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Slytherins are an exceptionally quiet species. 


Soft and dangerous, like the calm before a storm, like the short silence between thunder and lightning, like snakes slithering under the moonlight.


Yet, he wakes up to loud, childish shouts - and for a second, he's scared that he's back at the Orphanage - and all this was just a really complicated dream. He's on his side, turned away from the others in the dormitory - though its so dark in the dungeons, he probably wouldn't be able to see anything even if he was looking at them.


" Holy fuck  - what the  fuck - get off  - "


That's unmistakably Abraxas, a person raised by an  extremely  pureblooded couple who would easily disown him for the crass insults he's shouting out right now.


"Abraxas - what is  wrong  with you -  stop  yelling - "


That's Lestrange. His voice is sleepy and hoarse - and really irritable. His bed is right next to Malfoy, so he's probably feeling the main impact of Abraxas's volume.


" Christ  - how did you -  fucking hell - "


Tom debates silently on whether he wants to tell Abraxas that he's also awake, and watch him squirm and shut up - or just let it all unfold in front of him. Although, if Abraxas is making such a fuss over a  spider or some such -


There's a loud thud and two simultaneous yelps, which make Tom get up immediately. There was something wrong about the -


" -  oh my god , I am so,  so sorry  - I did  not  mean to do this - I didn't - "


He freezes for a second and then kicks his covers off, grabbing his wand without even realizing it.


That voice.


That voice doesn't belong here.


In the Slytherin Boys Dorm.


Boys .


That voice - is a  girl's  voice. Moreover, its not any that he recognizes. Its also too late for her to be here even if she was with Abraxas - or any of the others in the dormitory - but it doesn't sound like she meant to be here, either - what with all her harried apologies.


" - I just, I  wasn't trying  to -  Merlin, Lumos ! - "


Tom blinks in the sudden light, and takes the sight in front of him.


Abraxas is shirtless, and looking indignantly incredulous, his blonde hair lifting in tufts - standing on the edge of his bed - as if to get away from something.


And, near the bed, crouching - now, standing - she must have fallen off - is a girl. Who is definitely not in Hogwarts, Tom would know. She's holding her wand in her hand, giving a steady beam of light, wearing honest-to-goodness night suit pyjamas and around her neck is -


Bloody hell.


Around her neck is, is that  really a -


Her eyes widen as she looks at him, and he can clearly see the  recognition  and shock in them, and a little fear - which is intriguing - as she stands up straight and steps in his direction, her gaze calculating and lips parted like she can't believe what just happened. 


Her hair are brown, and curly - open in a frizzy flow around her - and she blinks multiple times, her eyes brown and disbelieving.


" Fuck ," she whispers decidedly, as he lights his wand with a wordless  Lumos .


"What's wrong, Tom?" Corvus Lestrange says, yawning and squeezing his eyes shut as the girl spins around - pointing the bright light straight at his face. "Did she just -  what  - Malfoy, did she just  fall in your bed?"


"I - I didn't - I don't know where she came from, or when she came - she just sort of  appeared  - " Malfoy says, his voice high pitched and nervous - staring apologetically at Tom.


There's a shuffling sound from the other end of the dormitory as Orion says, "Are  any  girls safe from your  idiocy , Abraxas?"


"Yes, a lot of them. Like my  cousins ," Abraxas quips right back, snidely, and somebody snorts - possibly Alphard Black - his voice muffled like he's under covers. "Besides, this was not my fault. At all."


"I - I'm  really  sorry, I've had a kind of portkey issue - " the girl begins, her voice carefully controlled - as Tom smirks at her.


" Really ?" he says, pointedly raising an eyebrow at the offending object around her neck. "Wouldn't you rather say you've had issues with  time?"


There's a long pause, as the girl's eyes widen and she looks down at the exposed chain of the Time Turner. She mutters a curse, before sighing and saying, "So, what year is it?"


"What year did  you  come from?" he asks back, as Abraxas jumps off his bed, looking at the girl with furrowed brows and shocked eyes.


"Its either '43 or '44," she mumbles, narrowing her eyes at him - which makes him reassess her intelligence and what kind of information she has. Her eyes wander down to the ring on his left hand - and something knowing flashes in her eyes, which unsettles him.

"I would say - " she wordlessly expands her Lumos and looks at Tom's bedside table, which has a Prefect's badge and a tie kept on it, "1943 - because otherwise you wouldn't be in the dormitory with the others. And neither would you have a  Prefect's  badge."


Corvus and Orion have both gotten up and are now gaping at the girl, right along with Abraxas - whose eyebrows have risen up and disappeared behind a blonde fringe.


She's also just heavily implied that Tom would be Head Boy next year - or he would be expelled - and Tom can feel the rapid curiosity rising in him -  who is this girl?

She doesn't seem stupid, though, so maybe bright and charming is not the way to go about with her. Neither is outright hostility. Politely wary should do it.


Maybe even pleasant.


"Would you like to be escorted to Professor Dippet?" he asks, and her eyebrows rise up, expression amusedly surprised, like she hadn't expected him to say that at all. "He's the - er - "

" - Headmaster of Hogwarts," she says, nodding - and Tom resists the urge to read her mind, simply out of apprehension that she's an Occlumens, she looks the type. "No. I don't think - no. Can you - er - can you just show me out from Slytherin?"


That's not to say she waits for him, instead she spots the door immediately and walks out, leaving them staring after her for a second - before Tom gets his bearings, and runs after her.


How is she so  calm ? Does this happen to her often?


Corvus and Abraxas follow, slipping on footwear - and he can sense Alphard sitting up and Orion grumbling about Quidditch practice in the morning. Nott is, predictably, still sleeping.

The brown haired witch walks straight out of the dormitory, and into the common room - after a second of deliberation, she's spotted the entrance and she walks out, the portrait swinging behind her.


Something in Tom protests instantly and vehemently - he cannot just let her go like that - she could be so useful, with information from the future - and so, he runs out after her - striding out of the corridor.

She's almost in the Great Hall when he catches up with her. She's quite fast, he concedes, as she hurries up - walking out to the grounds - most probably, frustratedly fiddling with the Time Turner, like it isn't working anymore.


Tom hopes it doesn't.


And suddenly, as he watches - she falls back, like she's bumped into a something - even though it's just thin air, and Tom watches, confused as she gets up from the floor and grapples around.

She suddenly grabs at something in the space and makes a yanking gesture -  oh, Merlin,  she was shedding off a cloak - and Fleamont  Potter  stands there, hands raised placatingly, looking bewildered.


She huffs angrily and hands it back to him easily - is that an actual  Invisibility Cloak?  - and starts rushing out again, ignoring Potter's protests and questions behind her.

He's feeling increasingly amused by the time the girl runs outside, and removes the golden chain from her neck in one irritated motion - sitting down under an arch and fidgeting with it - her face pinched up in concentration.


Tom looks at her, as Abraxas and Corvus catch up to him - and there's almost nothing else to do.


He points his wand towards her slightly - before whispering, " Accio Time Turner. "

Its almost pathetically funny how easily the object just zooms out of her hands and to him - as he catches it with nimble fingers and pockets it instantly.


If looks could kill, Tom would probably be on  Horcrux number 2  right now.






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The girl is frankly immensely intriguing. 


And that's after seeing her in bed with another, no innuendoes intended. She had, after all, jumped Abraxas, literally and figuratively, in his sleep.


That had certainly been a novel experience.


Abraxas and Corvus are standing just a little way behind Tom, who has an amused smile on his face, around three yards away from the girl who obviously does not see  any humor  in the situation and looks like she wants to  peel his skin off.


Tom would know. He's quite used to that particular expression.


She clenches her jaw as she stands, her gaze sweeping across the three of them, as if calculating her chances in a duel.


Tom bites back a smile.


"This isn't a game, Riddle," she says, her voice firm and low, and Tom  hasn't told her his name, has he?


"Who said I'm  playing?"  he replies mildly - smirk audible in his tone.


Tom doesn't know what he expects the girl to do - but whipping out her wand and wordlessly stunning Corvus and Abraxas in one breath is not one of them. He spares half a glance to both his sides, and true to form - they're both out.


This just became  even better.


The girl's fast, there's no doubt about it. Her spells are powerful, her technique is perfect, her stance defensive and offensive in the same beat, as her magic swirls around her.


Wild, and  electrifying , and free.


Walburga would have a heart attack if she saw a girl like this,  Tom thinks nonsensically as he sends up a distracted silencing ward. This girl's otherwise going to wake up the whole damn school.


She barely speaks, most of her spells are non-verbal, but she's tiring out fast.  It isn't her magic tiring out,  if Tom had to guess, he would say that she was already injured when she jumped through time, and possibly space. 

If she's this good when she isn't at her best, then just how powerful is she?  Tom can feel the excitement ringing through him, thrumming along with an adrenaline burst that he hasn't felt since so long because nothing feels like a challenge anymore.


"You're  quite  good, you know?" he says, conversationally, sending a Body Bind, wondering how long would she keep her focus if he keeps that up.


"I'm  aware ," she replies, panting and twisting around and blasting half the column near him - and making it fall straight on him.


Does she want to kill him?  Possibly. Her face has an impressive amount of murderous rage spelled on it. He can admire that.


"I'm needed somewhere," she says, breathlessly. "I need to go - give it  back  to me -  fucking Accio - Accerso! - "


Tom blocks both the summoning spells, ducking the white lights and sending a yellow stream right back.


