authorsnotes: enjoy

I'm getting back into writing tomione and loving it

do review

songrecs: creepin - metro boomin, the weeknd, 21 savage (my current angst song)

'One must work with time and not against it'

- Ursula K.L Guin

-x-

She could feel him watching her.

As they walked to Potions class (which she realised of course they'd share, being in the same house and all), she could feel his eyes on her, watching, surveying, evaluating, and she felt a shiver down her spine at the thought.

She wasn't the best liar, evidently, and the thought of having to keep up a string of lies to Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, beyond what she'd already tried felt daunting to say the least.

And yet, he already knew too much, even with their mutually assured destruction he knew too much, but anymore? She couldn't tell him the real truth, nor did she want to; making Lord Voldemort aware that time travel existed?

She almost shuddered, she couldn't think of anything worse.

No, if she was stuck here, she would use the time to stop him, to give Harry the childhood he had been robbed of, to stop the needless deaths of the first Wizarding War and those that had followed, she would stop the monster before he even became one (though she knew he was part of the way there), she wouldn't make him stronger!

"Cat got your tongue?" He asked, with a cheeky grin, and it was so strange. She had never seen Voldemort like this, but she supposed she had to acknowledge in her head that Riddle wasn't Voldemort.

Not yet.

She had to accept that, sure, he was still a sociopath, still had to be stopped, but she wasn't dealing with evil incarnate here, just a boy who wanted power and was planning his ways to get it.

He could be stopped, he was Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort, not yet, and that did make her feel a touch better, her shoulders soften even, this wasn't an impossible task, perhaps she wouldn't even have to kill him.

She glanced at him then, saw the darkness in his gaze … hmm, perhaps not.

"I don't know what I have to talk to you about" She said, because it was true, what was there to discuss with a psychopathic Slytherin who she might eventually one day have to kill? That hardly made for idle conversation, and so she shrugged, "I can't imagine we have much in common"

"Oh I disagree" He said with a cheeky grin and that was disconcerting. She hadn't seen much of Voldemort in the future, that had been Harry's interactions not hers, but she had seen him once or twice in memories, he'd been described to her.

And it was nothing like this.

No Tom Riddle was charming, handsome, clever; her downfall, and she wouldn't get sucked into his charms, she was no fool, far too abrasive to attract charming men naturally she knew it was an act, a front to know more about her, for clearly she was a curiosity to him.

The very opposite of what she'd been going for.

"You don't know me" She shot back, for he didn't, she didn't know him either.

Nor wanted to.

Sure… part of her was intrigued, by his magical ability, the cleverness she knew he possessed but that was a dangerous path, and she was already in a dangerous place.

But then that was her life wasn't it? Running headfirst into danger with Harry and Ron, only here she was alone, here she was without help, and here she was facing down a very dangerous man on the cusp of becoming something worse.

Something she would have to stop.

For the moment she didn't entertain 'turning him away' from said path, only knew she'd have to stop him, probably kill him, not an easy choice but one she'd make for a Voldemort-free future, for Harry and everyone else who'd been caught up in his tyranny.

"No, but I'd like to" He threw back, verbally sparring with her as few did, most gave up at her prickly demeanour, or when it came to intellectual arguments threw in the towel, knowing she'd win, "Is that so wrong?"

"You'd like to because you want to know about my past" She said, of course that was the case, he wasn't interested in her as a person but what she was lying about.

"Yes" She was struck by that; honesty, why was he being honest? Perhaps he sensed she wouldn't believe his lies, "But I'd like to get to know you too, you're brave, clever, I can feel the magic fizzing across your skin, that intrigues me"

"You can't feel magic" She said with no small amount of snark.

"Tsk tsk" He responded, shaking his head they reached the door to the dungeons, and he held it open for her (to which she rolled her eyes, she'd only been back a few days in the 40's, she already disliked the gender roles), "Sounds like you aren't that intune with your magic, or others"

"Why because I'm muggleborn?" She hissed under her tone as they stepped inside, a few other students already present, Hermione recognised Slughorn at the front of the classroom, other than his hair having more brown than grey he looked remarkably the same.

She should have expected the prejudice, but it still stung.

"No" He said, and again he seemed honest, scoffed even and her eyes widened, in disbelief, "Because you've closed your eyes to it" He paused then, continued as he once again slid into the seat next to her, she didn't bother to protest, knowing it would make no difference, "Most purebloods do, so used to magic they forget to ask questions, and so do muggleborns, never taught the questions to ask"

"And what questions are those?" Damn her curiosity, her thirst for knowledge, damn him. Damn intriguing, handsome, clever Tom Riddle who she hated, but damn it, intrigued her too.

