October 1939
Once again, Hermione Granger entered her second year at Hogwarts. Against all odds, she made it through the past terms without dying. Again. A miracle, looking back at her rotten luck in the past – future?
For better or worse, if Rodolphus was to be believed, she now was what one would consider a pureblood.
Hermione had never encountered such powerful magicks before. Her academic mind gladly rose to the challenge, however. Over the centuries, blood rituals had been outlawed in most of Britain, so information on them was sparse and hard to come by. But that had never stopped her before. She was in the process of scouring through Hogwarts' Restricted Section and was planning to search the Lestrange library upon her return next summer.
Hermione frowned. What Rodolphus did to her still made her stomach churn. The thought of the man's life force – his cursed magic, which had ended the lives of countless people coursing through her body, was incomprehensibly vile.
Unwilling to entertain these thoughts any further, Hermione shifted her attention back to the Professor at the front of the classroom. She was sitting next to Abraxas and Minerva in the first row, the two of them looking equally as bored as herself of the monotonous voice of their new muggle studies teacher droning over their heads.
"Muggles use something called the telephone to communicate with each other over far distances," he held up an ancient device. The thing looked more like a microphone with strings attached to its ends than what Hermione would consider a telephone.
Abraxas raised a brow as the Professor put the phone down on their desk.
"Does anyone here have a telephone at home?"
At the Professor's question, Minerva raised her hand. Hermione suddenly remembered that her future teacher was a half-blood herself.
"Ah, Miss McGonagall, would you mind telling Mr Malfoy here your number and how one would operate this device?"
Some of the Slytherins snicker at their professor's request.
"Of course, it's pretty simple." Minerva proceeded to explain to a very uncomfortable-looking Malfoy.
Hermione listened curiously, seeing as she had never used a phone that old herself. With a startle, the young witch realised that this was how children who grew up in the wizarding world must've felt when they were first introduced to muggle technologies. Funny how I'll fit in just fine with the rest of the purebloods. It felt bizarre to know more about the magical world in this time than the one she originally came from.
"Correct, Miss McGonagall, ten points to Gryffindor. Now"-
Hermione turned the man's excited voice out in favour of watching Abraxas fumble with the telephone again. The boy looked mortified at the thought of using such a device, and she giggled at the boy's appalled look...
After the lesson ended, Minerva steered her back to their common room through the crowded corridors. "I need your help with Charlus," she said. "He's taken a fancy to one of the new Slytherin firsties."
Hermione wrinkled her forehead, trying to think of anyone who would catch the boy's eyes.
"Her name is Dorea Black, the one with the pretty dark curls? He's been bugging me for days to introduce them." Rolling her eyes, Minerva waited for the fat lady to let them through. "I don't know why he thinks I can just walk up to some random Slytherin and ask her to hang out with us."
"Probably, 'cause you're the only girl he knows that'd actually help him."
Hermione watched her friend throw her head back in exasperation.
They sat down on one of the leather sofas at the back of the room and continued whispering so their housemates wouldn't overhear their conversation.
"He could've just asked you, though. At least you already know some Slytherins that could introduce you to her and then, in turn, introduce us to her."
Hermione was still baffled by the complicated processes of interacting with people outside their social circles in this time.
"Can't Charlus just man up and talk to her himself?" Hermione asked. "She's a first-year, for Merlin's sake."
Minerva just shook her head. "She's a Black. Charlus would cause a small scandal if he just walked up to her."
"You know that's just ridiculous, right?"
"It's proper," Minerva pursed her lips. "Maybe in France, you could've gotten away with this, but here you'd risk a girl's reputation if you're not careful." her friend explained with a serious face that most certainly didn't suit her.
What a ridiculous custom. Hermione thought to herself but wisely kept her mouth shut. After all, she'd spent years listening to Rodolphus' ramblings about proper decorum. "Well, if you say so, what do you want me to do about it then?"
Minerva shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe ask Rosier or Malfoy if they know someone who knows Dorea so they can introduce us?"
Hermione crossed her arms. "Isn't it enough that they're all in the same house? Why do I have to find someone that personally knows her?"
"Because she's a Black, keep up, would you?"
Hermione puffed her cheeks. "Well, excuse me for questioning this whole charade. Tell Charlus that I'll see what I can do." She stood up from her seat, "I need to finish my potion's essay, so I'll leave first." Ignoring her friend's raised brows at her abrupt departure, she stepped out of the room.