"And where  is  this somewhere?" he asks, gleeful inside, she knows she's losing their impromptu duel or she would never have said that. He tightens his hold on the Time Turner. It really is amazing that she can keep up with Tom, even though he's using only one hand. "Speaking of which,  what  is your name?"

"Nice try," she huffs, in an unimpressed tone, slashing her wand downwards, and mouthing a spell he has never seen before, or read about.


The slashing spell - or whatever it is, hurtls right through Tom's shield, cutting through it like butter - and he feels pain exploding across his chest, like fire -  fire -  he was literally burning - the girl sends another one, blasting the shield completely, and Tom feels himself releasing the Time Turner to balance himself with his uninjured hand -


Through his blurred vision, he sees the girl smirk , her eyes surprised but  smug .


Tom sees red .


Yelling in frustration and dropping his wand - he brings one of his hands onto his chest, even as the blood gushes out in  thick  rivulets through his fingers - holds up the chain with another - and brings it down on the hard marble floor -  smashing the dial  and the golden spinning glass.


Her smirk falls in an instant, as she runs towards him, her expression shocked, she hadn't imagined he would do this, reaching out for the broken Time Turner - her hands cutting on the glass shards as she curses, loudly and colorfully.


" You fucking snake - "


Tom remembers the laughter, was that  him? Or her? -  and then, nothing more.

 




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When Fleamont Potter returns from his night stroll, two butterbeers in hand, he's more than a little shocked.


Is that Riddle?  he thinks, in a half hysterical panic as he keeps the bottles on the corner and runs to him, eyes wide, there is so much blood, Merlin -  who had done this?  - and more importantly,  how?  - he tries picking him up, but it seems like Riddle is losing  gallons every second -


He levitates him to the Hospital Wing, yelling for Madam Tabitha, who appears quickly, angry at the late night call, till she sees Riddle's state.


"Dear  Merlin ," she exclaims, loudly - her hand on her heart. " Christ  - Mr. Potter, go fetch Miriam and Poppy, and inform Mr. Slughorn right after - this  poor boy  - "


He runs straight to Ravenclaw Tower, waking up Poppy Pomphrey and Miriam Helbert - both seventh years and apprentices to Madam Tabitha, and then to Professor Slughorn - still seeing the dark, red colored blood -  wet - alive - and warm  - everytime he blinks.


Slughorn is - unsurprisingly, so distraught that he almost starts crying - and after sufficiently interrogating him on how this could have happened to his prize student, which Fleamont doesn't know at all, and calling Dippet and Dumbledore, herds him back to Gryffindor Tower with loads of, " Thank Merlin this boy was outside dorms after curfew!"


Fleamont doesn't even realise that he should have told the teachers about the unfamiliar witch he had run into, it might have some connection with whatever happened to Riddle - before he's in his bed, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.


Come morning, he doesn't remember  meeting her at all.







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" - and due to the current circumstances,  terrible times, these are,  she will be admitted to Sixth Year in Hogwarts," Dippet announces, shaking his head empathetically. "Please make her feel welcome - after all, we don't have many transfer students at Hogwarts!"


He chuckles awkwardly, and alone, as the whole student body stares at him blankly - before there's a hushing sound, and people begin whispering and pointing - everybody turning to the corridor that connected to the West Wing -


Tom enters the Great Hall late, his left arm in a sling, his chest bandaged up severely with balms and lotions, he had told Madam Tabitha that he would be back  right after breakfast -  as soon as he found out what had happened after he had broken the Time Turner -  did Abraxas and Corvus get him to the infirmary?  Did the girl help him? She wouldn't have, though, he objectively knows that, she seemed to hate him  too much  for that and she had clearly known what she was doing when she  sliced  him up in the middle of the night.


And most probably, left him bleeding to  his death.


Before he reaches his table though, he glances in the middle of the hall and his mouth falls open, is that really -  but how is that possible - she can't just waltz in here -  this isn't even her  fucking Time Period -


Apparently, she can. Tom blinks and shakes his head, glaring at the girl as subtly as he could - it wouldn't do for Dumbledore to see him right now, because if -  hypothetically , something - accidentally happened to her,  hypothetically  - then, Dumbledore would blame him immediately.


He can't even believe her audacity, her sheer fucking  guts  - as he sits down on the Slytherin Table, right in the centre like always - Abraxas on one side, Orion on another and Corvus and Antonius Nott in front of him -


"Are you alright, Tom?" Corvus asks, hesitantly, looking at his arm with a grimace. "How did this even happen?"


Is he being impertinent deliberately?  Why is he asking him that -


"Yeah, Tom, where did you go last night?" Abraxas asks, and Tom stared at him - there's nothing but sincerity on his face. "We came to the Hospital Wing in the morning to look when we couldn't find you anywhere. Tabitha wouldn't say what happened to you, neither did Slughorn, is it just your arm that's - "


Tom clears his throat, which was suddenly dry, like something sour is stuck there.


"Who exactly  found me  and took me to the infirmary?" he asks, delicately - voice carefully casual.


"Don't know," Orion tells him, buttering his toast and looking at Tom worriedly. "Wasn't any of the Slytherins, though. You weren't there in the morning when we went for Quidditch, so I asked around a little. Nobody knew anything about where you were."


He swallows nervously, his gaze swinging shrewdly from Abraxas to Corvus - there's no fucking way -  not possible -


" Slytherin!"


Tom watches as the time-travelled-and- certifiably-demonic  new girl makes her way to the table, in green and silver robes - a small innocent smile on her face - and sits down next to Lucretia and Walburga, and consequently - just diagonal to Tom.


She extends a hand for introduction - and his temper flares -  how dare she!  - that conniving  bint  - how dare she, this is his house - his people -  she can't just go around doing that -


"Hello," she says, pleasantly enough, as Abraxas takes her hand and shakes it gingerly, the way purebloods do when they can't do their whole bowing routine.


"Abraxas Malfoy," he introduces, nothing but polite disinterest on his face.


"Its a pleasure," she says, her smile widening, as she shakes hands with Orion and Alphard.


He thrusts his right hand forward, his teeth gritted and eyes narrow, "Tom Riddle."


" Hermione Granger,"  she says, her sly smile tilting - which would look flirtatious or shy to anyone else but Tom. "It's  absolutely  delightful to meet you."


That underhanded little  minx .


"Oh, the pleasure's all mine," he manages a tight smile.


She nods amicably and turns to her food.


"Did you transfer here just this morning?" he asks, trying to sound warm and welcoming, and not just coldly disbelieving, quirking an eyebrow.


"Yes, just an hour ago," she lies - so,  so easily  - looking back at him with feigned curiosity. "Is your arm okay? What happened to it?"


Tom doesn't scream and throttle her, but it's a near thing.

 




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Chapter Text

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Orion Black smiles tightly, and clenches his fist around the corner of the book he's reading - so as to not strangle himself, or curse anyone.


Particularly his cousin.


Walburga Black, his first cousin and the  most irritating  one of the lot, really, and now his apparent fiance is an  utter cow.


He hates her smirks, her silver fingernails and the way she traces them across his skin, the way she pretends they're in love and engaged, and not cousins as well, cousins who had eaten with each other, seen each other being punished,  had played together -



Like Orion doesn't already know every single one of her dirty little secrets. Is he supposed to be  seduced  by her touching or something?


Because, that would be awkward.


And wierd, because they've definitely slept in the same bed more than once during late nights in the mansion on Yule Balls and fought - she's always been a  screamer , and a  vicious  hair puller - and it's never meant anything.


How can it mean anything  now?


And if she could just talk to him, once, just so they could sort things out, like the fact that they're marrying to produce a heir and for their duty to the family, not out of any romantic interest. Just so they can set necessary boundaries, more for her, really because it wasn't as if Orion was  ever going to touch little cousin Wally. 


That would be, frankly  disgusting.


And  wrong .


He watches as Walburga says her piece and sashays out as she's prone to, leaving him to stop strangling the library book, Madam Graves is going to murder him - and bang his head on the table -


Once. Twice.  Thrice -


"Rough day?"


He straightens up immediately, a mortifying flush creeping up on his neck and face, and stares up at the concerned, but amusedly so - face of  Hermione Granger.


He groans mentally. Another problem.


Tom  hates  the girl. 

And Orion isn't stupid enough to go against Tom's wishes, unspoken or otherwise. 

Tom wouldn't ever lower himself by outright telling everyone to alienate somebody, it would be like  admitting defeat,  but this girl is probably a close call. He himself has no idea what she had done to offend the boy so horribly, but Orion could read his expression during breakfast, the hard jaw, cold eyes, which was strange. 

Because, Tom isn't somebody to ever wear his expressions on his face. And the fact that Orion could see them -


Well. It's certainly  nothing good.


He spares a thought to whether the girl is even a pureblood - and then, just to spite his mother, decides, he doesn't care. She's probably a half-blood, what with her mannerisms.


He shrugs non-committingly - a little voice in his head berating him for the  plebeian gesture,  it sounds suspiciously like his father.


"Something like that," he says, as she continues looking at him, in quite a weird way. "Settling in?"


Stupid question.


She shrugs, a mocking imitation of his own, before smiling wryly. "In the Library? Sure."


He cracks a small smile, and waits for her to move.


She's still  staring.


Orion resists the urge to pull a face. He refuses to fidget out of sheer spite, but she's making him uneasy,  surely, she realizes that?


" Oh ," she does, too little, too late. "I'm - er - I'm sorry, its just. You remind me a lot of someone I knew. You look just like him."


"Ex-lover?" he teases, halfheartedly.


