, sallow sunken cheeks, a more pronounced jaw line and lines around his mouth and eyes. There was a whiff of alcohol about him. Hermione refused to lose her nerve and met his superior gaze evenly.

"Gentleman?" he mocked her, his tone heavy with incredulity. "The man is a common beggar girl. Probably faking his injuries so he can rob you." There was a touch of harmony in his baritone voice that was pleasant to listen to despite the bitterness in his words.

"I am not so cynical, Mister...?"

"Riddle."

"Mister Riddle if he is a beggar and robs you I promise to reimburse you fully and for your inconvenience pay you an additional fee for your hospitality." She spoke firmly before curtsying shortly.

The tension in the room ebbed away, broken, as the man began to laugh a deep throaty genuine laugh that filled the dreary house with a little life.

"No need girl." He almost barked. "But beware of your gullible nature. There are people out there that will take advantage of it and deceive you. Especially in these uncertain times." He warned her as his smile vanished.

These words spoke more truth than the man possibly could have ever known and touched her deep in her heart and further still in her mind. It was the lesson she had learned the hard way. Dare she say it? She felt a kindred alliance with this man, Tom Riddle Senior, Voldemorts father.

"Mary, see to it this 'gentleman' finds a doctor and the young lady a carriage home." With that he walked off imperiously to one of the doors on the left.

Hermione stood with her mouth wide open as the door slammed shut, echoing through the once again dreary house. Mary led Dumbledore into a living room that looked like something out of a Jane Austen novel. She gently sat him down on a green pinstriped arm chair by a fire that seemed to frown along with the rest of the house. Mary dialed a number on a then modern telephone. She clicked her tongue impatiently, put it down and tried again.

"I'm sorry miss there must be a problem with the wires." Mary apologized in her soft voice. "Ever since the war it's been a little funny."

"Not a problem maam. If you could help me in one of your carriages I'll go straight to my doctor, Miss Mary."

Mary smiled and nodded leaving one very confused witch and one twinkly eyed wizard. A few minutes later she was seated in a beautiful black carriage outside the manor.

"May God always be with you, blessed child" and with that the kind old woman waved them off. Hermione looked back at the house as the horse trotted away towards Little Hangleton and saw Tom Riddle Senior standing by a window holding the curtain aside with one hand and a whisky glass in the other watching them go. The expression in his face was indiscernable due to his dark eyes. It was hard to tell whether they glowered or glinted. His lips were curled upwards but that too was ambiguous; did he smirk or a grimace? Hermione couldn't help but pity him a little as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

As Hermione attempted to sleep that evening she was haunted by the smell of whisky and dark mistrustful eyes.