Hermione was a little taken aback by her harsh reaction. Why am I so angry? She just asked me to help our friend. Hermione made her way to the castle grounds. Some air could help her calm down. With a tired sigh, she sat down on a nearby stone bench, unbothered by the chilly air.
I've been moody all week. Maybe this is just me hitting puberty again. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, not happy about going through those ridiculous mood swings again for the next five years.
"Merlin, this is annoying," she murmured to herself.
"What is?"
Startled, she looked up at the person who had interrupted her moment of self-pity. Abraxas smirked down at her. He signalled her to move a little to the side and made himself comfortable next to her.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Quidditch try-outs. I want to be a chaser this year. What about you?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "It's about my friend Charlus. He fancies someone from your house."
Abraxas scoffed. "That Potter boy you and your mudblood always hang out with?"
"Half-blood, actually. Her mum's a witch."
Abraxas made a face at her, quickly changing the conversation to Charlus. "Anyways, what poor girl does he fancy so much that he even sends you?"
"He didn't ask me specifically," Hermione scoffed at his obvious taunt. "Look, it's complicated. I don't even want to get involved in all of this." Hermione turned to look at the blond boy. "Her name is Dorea Black. She's a first-year."
Abraxas bristled, "seems like you Gryffindors are as brave as you're stupid."
Instead of deeming him with a reply, Hermione just swatted the boy's shoulder.
"Ouch! All right, all right. It's just that she's a Black."
"Yes, I heard." Hermione groaned. "Still, I need someone to introduce me to her. Care to help me with that?"
"I don't know, Hermione. Her family would flip if they found out about my involvement in their daughter's potential romance with a Gryffindor and a blood traitor to boot."
"Please, Abraxas, she's only eleven, and he's twelve. So, where's the harm in them talking to each other."
Her Slytherin friend still didn't look convinced, but Hermione wasn't giving up just yet. "Dorea probably won't even care. Isn't it better to make him get over his crush rather sooner than later?"
This seemed to do the trick, and she watched Abraxas' resolve crumble.
"I owe you one if you help me with this." Hook, line, and sinker.
Abraxas took one deep breath as if to dispel any lasting doubts. "Deal. But don't tell anyone it was me who helped you if things go south. I'll introduce you to Cygnus Black. He's in our year, and her nephew or something. Their family tree is kinda messed up."
Hermione grimaced at the memory of Sirius trying to explain his house's obsession with keeping it in the family.
"Thank you. When can I meet him?"...
"Dorea, this is Charlus Potter, a friend of mine." Hermione shoved her nervous friend forward as he stumbled over his words in the presence of his crush.
It had been a week since Abraxas' friend had introduced her to the pretty witch. She'd finally managed to set up a meeting between her and Charlus after inviting the girl to the upcoming Quidditch match. Just as Abraxas, her friend, had gotten a place on their team as a keeper.
"N-nice to meet you. I'm Charlus."
Hermione failed to hide a smile behind her long sleeves as she watched her housemate fumble with his scarf, his face resembling the tomato soup they had for dinner.
"I know. Hermione just said so."
Minerva coughed suspiciously behind her while Charlus blushed even harder at the girl's deadpan reply.
She and Minerva had stayed with the two as it was proper, but Hermione still felt as if she was intruding. They're children. Stop fretting over it so much.
"Yes, of course. Well- I just wanted to say that"- Charlus desperately looked to Minerva for help, but she just silently signed him to continue.
"-I wanted to ask if you maybe would like to study together sometime?" he blurted out.
Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her grin in check.
A little taken aback by her friend's forward question, Dorea blinked. "I'd like that, Potter. I'll see when I can make some time."
Charlus looked like he was ready to melt on the spot. Hermione was proud of the boy for building up the courage to talk to the girl and happily patted her friend's shoulder as they watched Dorea catch up to some of her waiting housemates a few yards away.
"Merlin, that was the scariest thing I've ever done," Charlus announced breathlessly.
"Look on the bright side, at least Hermione, and I don't have to awkwardly chaperone you next time since Cygnus allowed you to spend time with her."
Hermione rolled her eyes, still offended by the fact that a witch had to get the permission of a male relative to interact with a wizard if it concerned anything beyond school or work. Well, at least if you're from one of those old, prejudiced houses. She couldn't imagine Minerva asking her father if she could befriend Charlus.
"I'm surprised he did, to be honest. He probably wants to ruin me somehow, bloody Slytherins."
"Charlus! In case you've already forgotten. Dorea is one as well." Hermione chided, and her friend had the decency to look ashamed.
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Mione."
"You definitely owe me some chocolate frogs for everything I did for you this week." she laughed, and together, the three of them made their way back to the castle...