"Parental figure," she scoffs, leaving Orion to wonder if he should be insulted - and pulls out a chair next to him. "Mind if I sit?"


He shakes his head - and they sit in companionable silence, reading, till the light dims outside, and till he forgets about his mother's weekly saturday letter about his marriage.







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Tom Riddle is  seething .



( - he hasn't felt this angry, this all encompassing rage - since he had been to Little Hangleton, and after that encounter, there had been three dead bodies and one which was insane-and-soon-to-be-in-Azkaban. Not that Tom knew anything about all that - )



He had had to go back to Madam Tabitha right after breakfast, and Tom isn't one to break clear instructions so indiscreetly - so he goes - and here he is now, sitting upright in bed, eating pudding with unnecessary aggression to wash out the taste of the disgusting potions he's taken.



( - all the while, mentally adding a space in his head for the victim of an extremely complex and brutal murder - )



Slughorn and Dippet have been by atleast thrice since the morning, even Dumbledore has been by once but Tom hasn't said anything yet. 

He isn't sure what's the point of his not snitching on the girl - but something tells him to keep it to himself at the moment. It isn't like there's a lot of proof. The hallway where they fought is all fixed up. She had obviously obliviated half the dorm yesterday, and possibly Potter - clean and neat, just as good as he had done with Morfin. She clearly had too many tricks up her sleeve. And Tom's not in a position to test the knowledge of a  fucking time traveller.


Time Traveller.


She really is one, isn't she?



( - he steadily ignores the fact that the biggest reason is that he wants to keep this to himself, his secret - he knows who she was, if only abstractly - )



Hermione Granger.


Something tells him that it's her real name.


Hermione .


Like in  Shakespeare . How ironic, considering the fact that she's as far from the protagonists in a romantic play, as Tom is from discovering  who the hell she really is.


He scowls at his pudding, scraping the spoon on its edges - it reminds him of Church on Wednesdays in the Orphanage,  he hates it - right now, frankly, he hates everything,  but that's besides the point. 


Nobody had ever challenged him like that, nobody had ever won against him in a duel. Even though she had probably lost more than him because he had broken her Time Turner, the point was - she knew a spell which wasn't anywhere in the Hogwarts Library, Tom would know -


Oh.  A spell from her time.  It must have not been invented yet. That certainly makes him feel a little better, he couldn't have known how dark it was or how to block it -


" Need some help?"


Tom does not jump. He  does not.


He startles, a  tiny  bit - and turns to look at the entrance where  Hermione fucking Granger is standing, and before he knows it, her wand is in his hand, and she's gaping at him and her now-empty hand.


"I didn't know you could do  wandless  magic yet," she says, stupidly - because everything about her is stupid - and because Tom doesn't miss the ' yet ' in her sentence. "If you curse me right now, I'll yell."


She would  yell . She would be dead before that, the  little -


"Well, that was rude," she says, as she waves her own hand, trying to undo the binding spell under her torso that Tom had shot unconsciously - and succeeding partly. "I came here to  help  you - "


"Did you, now?" he asks, biting back a smirk as she stumbles and trips out of the binds, hitting her head on the bed near her. "With what, exactly? I haven't  forgotten  anything," he adds, pointedly emphasizing the word.


She looks unrepentant.


"As if I was going to try obliviating  you ," she says, scoffing. "You would see through it in a second. Which would be  fairly  embarrassing."


Tom doesn't know what to say to that indirect compliment - so he just glares.


"I'm literally just here to help," she says, after a while, sighing and sitting down on the empty bed next to his, like they're fucking friends.  Tom Riddle doesn't have  friends. "Or do you  want  the scars?"


Obviously , he doesn't want  scars. 

They're all over his body, long and winding - silver and pink, with dittany.  But allowing her to come near him ever again?

He would rather put a burning stake through himself.


"Teach you this at Hogwarts, do they?" he asks, sneering, lowering his wand to a casual grip. "Dark Arts must have certainly improved since our time."

" You're  one to speak about the  Dark Arts, " she says, looking at his bandaged chest, looking uncomfortable and reluctant, like she isn't sure whether she really wants to help him or not - and why hasn't he just killed her yet, he wonders. "Its quite a new spell. I could heal it better than whatever Madam Po -  Tabitha's  done."


He doesn't miss that slip either.


"If you think I'm going to willingly let you raise a wand to me again - "


"Oh, for the love of -  I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear on my magic that I will not harm Tom Riddle -  today  -   unless its in defense, " she adds, hurriedly - as he quirks an eyebrow at her and hands her her wand back - the word ' today ' echoing in his ears - and glancing at Tabitha's door once, unwraps the upper half of his waist.


"What's this curse called?"


She looks at him with an amused smile, like she can't even believe he's asked her that, and expects her to answer it.


No, Tom decides, as she waves her wand in rhythmic elliptical rings - probing her mind very,  very  lightly - it isn't as important to discover who she is as it is to discover why she hates him so much, knows so much about him - and most of all,  what is her plan here?


"You broke the inner dial. Its the most important part of the Turner," she says breezily, like they're talking about the weather. "If you hadn't done that, I probably  would  have taken you to the wing before levitating Malfoy and Lestrange to the dorm."


He just pointedly stares at his scarred chest and broken arm, breaking her stupid Time Turner was nothing compared to this -


The scars are disappearing.


It's atleast ten more minutes before the scars have almost completely vanished, that she gets up, nodding at him, once - and starts to walk away. He grabs her wrist, noting with gleeful vindication that she hasn't come out of their duel without atleast a scratch, as she hisses in pain and jerks her wrist out.


" What's the catch? " he asks, his eyes not leaving hers. "Why did you heal the scars?"


"There is no catch," she says, shrugging - and Tom isn't an idiot, he can tell she's lying, but even he wants to see how this would turn out - and wincing as she hears the crack sound from her shoulder bone. "I told you its  not  a game, Riddle."


Once she's outside, Tom wonders for the hundredth time why he hasn't yet shot a  single lethal curse  at her. 


He has, after all, killed for  far lesser.







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Chapter Text

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Lyall Lupin is a Ravenclaw, and a true one at that.


He's quiet, curious and  alert . 

Something in him knows when to  listen , when to  search  for knowledge, information that he can use, and when Fleamont Potter comes running into the Ravenclaw Tower at three in the morning, and runs straight through the common room to the girl's dormitory, something in Lyall says  listen. 


Observe .

So, he does.


Potter knocks furiously, yelling for Miriam and Poppy, and herds them out of the door immediately. What's better is -  that he's half invisible when he enters, and when he's going out -  as Lyall watches from near the fireplace -  he's completely visible.


Fleamont Potter, the  genius  that he is - has left behind his literal, his actual,  honest to goodness - Invisibility Cloak  in the Ravenclaw Tower. He takes some time looking at it, testing it a little - his hands running over the lucid, transparent material - and then, finally, decides that he should return it.


He walks to the Gryffindor Tower, wrapped in it, partly because he wants to try it for himself once, it looks like a lot of fun, and partly because he might get caught otherwise. 

He's near the portrait, just about to shed off the cloak when a sudden noise makes him freeze.


Hermione Granger,  though he doesn't know that, at the moment,  walks out of the portrait, glances both ways, even as his breath stills - and then walks down the corridor, pocketing her wand.


He doesn't think too much of it,  maybe she's somebody he's somehow never seen in school,  some senior who seems too unfamiliar to him. He wakes up Potter, returns the cloak, as Potter  thanks him a million times  and tells him that he owes Lyall a drink at the pub in Hogsmeade.


Its the next day, when the girl, who Lyall saw slipping out of the Gryffindor common room at night,  suddenly  arrives as a transfer, and is sorted into  Slytherin .


Which desperately begs the question,  what was she doing in the castle the night before her supposed arrival?



Lyall is a Ravenclaw, and a true one at that, he  loves  a good mystery.



Hermione Granger is a mystery.

 




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Hermione Granger was probably  born  brillant.



Its definitely not a result of her brillance, that she's taken a long while to come to terms with a lot of things. 

She can now say that she's once scared the wits out of  Draco Malfoy's grandfather  in his own  bed . 

She can say that she's made small talk with Sirius's father and uncle, and that they're surprisingly nice.

She can say that she's duelled with Voldemort and actually won, atleast before the  bastard  smashed her Time Turner. 

She can also say that she's healed Voldemort once, even if it was for her own ulterior motives.



( - he has to trust her, she has to make him trust her - and knowing what she does about him, self righteous holier-than-thou attitude would not work here - )



Which is why, after all this, she's sitting in the dormitory, curtains of her four poster bed drawn and filled with wards to repel the ludicrously chatty girls outside - and resorting to a habit that she picked up when she was barely a toddler.


List Making.


Color coded, bookmarked, and exceedingly complex lists which include her tasks to do, her events to avoid, her incidents to prevent - she's alone and she needs to save the world.


Save the world.


What a Gryffindor concept, she thinks annoyedly, trying to channel her inner Slytherin. 

No, she doesn't need to save the world - she needs to stop the world from  inevitable Self Destruction.


And reform a Dark Lord or two, in the process.


It took her quite a while to convince Dumbledore and Dippet, spewing sob stories left and right, about how her parents and siblings were murdered by Grindelwald's forces, how she had run away at night and reached the edge of Hogwarts in the morning, with nothing but a wand and a beaded bag with a  slightly  illegal extendable charm on it.


It had been harder still to erase the memories of all the Slytherins and of  Harry's grandfather , she guesses, without spiralling into a black hole filled with the memories of that depressing last day with her own parents.