"Why should I tell you?" He teased then, and if she were better at picking up on it she'd realise he was flirting with her, alas Hermione had hardly any romantic experience and just steamrolled on, to his amusement no doubt, as her brow furrowed.

"Why bring it up if you won't?" She asked, head cocking to the side a little.

"I will" He said, and she realised again he was telling the truth, was he just not lying to her? Or was he always this honest, never feeling the need to cover up? No, that couldn't be right, he hadn't become near one of the most powerful men in Wizarding Britain by explaining his intentions to the masses.

So, he was just being honest with her; why?

Intriguing.

"I'm happy to debate magical theory with you anytime Hermione" He said, her name rolling off his tongue to which she shivered and then glared to compensate, though his smirk clearly betrayed he knew, "If you can keep up, meet me in the library later"

"No" She shot back, as a reflex, as much as she wanted to, damn herself.

"No, you can't keep up?" He asked innocently, "Unsurprising, but disappointing"

He was riling her up, she knew it, the way he had his pen in hand, flicking it back and forth, the way he smirked, eyes sparking with mischief, the dark gaze somehow light as he teased. She should ignore him, not give him any ammunition for his mocking, but instead (in a very Hermione-ish way), she bristled, as she always did when questioned.

Bristled and then did something very foolish.

"I'll be at the library after dinner" She said, stubborn, foolish, but intrigued, "In the back near the old tomes"

"It's a date" He replied with pure cheek, and laughed as she turned away, her cheeks a little pink with anger.

There went her lay low plan, but perhaps she could justify it as studying the enemy.

Yes, that was all she was doing, gathering intelligence, knowing her mission she needed to ensure she knew everything about him, that was all. It wasn't her curiosity about debating with someone as smart as her (maybe smarter, though she'd never admit it), no, no.

No.

Damn it.

The rest of the day went far too quickly.

It felt like in the blink of an eye she was sat down for dinner, lessons had whirled past, Tom had found a way to sit next to her in all of them, they didn't speak much, but she begrudgingly admitted he was as brilliant (if not a little more), than her in lessons. He didn't thrust his hand in the air as she did but when called upon, he always knew the answer, and she'd snuck a peak over at the essays handed back to him and he'd received nothing less than an 'O'.

"Trying to proofread?" He's teased when he'd caught her glancing at his Transfiguration essay, "Or do you just need some tips?"

She'd gone pink and stuck her tongue out at him, getting some satisfaction at the genuine flash of shock on his face before he'd laughed.

She'd internally scolded herself; 1940's girls didn't stick their tongues out, or glare, the few she saw walking around had longer skirts than her (which shocked her, she'd always been seen as prudish in her time, but after resizing hers had been shorter than every other girl she'd seen), kept their heads down and barely spoke to the boys.

And so, at dinner, as she sat and Tom of course sat next to her, and his friends dropped into seats around her, she got more than one odd look.

She tried to ignore them, and her tablemates.

"So, Hermione" Abraxas spoke first, and as much as she knew Tom's accent was a touch faked (and she found herself curious what he really sounded like; dangerous, to be curious about anything to do with Tom Riddle that didn't involve killing him), Abraxas's may be real but was ridiculously upper crust "How was your first day?"

"Fine thank you" She said, politely, she didn't hate the people around her after all, just hated what they all stood for, what they'd all do, and though she couldn't hold the future against them (couldn't she?), she knew they'd never see eye to eye.

Though it was more than just disagreeing, it was them believing people like her should be wiped out.

A touch more serious.

"How was having Tom as a partner?" Mulciber asked her, blue eyes flashing with mirth, it was odd to see these Death Eaters; men she'd never interacted with, before her time, seem so human, so real. It was strange that here they were just schoolboys, dangerous yes, but not the full out psychopaths they'd become.

Yet.

"Fine" She said again, should have left it there, couldn't resist, "It's nice to have someone who can keep up with me" She couldn't help it, getting back at his comments as she'd looked at his essay mark.

And she knew then, as the boys around her erupted with laughter, and Tom looked first shocked and then smirked, yes, these men were far from what they'd become.

But maybe not far enough.

Was she judging too soon? She'd have to see for herself.

It was silly really, but as soon as she thought that thought, that these boys could be human, not tipped over the edge yet, looking into the void but not diving in, did she suddenly feel dirty, traitorous.

The same feeling when she'd acknowledged Tom, Riddle was attractive, and brilliant.

