Part IX
He'd forgotten how little she was in the beginning.
Her untamed curls filled him with a bittersweet sort of nostalgia. She was shorter. Her posture was all wrong. Timid, hesitant. The hand she'd slipped into the pocket of her satchel was stiff. She was clutching his diary, their diary, like a lifeline.
I was bloody petrified the first time I met older you, you know.
He could see it on her face, a mixture of anxiety, fear, and just a bit of hope. Hope that his presence meant they'd still be friends.
Friends.
It was always too simple of a phrase to describe them, but Tom knew his younger self hadn't figured that out yet, and neither had Hermione.
Little Hermione. Hermione the second year. Hermione the Gryffindor. Hermione the quick study.
The Hermione he thought he could teach anything.
The Hermione he would teach everything he knew.
The only thing that hadn't changed were her eyes. They seemed wider to him, in part because of the emotions running rampant behind them as she tried to get her bearings with their situation, but also because of the innocence that lurked in them.
She was Hermione, but she'd yet to grow into his Hermione. Still…he'd missed her, even if she was his astute little ball of frizz again. She'd become his Hermione in time.
"Hello, Dove," he said. He kept his expression neutral, but kind. She was nervous. She was confused. He didn't want to overwhelm her.
She swallowed and shuffled nervously before him. "You know I'm not behind in Defense," she said, her voice quiet.
She even sounded smaller. The realization amused him. "I do," he said obligingly. They both knew he'd started teaching her fifth year material recently.
He watched her thoughts turn and tried not to chuckle. If memory served, his younger self had either written her a note, was currently writing it, or at the very least would write her before Tom sent her back to school. She was caught in the middle between them. He wished he could prepare her for the strain of that burden. He wished he could tell her not to worry so much, not to be so afraid of her growing attachment to his younger self.
Wished he could tell her that she was just as important to him as he was to her.
Before the silence could stretch for too long, he said, "I'd nearly forgotten how small you were in your second year. You grew so much, so quickly, that I could hardly remember how you looked before your sixth year."
Those wide brown eyes blinked up at him as she realized just how drastic the time difference between her and his younger self would turn out to be.
The next five years for her would only be two and a half years for the boy she knew. Tom remembered how it felt like time had flown during his last few years at Hogwarts. This time, he'd live through the crawl. Knowing what would be waiting for him in five years was the only thing that made that fact bearable.
He watched Hermione's thoughts spiral behind her eyes before rolling his own. "Relax," he said. "Do you think I'd seek you out if our friendship hadn't remained anything but strong?"
Certainly that wouldn't give too much away? Knowing they'd be companions throughout her school years shouldn't be a surprise to her.
He saw her expression darken for a moment and had to hide his own negative reaction.
Had the spiral truly started this early? Did she already think he'd drop her like hot coals if she made a mistake?
Silly girl, he thought, trying not to smile at the absurdity of their situation. You couldn't get rid of me even if you tried.
"You haven't eaten, Dove," he said, gesturing towards the door on the right side of the room and gestured for her to walk with him. "Come. Humor me."
She followed, obedient little thing that she was, and Severus trailed behind them. Tom's labyrinth of a home was a maze to most people, but he knew the halls well.
Once they'd reached one of the smaller dining rooms, he saw to her being seated beside him, across from Severus, and gave a small nod towards the kitchen-hand he saw hovering by the far entryway.
Soon, they each had a glass of ice water, and their dinner was being served. When Tom was certain everything was to the correct standards, he sat back and regarded this unnervingly young version of his first and only friend.
"Refresh my memory, Dove," he said. "How has your year been? I remember a fair bit, but I've been immersed in this Lockhart nonsense for weeks. I'm certain I've forgotten details."
She hesitated at first, but gave him a brief summary of everything that had happened since Draco had slipped her his —their— diary.
He was glad to learn that her secret friendship with Abraxas's grandson was progressing smoothly. She reminded him how far he'd taught her during their private tutoring nights in the Room of Requirement. Something bitter and uncomfortable stirred in his chest when she admitted how out of place she'd started to feel. She had Harry, but the Weasley brat was a problem Tom would have to wait for history —or the future, he supposed— to resolve on its own.
He was glad to learn that Harry's loyalty was strengthening in her direction as it should be. He was less glad to learn just how thoroughly Weasley had started to get under her skin.
"I want to tell Harry about my sorting," she admitted over dessert. "But I don't think I can. Besides, he was friends with Ronald first. I only became part of their group after the troll incident during first year…"
Tom shared a brief glance with Severus, who was hiding his amusement behind a drink of water.
"You never know, Dove," Tom said, trying to suppress a smile. "You may not be the only current Hogwarts student that chose one house over another."
She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. The expression was so strikingly familiar, so her, that it made his chest ache.
His Hermione was in there. She just needed time.
He could almost hear her calling him a prat and smirked. In a few months, maybe in a year, she'd start throwing those little jabs at him aloud without hesitation. All she needed was time.
And all he needed was patience.
Harry was dozing in Hermione's favorite armchair when she returned to the common room. He perked up a bit when he realized it was her and smiled lazily.
"Hullo, 'Mione," he said.
She smiled back. "You should be in bed."
Harry shrugged and shifted to one side so she could share the chair with him. Hermione set her bag at their feet and accepted his unspoken invitation gladly.
"Is your sponsor a nice bloke?" he asked once she was comfortable.
"Yeah," she said as she laid her head on his shoulder. "Intelligent. Charming. Interesting all around really."
"Good, I'm glad."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence that was only broken by the pops and crackles of the fireplace. Hermione had started to doze off when Harry spoke up.
"Is there anything odd in Hogwarts: A History about the sorting hat?" he asked.
She frowned. Tom's words from dinner were starting to make her brain itch. "Not really," she answered. "The hat's known to factor in personal reference, I think, but there's not much documented about it. I think people just assume that it's charmed to sort students properly." She hesitated for a moment before asking him why he wanted to know.
Harry sighed. "I just got to thinking and wondered if urging the hat to choose a different house would mean you've been 'missorted'."
She tilted her head to glance up at him, but found Harry was frowning towards the fire. "Did it want to put you somewhere aside from Gryffindor?" she asked him. She'd already deduced that was the case, but wanted to hear him say it before she got her hopes up.
"Sort of," he said, his cheeks reddening slightly in the firelight. "I didn't feel like I belonged there, so I asked it to put me anywhere else."
"And it chose Gryffindor," she said.
"Yeah."
She took a deep breath. "I asked it to put me somewhere else too," she admitted.
Harry's gaze shifted from the fire to her. Surprise, worry, and hope stirred in his eyes.
"Didn't fancy Ravenclaw?" he quipped hesitantly.
"Not exactly." She gave him a sad smile, trying to convey that she wasn't exactly sure how she felt about her true house affiliation either. "I'll tell if you do."
Harry smiled. "On three?"
They counted down in hushed whispers, staring at one another in silence when the same house tumbled from their lips. Once the shock had settled, they shared relieved smiles and Hermione settled against Harry's shoulder again.
She wasn't alone after all. And neither was Harry.