They had finally conceded - Dumbledore clearly not satisfied, even more so when she went to Slytherin and had made her take her OWL's for a skillset test. She hadn't told them that she had already completed her sixth grade and most of her seventh if they went by the actual time -  she needed to be with Voldemort.  In the same year, same house, whatever it took.


She doesn't have her results back yet, but she can only assume how advanced her answers were, how impressive her practicals were. She hadn't held back at all.  After all, she had to catch Riddle's attention.


What catches  her  attention  now , are the blue block letters on the top of her new list - based roughly on one question.


Is this Self Proclaimed Mission To Save The World - nay, To Aid Self Preservation - Doomed To Fail?


She saw the ring on his hand, and so she knows that he's already murdered  four people,  one accidentally, and three out of sheer rage and that he has two horcruxes already.


But she can also see that Tom Riddle is not Voldemort. 

There's a certain gravity to him - a field, a presence of his own - that Voldemort lacked. He was probably so insane and  lacking-of-soul  by then that he had lost what made him,  him .


Because Voldemort's first real act of violence had been  to kill Tom Riddle.


Hermione has never actually met the real Tom Riddle and she can only imagine how overwhelming his magical presence must be - but she can still tell why people initially started following the Dark Lord.


Its not just fear or some drive to cleanse the wizarding world, its more of an attraction to power.


Tom Riddle feels like a  hurricane  himself - lightning and thunder and  firestorms  - the air around him charged, the chinks in his armour non-existent. He looks to the world as simply  perfect . She's skeptical even as she thinks, jotting down,



Can Tom Riddle Really Change?



She spends the week thinking on this, exhausting all sources on time travel and alternate timelines and sneaking around to watch Riddle and she's frankly - shocked.



( - he's an enigma, and he probably thinks the same about her - even more so, in fact, because its her who's in the wrong place at the wrong time, not him - )






____________





 

Its Hermione's third day of  Watching Tom Riddle , yes, with capitals and the strange stalking that she's doing painfully reminds her of  Harry and Malfoy.  


She's also quite aware of the fact that he knows, abstractly atleast, of what she's doing and he hasn't stopped her yet. He probably thinks he's creating an illusion of goodness that she can't see through.



She doubts it when she tells herself that he isn't doing well.


She's right behind him, with as many  notice-me-nots and disillusionment charms  as she knows, as he's doing the last rounds, Slytherin sixth year prefects always get the after-curfew duties. 

She suspects that its because they're the harshest with punishments.


Tom walks down the hall with his usual effortless grace, almost like he's gliding, Hermione spares a thought to whether he's learnt to fly yet - and watches as he lifts his wand up with a brighter  Lumos -


And suddenly, out of nowhere  falls down.


Hermione feels a hysterical laugh crawling up her throat -  did Voldemort just trip?  - but then she realises that he's bumped into someone. She looks a little lower and locks eyes with a dark haired, thin little girl, who is currently staring at Tom with a mixture of fear and awe, her blue night dress rumpled and dull.


"I - I'm sorry - I didn't  mean to  - " she begins, and her voice is high and trembling and its an accent that Hermione recognizes instantly, with a strange tug -


"What are you doing out of bed?" Riddle asks, unsurprisingly cold and curt, and Hermione wonders distantly if its the first time some little firstie has walked into him.


To Hermione and Riddle's apparent and  absolute horror,  the girl bursts into tears.


"Hey - hey, I just asked a simple question, you're not in any trouble -  Salazar ," Riddle says, lowering his wand, his face twisted in - pity? It definitely looks like that. 


But it can't be, Hermione thinks, it must be disgust - or anger -


Its pity. Sympathy, maybe.


She gapes as Voldemort  actually  kneels down, and  puts his actual arm  around the actual tiny girl, albeit awkwardly and murmurs low reassurances.


Maybe Hermione's dreaming. Maybe Riddle caught her and is now making her  hallucinate  -


"You're okay," he says, low and firm, and Hermione can't think coherently anymore. "Its alright. You're not in  any trouble,  its completely fine - "


"I - I couldn't sleep - I have - cl - claustro - claustrophobia," she says, sniffling. "I  can't  sleep in the dungeons, I can't, I  can't  - "


Tom grimaces, as he realises that she's a Slytherin.


"Nobody is making you sleep anywhere," he says, still in that calm, firm voice. "But just because you can't sleep,  doesn't  give you the permission to traipse around the castle like this. Your prefects are there for a reason. You go to them, you come to  us , if you have any problem like that."


"I'm sorry, I - I - Margot told me that you wouldn't - " she broke off, flushing and swallowing. "That nobody would listen to a half -  half blood firstie  like me."


There's a tensed pause.


Hermione waits with bated breath, wondering if he's going to decide that its not worth it anymore, assign detention and move on.


"What's your name?" he asks, finally.


"Eileen," she says - and Hermione bites her tongue to stop herself from gasping,  of course, that accent, those eyes . "Eileen Prince."


That right there, this little girl,  she's Snape's mother.


"Sometimes, Eileen," Riddle whispers, taking her wand out of her pocket and making her hold it. "Sometimes, people truly  don't  listen. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you'll never face any sort of bias for your name or for who you are. But, you're a  Slytherin . Slytherins are  survivors . If people don't listen to you, you  make them listen."


She nods, hesitantly at first, and then, smiles a bit, vigorously bouncing her head.


"Every problem has a solution," he continues, and suddenly, he seems a better professor than any Hermione's ever had. "If you feel claustrophobic, the solution  isn't  running out."


Eileen looks appropriately ashamed.


"Overcome it," he says, simply. "Stay locked in a room till you really can't take it and keep doing it, again and  again, keep pushing yourself  - till you don't ever run out of air.  Because Slytherins, always win."


"Always," she agrees, and nods solemnly.


"So, let's make a deal, alright?" Riddle says, standing up and taking her hand, as he starts to walk them towards their common room. "I won't take any points, and not assign any detention - "


She smiles up at him gratefully.


" - if you try what I told you to," he says. "And every week, come to me and tell me how it's going for you. You have to live there -  for seven more years.  If you back away now, you'll never be able to handle it."


Eileen purses her lips thoughtfully, her eyes earnest.


"Are you upto the challenge, then?" he asks, his eyes narrowed at her, small smile on his face.


"Slytherins  always are ," she replies, eyes bright and determined.






____________

 




Hermione checks out a few more boxes and compulsively makes more lists, chewing on her nails,  Walburga wouldn't be pleased , she thinks, as she tastes  bitter nail polish.






____________

Chapter Text

___________





Hermione is  ready .


Its been almost a week since she started scoping out Riddle and after that little display with Eileen Prince,  she's sure. 

Absolutely sure, that Riddle can be changed. He needs a friend, a  mentor,  somebody who would encourage him in the right way - because from what Hermione can tell, nobody's ever done that before. 

He doesn't need another person to label him demon spawn or see through him like Dumbledore and then hate him.


Because he does.


Truly and completely. 


Dumbledore is so obvious in his  hatred  of Slytherins, the way he wasn't when she was in school in her time, he  never  awards them any points, barely ever calls on them for questions, his expression grim and wary everytime he so much as looks at them, he sickeningly reminds her of  Snape  and his treatment of  Gryffindors . 


Ironic, she thinks that Dumbledore reminds her of the man who once killed him.


She's been avoiding Riddle. It isn't very hard because its the  40's  and girls and boys generally remain a little segregated, even during classes and meals. 

He also spends quite a lot of time on his Prefect Duties because,  here  they have a lot more  privileges and responsibilities than they did in the 80's.


Her OWL's results are  impeccable . 

Straight eleven O's - which Dippet and Slughorn praise to the moon and back, and make  sexist comments  which she ignores as Dumbledore passes her a stern, suspicious glance. Slughorn claps Tom on the shoulders and tells him that they have the same OWL scores which, to Hermione's shock, he takes with a pleasant smile, even as Walburga and Lucretia look bewildered.


Mostly, though - Hermione is surprised by the normalcy of it all. No  baby Death Eater  has tried to kidnap her yet, Riddle hasn't asked much, has made no move at all,  or told anyone about who she is,  not to her knowledge atleast.


Maybe, Riddle is  testing  her. Letting her play this out. Calling her bluff.


Hermione  knows  its working.


The next Tuesday, they sit together for Potions. Its unwilling from both ends but Malfoy's been taken sick, and Lucretia has gone to meet him in the Wing. 

Hermione mentally tries to remember whether they were married in the future. She certainly doesn't  think  so.


"You can move to my table," Tom says graciously, waving his wand over his cauldron to shift it - as Slughorn talks about Tom's gentlemanly manner even though it isn't chivalrous in any  true sense . "My cauldron is in -  better shape. "


Hermione refuses to flush as she picks up her books,  obviously it is , hers is a school cauldron, because she hadn't had one in her bag when she came. She also doesn't have enough money that she can waste it on buying new cauldrons of all things.


She walks slowly, to the desk - and then hesitates before sitting down.  Is she really going to be brewing potions with Voldemort?


"I'm not going to bite, Ms  Granger ," he says, huffing and pointedly looking at the chair.


" But I might,"  she says, as she sits down - and Orion gives her a warning glance - quickly darting a look at Riddle and away. Riddle twitches a little, and Hermione counts that as victory.






___________

 





Walburga Black may be a lot of things, but she  isn't stupid.


She's often loud and arrogant, certainly the only daughter in the family who dares to talk back to their father - she's  entitled , and she acts according to her station, and she upholds the importance of blood purity and her family line as well as she can. She's  controlling and vicious  at the best of times and slow at the worst, slow to plot, slow to deceive - slow like an  insidious poison  - that enters and travels without a trace and  kills with pain .