It didn't mean anything of course, she hardly intended to be friends with any of them, she needed to shake Tom off as soon as possible, lest he dig deeper into her past, but it was hard to consider, her mind torn in two.

But then, when had 40 years of time travel ever been easy?

"Ouch Tom" Fort Lestrange said, grinning as he drank his pumpkin juice, "Did you manage to keep up?"

"Shut up Fort" Tom retorted, and again it was so strange not to see the monster he'd become.

Would become, she reminded herself, nothing she could do to change that, could only stop him.

Or try to.

"Well, I'm going to bed" She said abruptly then, her head far too confused and full to remain at dinner. It was early but she had a room to herself in her dorm and wanted to curl up alone, sort through her thoughts, and be alone.

Alone and away from Tom Riddle, who was way, way too confusing.

"Bit early" One of the boys commented and she shrugged and gathered up her things.

"Its been a long day" Was all she offered, "And I have the luxury of my own room to chill out in" She said.

Scolded herself again at the confused looks at the word 'chill', dammit! She had to be watch herself with any slang, and maybe lengthen her skirt, and never stick her tongue out at Tom Riddle again.

Even as tempting as it no doubt would be.

"Aren't we supposed to have a date?" Tom asked, casually, and she knew he'd made a mistake there, people in the Wizarding World didn't casually date, she knew that, especially not in this time, and her gaze flashed, further proof he hadn't been born into this.

Not that she held it against him, but she knew he did against her, fucking hypocrite.

No way, was she meeting him as planned, not as a flash of anger danced under her skin. He wasn't Lord Voldemort yet, but he would surely make it there.

"Changed my mind" She said with a shrug, as though it didn't matter, and yet as his gaze hardened she felt weird satisfaction at riling him up, "Ask me nicely next time" She'd dropped her tone at that, so only he could hear, she wasn't so stupid to mock him in public.

"I'm not nice" He whispered back, and she felt a shiver then, but covered it with a toss of her hair, or tried to anyway, her curls would never give a model-esque toss, but even the flinging of ringlets hopefully covered her reaction.

"I am" She said back, for she was a little tongue-tied.

"No you're not" He shot back in an instance and her eyes widened, no one had ever said that to her before, and she wanted to protest, and yet he cut her off before she could, "Don't worry" He murmured again, his friends caught up in their own conversation now, she could barely catch his words, "I prefer it"

"I'm nice" She said, insisted but there was less oomph to her voice as she did a mental tally in her head; Rita Skeeter, Marietta Edgecomb, Umbridge. Hmm.

"I'll walk you" Tom said then, louder, she wasn't sure why'd dropped the date idea, even felt a tang of disappointment she refused to acknowledge, but even at this offer she shook her head, shot up and was over the bench (stumbling) before he could stand.

Though he did shoot a hand out and balance her then, to which her cheeks flamed, what the hell was that reaction? He saw it as he smirked, and she glared again, managed to resist sticking her tongue out. Just.

"Seems like you need the help" He taunted, and of course his friends laughed tuned back in, even though it most certainly wasn't funny.

"If I did I wouldn't ask you" She said in her best bitchy tone she could handle, and the whistle from Fort, raised eyebrows from Abraxas and surprising grin of appreciation from Tom made her smile before she turned away.

She liked that, getting a reaction from him, like poking a bear, stupid, but with an odd rush of adrenaline too it. Fool.

But even she had limits and hurried away, hurried away, and didn't loom back as she ran to her dorm room, but she could feel Tom's eyes on her as she left.

Could feel them all the way back to her room, right until she locked the door, sank to the floor, and shivered.

This was too much, too much to handle, too much to process.

She had never felt more alone, never felt more uneased, never felt so unsure of what to do.

She had no one to confide in her, no one she could tell the truth, no one who could help her.

She was alone.

Alone as she ran herself a bath, sunk under the water, stayed there, the water turning cold, bubbles rising from her lips as her lungs fought for air, a gasp as she emerged, trembling, and unsettled.

Alone, as she sunk into the plush sheets, curled them around her, wand under her pillow and tucked herself in. No friends, no family, not even her dear Crooks to keep her company. Alone.

She had no one, no one but Tom fucking Riddle, Lord Voldemort to speak to.

But he wasn't Lord Voldemort yet.

And there was the problem on her mind as she finally found sleep and dreamt of dark eyes and an imperfect accent.

damnnnnn

poor bby hermione so confused

we've set the groundwork expect the pace (and the angst) to pick up

follow/fav etc