November 1939
After another month of burying her nose in ancient tomes, Hermione has had enough. Unfortunately, the restricted Section offered no insights into the blood magic Rodolphus had used on her.
Not a single legitimate book or article. Nothing. Frustrated, she levitated the texts in front of her back to their designated shelves, ready to get into her pyjamas and call it a day. But, sadly, those hopes were put on hold as soon as she saw Riddle coming her way.
"A little late for research."
"Fancy meeting you too, Riddle. How're your classes going?" she quipped. "Last time I checked, I was ahead of you in two subjects."
Riddle's pretty face turned sour. "Skill has nothing to do with your success in Dumbledore's classes."
"I'm a better caster than most of my classmates, biased teachers or not," Hermione answered haughtily. How dare Riddle insult her intelligence like that.
"Naturally."
A pause. Riddle looked down at his nails with an unreadable expression.
"Were you aware of Salazar Slytherin being a Parselmouth?"
Hermione nearly choked on her spit as the words left Riddle's mouth. Don't mess this up. "I was", she muttered. "Why?"
Riddle stepped a little closer, causing Hermione, in turn, to back away from the boy, the bookshelf painfully digging into her shoulders.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed. "You're the only one who knows how miserable the orphanage is. This could've helped me find my family."
"Abraxas probably knew as well?" she countered, actually feeling a little guilty now that she knew how much the orphanage affected Riddle. He wasn't just someone Harry told her about anymore. He was a real, deeply troubled boy who had apparently trusted her. And I failed him.
"Forgive me. I didn't mean to hold back any information from you." she pleaded.
"But you did. It was Abraxas who told me. Like any real friend would."
Is he trying to make me the bad guy here? Hermione had been around long enough to know when someone was playing her.
"I'm sorry. I promise it won't happen again." She demurred. Hermione had worked too damn hard for the past year to get on his wrong side now.
Riddle regarded her with a calculating glare. "Prove it then. Show me that I can trust you." His grey eyes shone like cold steel in the flickering lights of the countless candles.
"How?" she whispered, feeling goosebumps crawling up her arms.
"I want you to get something for me. A book."
Relief flooded her veins. That she could do. "What book?"
What was left of the space between them was seemingly getting smaller with every second.
"It's a biography on the house of Slytherin. Only a few copies still exist."
It was apparent what Riddle was hoping to find in there.
"Why ask me? Abraxas' family might have a copy as well."
"Because I want to trust you"- a tentative smile danced over his perfectly shaped lips, "-and I know you're smart enough not to disappoint me again." His melodic voice washed over her like soft velvet, his calm face not giving away anything.
Hermione caught herself falling right into the boy's trap, his honeyed words feeding her ego just where they both knew would be the most effective. Merlin, this boy is good. She tried to read Riddle's blank expression. Very good. "I will contact my father."
Riddle gave her an approving nod before thankfully stepping away from her. "I gave this friendship another chance, don't make me regret it."
She felt her face grow hot under his intense stare and tried to quench her guilt as she silently watched him leave. How am I supposed to stand up to that? Sighing, she collected her whirling thoughts before returning to her room as well...
December 1939
Yule was fast approaching, and for the first time, Hermione didn't feel dread pooling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of returning home. Figuring it was because she was finally getting used to the idea of having to stay in this time for good. It was also the first time she was allowed to visit her friends for a few days, and she couldn't wait to meet her future teacher's brothers finally.
"So, you're really allowed to spend some time away from home?" Minerva asked.
"Yes! I'd love to visit you. It's not that far from my house either."
She and Minerva sat at the dining table in the great hall, enjoying some pudding and admiring the soft snowflakes raining from the enchanted ceiling. It felt magical. The beautifully decorated trees and sparkling tablecloths only added to the festive spirit.
"My mum will be so excited. I told her everything about you. She hasn't met another witch in ages!"
Hermione smiled happily at her friend's words, feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. "I get it. I've never had an older witch around while growing up." That was technically not even a lie.
"You'll love her. She makes the best mince pie in the whole world."
"I look forward to it!"...
"Father asked me to invite you to spend Yule with us. I'll be at Minnie's, but he'd be happy to have you over the holidays." Hermione told Riddle the following afternoon.
She knew her fath-Rodolphus since when am I calling that man my father? He would want his future Lord within arm's reach, and this time she wouldn't even have to play host. A win-win in her books.
"Why? We're not that close." Tom asked suspiciously as if he was reading her thoughts.