She's a lot of things - but she's not stupid.


Which means, she  knows  that there's something different about Hermione Granger.


Maybe, its just how all half-bloods are, Walburga thinks, scrunching her nose in disgust - she has no previous experience with them.  But, no.  There's something tantalizingly different - something  bizarre  about Hermione Granger.


The way she holds herself isn't much different from Walburga's but hers is almost casual, something that hasn't been taught to her with a corset and a strap, rather, its something that comes from inside, it doesn't look uncomfortable or stiff, it looks natural. She's independent, her magic is  extraordinarily  powerful and Walburga is a prefect, Slughorn has told her all about Hermione Granger's  unbelievable OWL scores.


But she says things which make no sense sometimes, names of spells and potions and people that don't exist, that don't make sense. Her eyes immediately shut off as she slips, looking guilty, and Walburga wonders what all that  was about.


She looks appalled at the girdle that Lucretia wears somedays, like she's  never worn one.  

Her clothes are second-handed, her robes shabby, and Walburga prefers to ignore them, but her night clothes are clean and new and blue silk, a simple design she's never seen before.

She had screamed the first night when Hermione had started changing in the open in the girls dorm,  because what kind of a lady did that?  

She had just flushed, muttered something about being old-fashioned prudes - and gone towards the loo.

She has a strange habit of tying her hair up with little pieces of string and fabrics, which confuses Walburga to no end.


She stares at people - Walburga has caught her staring at the half-giant assistant of the gameskeeper, the one who got expelled the previous year. She stares at some particular junior years she doesn't know, at Orion, and Alphard, and Abraxas - and at Tom Riddle, though that's nothing new. For anyone.


She talks to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Slytherins - and she slips in and out of the dormitories whenever she likes and replies with a simple, " Library,"  when she's asked about it. Its disconcerting. 

And she isn't a great liar. Walburga should know. She had learnt  lying before she learnt to speak the truth.



But Walburga Black is not an idiot.



And she wants to see where this is going to go.

 




___________



 

Tom Riddle is not patient by  nature .


Tom is ambitious, quick,  someone who  removes thorns from his path without second thoughts,  someone who doesn't wait for good things to come, because he knows they won't. 


He stirs up things, pushes himself harder - he wins.


But Tom is willing to be to patient for this.


Its taken him a few days to come to terms with the enormity of the situation - Hermione Granger is a real,  actual time traveller.


She's smart and resourceful, which means that she isn't easy to manipulate. 

She's not somebody who will freely provide information and definitely not somebody from whom information can be forced out of.


There's only one solution.


He needs to gain her trust.


It's certainly a new experience for him,  Trust Building . 

He's better at fear, better at soft and subtle threats, better at bigger promises of war and purity than those of friendships. He's long since given up the notion that he could -  god forbid -  actually like somebody. 

He's never been granted that  right,  the privilege of taking someone for granted - the  assurance  that there's someone who is always going to be there for him.



 

( - "Slytherin isn't meant for filthy mudbloods like you, Riddle," the sixth year boy who is holding eleven year old Tom's hands behind his back, jeers. "You don't belong here, you freak!"

Tom doesn't belong anywhere, apparently.

Dumbledore had come to him with something that sounded like a rescue option - and he had treated it as such, somewhere where he could get away from the priests in the chapel - and the sickening sound that had come when Billy had stamped on his snake -

"Why you even here, you half breed?" the boy continues, as another kicks him in the stomach - Tom gasps painfully, blinks back tears - and one of them rips the book lying on his bedside. "Mudbloods can't do real magic, freak - you're never going to belong here - "

Something in him snaps, like always, and he knows that his eyes have become darker, an inhuman red - who is anybody to say that Tom doesn't belong here? - he does belong, its his house, his magic - he is special -

He's going to burn his way in, he decides savagely and there's a tug in his stomach - and all the boys are suddenly screaming -

Tom turns around to see melted flesh, and there's so much blood, fire dancing across the sixth year's palms, licking at his elbows as he lets go of Tom and screeches, screeches in terror -

Tom smiles and its all canines. - )


 


He senses her around him most of the time, she probably doesn't realise how sensitive he is to magical cores, to people's magical presence, and hers is  sharp , all angles and lines carving deep with fire and  grace  - he can sense her everywhere. 


Her absence is even more noticeable. There's a  power void,  an empty funnel where her magic should be.


He notes Hermione Granger's absence as he drops Eileen Prince back to her dormitory.


She's most certainly not there anymore,  he thinks as he bends down a little and says quietly, "That was  very  well done, Eileen."


"Wasn't it just?" the girl beams back and Tom surprisingly feels genuine pride,  Slytherins are doing well for themselves . "I can't believe she bought the claustrophobia story so easily."


Tom hopes she has.


"Thank you, Ms. Prince," he says, getting up. "I'll  certainly  remember your assistance."


Even if you won't , he adds mentally, looking at the girl's wide eyes, and taking out his wand.



" Obliviate."



Yes, Tom is willing to be patient for this.

 




____________

Chapter Text

_____________







"Please,"  Tom mutters.  Please.  His voice is choked and muffled, he can't breathe,  can't breathe,  and it's all too much and he doesn't know what he did wrong, it wasn't that bad surely to sneak in a snake, it was just a snake, he didn't even do anything, he  didn't mean to be so strange -

Please please please let me out, he's going to die, he's going to die, he doesn't want to -  He's screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed himself hoarse, and he can't believe this is actually happening, it's worse than any nightmare he can imagine and he can't  breathe at all oh god - 




His nails bleed as they scratch over and over on the rough plywood lid -



"Please,"  he whispers,  begs , begs, pleades -

There's nobody coming to get him. He's going to die like this, he's going to die begging Billy Stubbs to let him out of this,  this  - 

"I'm sorryI'msorry - I'm sorry - "  his fear is choking him, and he can't breathe - ' The lord doesn't save those like you, Riddle,'  Mrs. Cole says in his head, sneering and -


And Tom suddenly hears laughter.


They're  laughing.  They're laughing as they do this -


If he really  is  going to die, he isn't going to give Billy Stubbs the satisfaction. He takes a deep breath, though there's no air at all, he forces himself to inhale and swallow the sour-bitter taste on his tongue -

I'm not a freak,  he thinks.  I'm powerful. I'm better than them. I'm special. I can talk to animals. I can make things float. I can get out. I'M SPECIAL.

I'll get out if that's the last thing I do.


I WILL get out and I WILL kill Billy Stubbs. 


Tom screams, and the shallow earth shifts around him, bursting along with him, as he comes up, coughing and hacking, eyes red and wet and burning -

Billy Stubbs stares at him, looking dumbfounded. There's a whole circle of kids around him. Tom stands up shakily, taking huge gulps of air as he stumbles out on the grass, realizing how much his nails hurt as the fear dies down slightly.


"How,  how  did you - " Stubbs begins, looking at the Tom in alarm, his eyes wide as he sees Tom.

Still breathing. Tom is still alive.

He stares blankly at Stubbs, because nothing can express what he's feeling - 

He's so angry, so, so incredibly  furious -  he can almost  taste  the rage thrumming under his skin, can feel his eyes flash as he sees all of them, there are four of them, and Tom is going to  remember  them all - there's Amy Benson, there's Dennis Bishop, there's Eric Whalley, there's Johnny Baker -

He's going to make them  pay.

They're watching him, waiting to see what he'll do, but  no . Not right now, not when they expect it. Tom sweeps a dismissive glance at the group and Billy Stubbs moves first, tripping over his feet as he runs.


Tom sees them go, rubbing the small of his back, and casts a last look over his shoulder at the coffin that they had locked him in.


The  coffin  was supposed to be for Eric Whalley, who had been very close to death what with how ill he was, but he'd managed an almost miraculous recovery and the plywood coffin had been unused, empty -

He's never getting into a coffin again. Alive or dead. And for that, he has to -

He's never going to die.  Not like a weakling . Like his Mother did, taking the  easy  way out - 



He takes another deep breath. His neck hurts from when Billy and Eric forced him in the coffin.

Two months later, he pushes Eric Whalley off the west cliff. Whalley breaks both his arms, and he's so terrified of Tom, now, that he says he just fell over. Johnny Baker cries for a month when the blanket and the letters that his mother left for him get burnt in an accidental fire.  Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson scream in the cave he brings them to, and Tom smiles.


Billy Stubbs' rabbit is the first living thing Tom kills. And it feels  amazing.

The blood stains, and it's red and wet and funny on his fingers -

Tom sits on his bed as Billy's rabbit guides itself to the hangers, the noose tightens -


But suddenly, Tom is falling, and falling and falling, this is new, he's never felt this before, he's falling and he hears a tick like a clock, this wasn't supposed to happen, this didn't happen -


"This isn't a game, Riddle,"  the girl whispers. 

The scars litter his skin, and he grips but he still falls -

"I know who you are."


Tom's breathing fast, and heavy and scared, Malfoy screams in the dark -


"I know what you've done."


The dark stone ring lights up under the green light and Tom sits next to his father's cooling body, fist covering his mouth as he sobs,  ugly, wretched tears  that he's forced himself to forget -


"Merope's filthy spawn - "


The green light hits the Time Turner, and the smashed golden dial flashes before his eyes, and Tom wakes up, shaking all over.


It takes him a moment, after his nightmares, like always, to check if his Silencing Spells are still up and working, if his wand is still near him. If the dormitory is quiet, if there's any hope of going back to sleep.

He clenches his jaw, sitting up in the dark, as tears burn at the back of his eyes, because  why , why is he so  weak,  why can't he just forget about Tom Riddle’s pitiful existence? 

Why do all his nightmares start from a point at Wool's, why is  everything  he does, everything he manages to accomplish, affected,  ruined  by  this  part of him?

It's not going to be a part of him for long, though. He isn't going to be Tom Riddle, some unknown from an Orphanage amongst thousand unidentifiable faces, he isn't going to be that helpless boy from the coffin.

He's  not . He's going to be  more. 

He casts a  Tempus,  and turns the Ring on his hand, like he always does when he's turning something over in his head, when he's planning. He watches the crescent moon through the window, and then, finally, pulls his curtains apart and walks out of the dormitory.

He walks into the green lit Common Room, and then, almost walks out again when he sees who's sitting in front of the fireplace.


Hermione  Granger .


He's honestly tired, and he really can't deal with her right now. She's staring into the fire, watching the flames flicker, wrapped in a thin, white blanket, not yet realizing that he's also standing there. She blinks slowly into the fire, the shadows on her face seemingly deepening.

He clears his throat, just to see her startle. 

She doesn't disappoint. She jumps half out of her skin, has her wand trained on Ton before he can get a word out. He raises a slow eyebrow as he stands there, unarmed, and she flushes a little lowering her wand slightly.

Her grip on it is still firm.

"Riddle," she says, stiffly. Then, after a short pause, "Couldn't sleep?"

"No, I often do this," Tom says, blandly, and surprises even himself when he sits down on the couch opposite hers. "Wake up at three in the morning for a well thought-out reason. It's a great time for Blood Rituals."


It takes her atleast thirty seconds to tell that he's joking. Even then, she seems suspicious, her hands curled protectively around her wand. He scoffs mentally.  As if he would ever tell her or anyone anything useful about Blood Rituals .


"Summer's coming up," Granger says, abruptly, making a valiant and obvious attempt to talk. 

Tom eyes her for a moment. She stays quiet, watching the fire again. Tom feels like asking her something about her own Time, about the Future, but she won't answer and he doesn't want an altercation right now. 

"Should I compose a song for the seasons changing?" Tom prompts, when she doesn't follow up that obvious announcement with anything. "Yes, I'm aware that summer is coming. What about it?"

"Just thinking," she replies, vaguely, eyes dull. "I've nowhere to go." 

She shoots him a  this is all your fault  look.

"I was going to ask Dumbledore if I can stay back for the holidays," she says, and Tom scoffs before he can help it. She seems a little resigned. "But I don't think he'll let me - "

"Of course, he won't," Tom says, shrugging, like it's a random piece of information that doesn't affect him. "You're not one of his  precious  Lions. He's not going to make any exceptions for you."

"It's just, Dumbledore isn't..." she says, haltingly. "Dumbledore isn't supposed to be like  this,"  she finishes, somewhat lamely. "He's supposed to be a good man - "

"He's a  hypocrite,"  Tom interrupts, sneering. "He's too caught up in his own moral dilemmas to ever be a fair judge of character. He hates the Slytherins because they're meant to be dark or evil or something, yet he's a better manipulator than anyone I know."

Her grip tightens on her wand, as she exhales sharply.

"He really is, isn't he?" she asks, quietly, like she's realising something. There's something in her voice that resonates within him. "He complicates things, makes people dance on lines he's set out for them. Makes School House Rivalry into something  uglier ."

"House Rivalry means nothing, Granger," he says, settling down a little. Shockingly, he feels like he can talk to her, like he can say those views of his that he would never say aloud in Slytherin, otherwise. "Everyone needs to be brave, sometimes.  Gryffindor  doesn't have some kind of exclusive right to the quality. Everybody needs to be clever sometimes, everybody needs to be cunning."



"But everybody doesn't need to be loyal or fair?" Granger asks, a small, reluctant smile on her face.

"Nothing is  fair," Tom says, with a derisive laugh. "Our situations are never fair, and neither are the people," he rests his left ankle on his right leg, and rolls his eyes, "And I've done just fine without being loyal to anyone."

" Just fine,"  Granger quotes back. "What does  just fine  mean?"

"It means that I've done better for myself than  anyone  in my place could have," Tom replies, easily, not an ounce of defensiveness in his words, because he  knows  it's true. 

She shifts a little, at his words, looking uncomfortable.

"I know what you mean," she says, nodding and looking away. And she does, Tom can see she does, there's understanding in her eyes, a frown pulling at her mouth as she turns back to him.

"You really  are  the perfect Slytherin, aren't you?" Granger asks, raising an eyebrow. "I can sometimes see why people admire you so much."

" Sometimes,"  he imitates, rolling his shoulders. "What a glowing recommendation."

She shrugs, tilts her head as she observes him, openly.

"Slytherins are ambitious," she begins. "And you're nothing if not - "

" Being a Slytherin doesn't automatically make you  ambitious," Tom scoffs. "Being sorted into a house doesn't just grant you the qualities you're meant to hone during your time here. Look at Slytherin right now. They're not ambitious. To be ambitious, you have to really  want  something. They already have everything."


Granger looks at him through narrowed eyes, and he must have said something right, because she keeps her wand back in her pocket.


And for some odd reason, this tiny show of trust feels...  good. 

The thought does flit by, of breaking the same trust, but it disappears so quickly, that it's almost alarming to him.

He already knows as she removes her shoes and curls up on the couch, wrapping her blanket tighter around her, that he's not going to break her trust. 

He remembers the little show with the Prince girl the other day, wonders if that's why Granger's deemed him good enough to talk to without being armed. 

It's a strange feeling, but he feels a prickle when he thinks of that. Like a little sting of  regret . He tries not to focus on it. 






____________






Something shifts between them that night,  Hermione feels, as the coming days fly by. 


The worst part is, that the change is two-way. 

She can't always remember that Tom Riddle is still Voldemort, that he's still going to be a psychopathic murderer sometime in the future. It's just that he sounds  nothing  like his Future self, nothing like a genocidal maniac,  nothing  like a man who kills for his amusement. 



"Do you ever get shitty comments for not being a pureblood?"  Hermione asks him, once, without preamble, a day after they first talk. 

His hands still on his Valerian roots. He apparently hadn't  known  that she knew of his blood status.

"Not twice from the same person,"  he replies, and tosses the powdered moonstone into the Cauldron.



They've become permanent sort of partners in Potions, and Hermione wishes she could say they're incompatible, but the truth is, they work  brillantly  together. 

They don't need to talk, they seem to know when the other needs a hand, when the other needs something. She stirs, he slices. She puts the ingredients in, and he stirs, then.

They're so well-coordinated that it  scares  her.

She's started calling him  Tom,  instead of Riddle, and that, that also  scares  her.


A week after their impromptu talk in the Common Room, they're supposed to learn about Amortentia, and Tom's conspicuously missing. When Slughorn asks about it, Abraxas and Orion glare at him and change the topic so pointedly that Slughorn seems to get the hint. 

Hermione's sure they don't even know why Tom didn't come for the class. 

That's another thing.  Tom Riddle has friends.  Real friends, who seemingly care about him. They're very few people who can talk back to him, but they're still there.



Hermione waits for him outside  Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, who's not  moaning,  not at this point. She's realised he sneaks in here a lot. She has the Marauders' Map, because she had it in her beaded bag when she arrived, and she can see him coming up, so she stuffs the Map back in her satchel.

His eyes widen as he sees her, shoulders tensing. " You,  you know about the - ?"

"Yeah," she says, and he looks about ready to pull out his wand but she just shakes her head, rolling her eyes a little and asks, "Lunch?" 

He nods and they start walking down together to the Great Hall.

"They shouldn't teach students about Amortentia," she says, trying to sound casual. 

" Amortentia  should be illegal," he mutters, face stony. "It shouldn't be something anyone can brew or purchase on their whim."

She doesn't reply, because she doesn't need to.

They reach the Slytherin Table, Hermione still needs to get used to not automatically walk to the  Gryffindor  Table, and sit down, across from each other.

"Quidditch Match, today, Rosier," Orion reminds them again, for probably the hundredth time. He's honest to goodness  crazy  about it, worse than Harry or Ron ever were.

Thinking about them is painful, thinking about how she was forced to abandon them is unbearable. She tries to focus on Rosier and Nott talking about Beater strategies. 

Orion cheers, spilling water as he yells  "We're going to kill Ravenclaw!"  waving his hands animatedly.


Tom sighs, and Hermione sighs right along with him. 





______________





Summer Holidays sneak up on Hermione, and she's calculated and recalculated all the spare cash she has in her bag. She thanks Merlin for  Inflation (or deflation?)  because everything here costs much, much lesser than it would have in the Future, and she, thus, has quite a lot.

She's gotten all the Muggle Money she had, converted, and she's almost sure that she can rent out a dingy room in the Leaky Cauldron for two months,  if  she takes up a part-time job. She certainly doesn't want to be sent to a Children's Home, so this  is  the only way out. 



She's sitting in the Common Room, listening to Lucretia talk at length about her bint of a Sister, on the last day before Break, when Tom comes by again, from his dormitory, and stalks right up to her.

"Where are you staying?" he demands, almost angrily. She frowns at him, blinking. He's definitely in a mood. 

"Diagon," she says, "The Leaky Cauldron," for clarification. He nods, jerkily, grits his teeth and walks away.