Wasn't he a powerful legilimens? Shuddering at the idea of Riddle going through her mind, she rubbed her arms. To convince the boy, Hermione decided to go with what Evan had once come up with. "I told him about your abilities when I asked for that book you wanted."
"So, he sees me as an asset?" Tom sneered, but Hermione knew it probably wasn't because he felt insulted by that notion.
"I guess. Look, if you don't want to come, I can tell him that"- before Hermione could finish her sentence, Riddle interrupted her.
"-Of course, I'll visit. Why would I willingly stay at that dreadful orphanage if your family so kindly invited me over the holidays?"
Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if Dumbledore knew Riddle wasn't staying in the muggle world. Can he forbid him from leaving as he did with Harry?
"All right, we'll pick you up on the twenty-fifth. See you later!"
Before he could say anything else, Hermione hurriedly grabbed her bags and went down to the carriages, wondering not for the first time how this has become her life...
"Welcome home, Missy. Winny has already made everything pretty for Missy again."
Tired from the long journey, Hermione gratefully nodded to her house-elf as she stepped into her tidy room. Immediately, the familiar scent of fresh linen and burning logs washed over her. Against the girl's better judgement, she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
It feels good to be home again. The thought caught Hermione entirely off guard. Where did this come from? She looked around herself. This is not my home.
"The master has ordered Winny to make sure Missy is ready for dinner."
Hermione nodded absentmindedly at the elf's words, still contemplating her peculiar sentiment.
"Missy will need to take a bath quickly. Dinner will be served momentarily."
After Hermione still didn't pay attention to her elf's words, she suddenly felt her body being lifted from the floor.
"Winny!" Surprised, she turned around herself as she was levitated into the bathroom.
"Winny is very sorry, but Missy wasn't listening."
Finding the whole situation quite hilarious, Hermione giggled at her current predicament, easing her elf's worries significantly.
After she was bathed and dressed again, the young witch went to the dining room, praying that Rabastan had returned.
"Hermione, there you are. Sit down. You're already ten minutes late."
Hermione flinched at her father's timbre voice.
"Did our Lord accept my invitation? It would be an honour to have him stay with us again."
Hermione inclined her head. She filled her plate with mashed potatoes before digging into her food, famished from the long journey home.
"Excellent, you did well," he spoke. "We will have to prepare his room."
His room. Hermione mouthed silently. She couldn't believe the future dark lord had his own domain in her house.
"You may take Winny to Diagon Alley and buy yourself something." Rodolphus interrupted her musings.
Taken aback by his generosity Hermione finally looked up to the man she resembled so much now. He looked healthier. He was still too pale, but his dark curls were styled neatly on top of his head, and his face was freshly shaved, giving him a, dare she say, youthful appearance overall.
Feeling a little weirded out by the man's expectant gaze, she quietly sipped her drink. "Thank you? But why-?" Hermione paused for a second, unsure what she wanted to ask.
"Why do we never do something together? I'd like it if you came to the shops with me."
Hermione sputtered at her unexpected confession.
Rodolphus didn't look nearly as surprised as Hermione felt, and she wondered if she was finally losing it.
"I'm a busy man Hermione. Ask your uncle."
A wave of disappointment washed over her. This is madness. Why am I feeling like this? She took another big gulp of her drink, hoping to clear her mind. But instead, she was struck with even more conflicting thoughts and feelings towards the man in front of her.
"It's just that all my friends are close with their families. I'm lonely." Tears were burning behind her eyes.
Hermione gripped her silver cutlery harder.
Her father took a deep breath. "Lestranges don't cry. Pull yourself together."
She sniffed once before pulling her shoulders back. He's right; I shouldn't- wait- this is not-
"Eat up, my dear. Tomorrow, I'll teach you a new spell as a reward for your efforts."
Her father's warm words ensnared her mind even further.
Still bewildered by her own train of thought, Hermione finished her dinner and emptied her glass.
After erasing her parents' memories during the war, she would've never thought that anyone would ever call her their daughter again.
A moment passed. Her thoughts were in disarray. Before she could put the pieces back together, her mind drew a blank. What was she doing? She had a new family now. A better one.
"I- I'll retire to my rooms now," she stood, tightly gripping the wooden table. "Have a good night, father."
Her head was pounding, a maelstrom of emotions threatening to overwhelm her, but the familiar warmth of her father's affection kept her grounded.
She didn't notice the calculating gleam in his eyes or the silver dust at the bottom of her glass. No, all that Hermione saw was the approving nod of her father...
Tnx for the lovely reviews and follows again. xoxo