Hermione stares after him with narrowed eyes and after a moment, ignoring Lucretia's protests, follows.



Tom's nowhere to be found, so she runs back to the dormitory, checks the Map, sees him in  Dumbledore's Office,  of all places and goes out.

She finds him just as he's coming out, and Hermione can almost sense the dark,  crackling  cloud of magic around him. 

He doesn't seem to be in the mood for chatting, so Hermione doesn't speak, just accompanies him back to the Common Room.

When they reach, he heads for where most of their year is sitting, and without preamble, goes to Abraxas, extending a hand, palm flat.

Abraxas seems to understand even though Tom hasn't said anything. He pulls out his Wand from his pocket, and passes the stick over, twisting it to give the grip side to Tom.

Tom takes Malfoy’s Wand, twirls it once as it shoots a small spark, and walks back to his own dormitory. 


"What was all  that  about?" Hermione asks, when the others start talking again, and Abraxas looks at her, in surprise.

"Oh, didn't you know," Abraxas says, shrugging. "Dumbledore doesn't let Tom take his wand back from Hogwarts. Says he's a  'potential risk'  to  Muggles ," he sneers at the word, as Hermione just stares incredulously at him, stun shocked. "Tom takes my wand back with him. Not like he can really  use  that, but it's good for an Emergency, you see."


What the actual fuck,  Hermione thinks, clenching her fist around her wand, her head buzzing.  How can Dumbledore take away a Wizard's Wand just like that -



"That's just...  unacceptable ," she mutters, aloud, suddenly feeling so,  so  angry, and goes to find the Marauders' Map.







____________

Chapter Text

___________






Abraxas Malfoy knows that it's always a mistake to assume that you truly  know  someone.

But Abraxas Malfoy knows quite a lot about Tom Riddle.

Abraxas is one of the very few people who know Tom's  real  Heritage, probably because Abraxas is the one who finally tracked down Marvolo Gaunt. Abraxas knows of the deaths of the Riddle Family, and Abraxas knows that Tom wasn't where he was supposed to be that day, because Abraxas had come to visit him during the Holidays, and gone home puzzled, without meeting Tom. 

Abraxas knows that when Tom gave his wand back, after that Summer, it was technically  clean,  but there was a  darkness  in it, something that Abraxas hadn't seen before.

Abraxas knows that the Ring Tom wears on his finger, the one he's worn since  that  day, that ring  means  something, Abraxas knows that Tom intends to do something  big. 

To bring about not a change, but a  revolution, to make it so that Wizards don't need to hide Magic anymore. Abraxas knows, unlike Rosier and Nott, that the  Knights of Walpurgis  isn't a School-time Club. That since the Chamber of Secrets incident, Tom's not been open about his ideals on Blood Purity, if they even still exist.

Abraxas knows that Tom works harder than anyone else, that he always has, to prove that he belongs, to prove that he's the best, that he  deserves  to be here. Abraxas knows how pleased Tom had been when he got his Badge, even though he had  known  he would get it, and so had everyone else.

Abraxas knows that time in First Year, when Tom had first achieved phenomenal scores and how everyone had back-handedly praised him,  "How extraordinary, for a muggleborn boy with no family"  and how Tom had grit his teeth and spent hours in the Library with Genealogy Books, and old Student Records to find his family, if he even had one, anywhere,  anyhow . 

That when Tom gets angry, he's a  little more and a little less  than himself, that he scares Abraxas.



Abraxas knows all this.

But he also knows other things. Little things.


That when Tom sleep-talks, he does so in Parseltongue, that when he gets stressed or angry, his words are sometimes hissed.

That Tom loves sweet things, but he feels it's childish to do so, and glares at Abraxas after he opens his Birthday Present, to find Chocolates and Candies, year after year. He eats it, though, everytime.

That Tom loves rain, but hates snow.

That Tom hates it when the cold becomes too cold.

That Tom is too proud to ever actually  ask  for food, but that he comes back to Hogwarts so  thin and pale , that Abraxas has started sending him Care Packages every three days. 

They don't ever talk about it, but Abraxas sends him food, Tom accepts it and sends back a simple  "Thank you"  and Abraxas sends him more. When they come back to Hogwarts, Tom meets Abraxas's eyes once, and looks away, because Tom doesn't much understand sympathy, and he hates pity. Abraxas doesn't care, though. Tom looks healthier than usual. That's enough.

That Tom likes  singing , of all things.

That Abraxas is the one who taught Tom how to properly use a quill, and that Tom was embarrassed about that until he had found Abraxas crying in the Library in First Year because he couldn't understand Transfiguration at all, and didn't want to go to  Dumbledore  for help. 

Tom had awkwardly patted his back and told him that he could teach him everything he needed to know in a day, and he  had actually done that.  Mother had been quite impressed with Abraxas's marks.

Abraxas knows all of this, but he still doesn't know what's going on between the new Transfer girl, Granger and Tom. 

It's very interesting, though, the way they're always together all the time.

But how?

He doesn’t understand how and when and  why  she suddenly became so worthy of his attention. 

She's here, now, though, standing outside, near the entrance, looking sheepish, and asking to wake Tom up, because his curtains are drawn, and he might not be  "decent."  Abraxas knows that Tom is never  not decent  but he nods, anyway.  How did Granger even enter the Boy's Dormitory? 


" Psst,  Tom - !" Abraxas says.

There's rustling from the bed.

" Tom !"

" What , Abraxas," Tom snaps, from behind the curtains, meaning he wasn't asleep, just sulking, like he usually does, the day before Holidays start.

Tom sticks his head out, from between the green draws, scowling. 

"Granger's looking for you," Abraxas says, and points at the entrance. Granger smiles awkwardly, and says, "It's important."

"Well," Tom says, idly, already beginning to get up. "Isn't this a  lovely   Déjà vu ."

What does that mean?

Granger flushes and after a second of silence, Tom walks out with her.

Very  interesting.




_____________






"Here," Hermione says, and hurriedly thrusts something into his hands, as soon as he steps out. Tom blinks, and stares.

Its his  wand .

The one that he  just  gave to Dumbledore.

Tom stares at her, shaking his head.

"Wha - " he starts, then, closes his mouth. It's obvious, what she's done. There's no way Dumbledore would  let  her take it, so she must have  stolen  it.

But how? And  why?

"I left another in its place," Hermione blurts out, awkwardly, looking guilty. "I had a spare wand from one of the snatch - from  somewhere , and I just,  uh , disguised it a little to look like yours and I left it in place of - "

Tom blinks again, looks at her, eyes slightly wide.

"I shouldn't have done that," Hermione shakes her head, speaking very, very quickly. "I just got so  annoyed , and I'm  never  this impulsive, I don't know what happened and I just - "

"How -  how  did you do that?" Tom asks, interrupting her, a strange kind of warmth in his chest, as he gapes at her. "You just what -  broke  into Dumbledore's Office and took -  why  would you - "

She shrugs, though her face is red.

"I don't understand  why  I did it," she says, sighing. Tom waits, but she doesn't continue.

"I don't know why I did it," she says, again, looking resigned, shrugs with one shoulder, and starts to walk away.

He grabs her wrist, but even as he does it, there's something inside him that says  b e fucking gentle,  that flashes an odd reminder of  DO NOT HURT HER, DO NOT HURT HER  -

She turns back, her eyes on Tom's, looking confused.


" Thank you ," he says, and it comes out heavy and reverent and  real.  He doesn't know how to convey what this makes him feel, though, the fact that she went out of her way to do this for him, that it makes him feel  grateful , which is another new feeling.

She smiles, just a little.

"Promise me something," she says, quietly, looking at him like she  believes  in him, but doesn't quite understand  why . 

Tom nods, slowly.

"Before you use that wand," she says, chewing on her lip. "Just, just pause for a second, okay? And just, think. If, if what you're doing is  good ."

She nods, seemingly to herself, and she's gone before Tom can call after her.


If what you're doing is good. 


She apparently wants him to be...  good.  Tom's been called a lot of things, intelligent, talented, quick, charming -


But he's never been called good.





____________






Hermione is, for lack of a better phrase,  horribly confused.

She doesn't know why she did that.

She just gave Lord Voldemort his wand.

She just gave  Lord Voldemort  his  wand .



Maybe, she's just another one of those who've been charmed and controlled by Tom Riddle.


Or  maybe , this is something bigger.

Maybe, Tom Riddle isn't like Voldemort, he hasn't said a word of  pureblood superiority  to her or in front of her in the last week. He doesn't seem to be prejudiced, doesn't seem to be a  genocidal maniac.


Or maybe,  Hermione  is naive, and she's trusting his outer persona, like everybody does.

She feels stabs of guilt every time she thinks what Ron or Harry would say, feels anger everytime she thinks of Dumbledore.  But Ron and Harry would understand if they knew, right? That she's trying. Trying to make a difference. Trying to make things better. Trying to make a world where parents aren't killed and children aren't left to fend for themselves, where nobody trusts nobody and those who love, can't express it.  Trying to make a world that uses Tom Riddle’s talents, instead of taking his anger and turning it into hatred and fear and  poison.



She sleeps on it.






___________






Tom is, for the lack of a better phrase,  horribly confused .

Good.

Hermione Granger thinks he can be good.

She also thinks he's going to do things with his wand which aren't good.

She's right. Everytime he thinks about how much she knows about him, he's wrong. 

She always knows  more .

He's...  not  good. He's never wanted to be  good.



He sleeps on it.






___________





Term ends soon, and they're back on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione sits in a carriage with the Rosiers and Nott and Lestrange and Abraxas, and of course,  Tom . 

They haven't talked about the whole wand thing, yet. Hermione's somehow sure it isn't over. 

The Blacks have all taken one compartment, the one next to theirs, and it's  now  that Hermione can see how many they are. There's Orion and Walburga, Alphard and Lucretia, but there are also those she didn't know, like Dorea Black and Cygnus Black.

Cygnus Black's eyes unnerve her. It's almost after a minute of discomfort that she realises where she's seen them before.

She tries forgetting that.




_____________






The Orphanage looks the same.

It always does. Tom always hopes it wouldn't.


"Back again, Riddle," Mrs. Cole greets him, crisp and curt. She looks displeased, like always. 

Tom drags his trunk down the Hallway, watches the same old thing happening, new faces, old faces whispering in the ears of the new kids about how  'that's Tom Riddle, don't look at him too long, or he'll kill you'   kind of rumors. 

To be honest, he's always in such a temper by the time he reaches Wool's that it's completely possible.

He walks into his room, the one that he's always had and like always, there are new boys here. It's Mrs. Cole's way of revolting, except that it's useless, because Tom never lets them stay. In all the other rooms, there are atleast three or four orphans, but Tom's always been alone.

A dark-haired boy looks up as Tom enters, eyes blinking behind his glasses. He's thin, like they all are, and young, probably six or seven.


There's a big,  fat , white cat in his lap. 


"Out," Tom says, and lifts up his trunk and keeps it on his bed. The boy blinks again. Tom's been here for maximum five minutes, but he desperately feels like cursing this boy. 

"I didn't - " he says, clearly getting up because of Tom's will, and not of own accord, looking scared. Tom hasn't even tried putting any force behind his words yet. He must be getting better at it. "I'm sorry, I didn't - "

"I don't care," Tom drawls, and starts working on his trunk. "This is  my  room. Get out."

His eyes glaze over, just a little, and he looks at the door again.

"But Jake and George and I - " he starts again, even as his feet carry him out. If Tom was anywhere except for this  godforsaken  place, he would feel amused.

He flips the lid open, sees the green and silver things strewn about, and feels a little calmer.

"Did I ask?" Tom rolls his eyes, takes out his night clothes. "You  must  be new, if you don’t know how this place works yet."

"My mum died yester - " the boy says, right before he's dragged out, seemingly by himself, but Tom knows better.

Tom's hands still on his scarf, before he exhales and continues.

It's not Tom's issue if the kid saw his mother die a day back and had to come to what has to be the worst place in the worst Orphanage possible, is it?

It isn't. It really,  really  isn't.

But.

Just  pause for a second, okay? And just think. If what you're doing is good.

Tom grits his teeth, looks once at the doorway, looks back again to his trunk, and continues unpacking.

This is  his  room. Only.



Except, as it turns out, it's not.

Mrs. Cole comes to Tom herself, which is how Tom knows the situation is desperate. The dark-haired boy is standing behind Mrs. Cole, looking down at his feet, his face pale. Tom wonders what everyone's told him.

"You will have to adjust, Tom," Mrs. Cole says, and she sounds like she's  requesting , using his first name instead of the usual, acidic ' Riddle' . "There's no other room, and Jake and George are older, they've been here longer. I'm shifting them in rooms that already have  four  children each. You cannot possibly be  alone  in a room. We just don't have the space."


Just  pause for a second, okay? And just think.


"Fine," Tom says, and Mrs. Cole looks astonished, as the boy's head shoots up, looking terrified. Tom refrains from rolling his eyes. "Let him be where he is."

"Tom," Mrs. Cole begins, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Mitch is only seven."

Mitch . Tom glances at him. He's looking down again. 

"And I'm sixteen," Tom replies, bored, knowing that she knows that. "Does it  matter ?"

"I just," she takes a deep breath, shoots Mitch a look. "He is very young. He's had a big shock just yesterday. And he's - "

"Oh, is that  concern  I see?" Tom laughs, a little mockingly. "Merlin knows  I  never saw it, when I was his age."

"You never needed it," she snaps, and Tom hums, too proud to argue. She doesn't look hesitant anymore, just tired.

"Stay out of Riddle’s way," she snaps, at Mitch, who nods quickly, and walks out, dumping the blanket in her hand on the floor.

Tom turns back to his trunk.

He can sense Mitch standing behind him. 

"T-Tom," he says, and Tom turns back, reluctantly, stares at him, expectantly, but he doesn't speak.

"Yes?" Tom prompts, impatiently.

"I - I swear I won't get in your way," Mitch says, quickly, and uselessly, because Tom already knew that. "I won't - you won't even have to  look  at me and - and you won't even  know  I'm here and I will be - "

"I really don't care," Tom says, though, he's frowning a little. He's pretty sure that he's never done anything that warrants this level of fear. They're just Muggles, anyway. 

Mitch is still shaking.

"Please,  please  don't hurt Betty!" he blurts out, and Tom shakes his head, confused -

Oh. The cat.

"Is Betty your cat?" Tom asks, calmly, emotionless.

"Ye-yes," Mitch says, sniffs a little. "Yes, he's my cat and my Mum got him for my - "

"Again," Tom interrupts him. "I  didn't  ask."

"Billy t-told me that you," Mitch replies, then, looks guilty.  He's literally just a kid,  Tom thinks. "Th-that you don't - "

This is irritating.

"Your cat is safe," Tom drawls. "I'm not  touching  the thing."

"Th-thank - " he begins, and Tom tells him to get out again.


If what you're doing is good. 


Hermione Granger's just seemingly become his  conscience . Tom opens a book, and tries to read it, but he's majorly scowling and minorly thinking about  her . Mitch doesn't come back into the room again, and Tom sits and reads and scowls and thinks about Hermione Granger.

Abraxas sends him food in the evening. 

Tom wouldn't admit it, but he'd been dying for it, and had probably smiled like a lunatic when he saw the sleek, white owl swooping in through the window. 

Like always, the food is a  generous  amount, with Warming Charms on it, and actual flavor, unlike the food at the Orphanage. It's  delicious , clearly House-Elf made.

The Cat comes and purrs at him, as he eats. 

He scowls at her, narrowing his eyes.

She keeps  meow ing till he gives her a piece of the roasted fish.

This stupid Cat's spoilt , he thinks, but continues giving her food.

It's about eleven at night, when he's in bed, that  Betty crawls into his bed with him.  Tom would be angry, if he wasn't so shocked. Animals, aside from  snakes , don't much like him.


"You're a  menace ," he tells Betty. She purrs, in response.


Mitch finds Betty on Tom's bed, the next morning, and his expression is well worth having that  thing  in his bed, all night.






______________






Hermione's new job is simple enough. It's at  Scribbulus Writing Instruments  in Diagon, and it includes a lot of sitting around and reading and less of suggesting what Quills and Ink and Parchments people should purchase.

Understandably , it doesn't pay very well, but her Employer, Madam Isla is quiet and nice enough, and it gives her plenty of time to read the books she's got, some from her own time, some sneaked in from the Library.

There is virtually nothing about  Time Travel  that's credible, that's anything other than just speculation. 

Her very  existence  in the 1940's disproves about ninety percent of their theories, so it's difficult.

The third day from when she starts working is a Sunday, and Madam Isla gives her a leave, so she's even more free than usual, and it comes to her in a moment,  she should go visit him.

Chapter Text

_____________





Hermione smiles politely at the woman at the counter, who, if she remembers Harry’s story well, is  Mrs. Cole . In  Wool's Orphanage .

"Good Morning," she says. Mrs. Cole narrows her eyes.

"You are too young to adopt," she says, pursing her lips. "I will not allow it."

"Great," Hermione says, blandly. "I haven't come to  adopt . I've come to meet a friend of mine. From School."

Instant suspicion . 

"What's your name?" Mrs. Cole asks, but she doesn't get any further before a group of kids comes barging in through the door, giggling and yelling. 

"Hello," one of the girl says. Hermione waves back, smiling. 

" Don't  tell me we've got another," a boy says, from the back, groaning, as he looks at Hermione. She's fairly sure her clothes should indicate that she isn't looking to live here, but then again, she  is  just sixteen. 

"We really can't fit in anymore kids in  our  room. We already have  five, " one of the girl stresses. "And if Riddle has to take another kid, he'll  really  go off the deep end."

"Riddle?" Hermione asks, and everybody turns to her. "Tom Riddle?"

The boy blinks, stares, his eyes bulging a little. 

"Yeah," he says, cautiously.

"Can you show me to his room?" Hermione asks, to several amusing reactions. The girl in front chokes, Mrs. Cole's eyebrows fly up. "He's the friend I came to meet. If you don’t mind," she adds, though it's obvious they  all  mind.

"Riddle doesn't  have  frien - " the boy starts, but another kid elbows him in the gut and he shuts up. "Right down the corridor and left," he finishes, wincing and rubbing his stomach.

"Thank you," Hermione says, and makes her way down. She wonders if the boy was right, though.  Is it even possible for Tom to think of her as a friend?

She comes to a halt in front of the only door that's shut. 

And knocks on it, but without waiting for a reply, walks in.

She has to blink to make sure she's seeing right.

The room's big enough for three, or maybe, four, with grey walls and white sheets on the narrow beds, clean floors, and old curtains.


On the first bed near the window, a plate of what looks like  deviled potatoes  in their hands, atleast three more empty plates surrounding them, are Tom Riddle, sitting cross-legged, and a small boy who reminds her bizarrely, and painfully of  Harry  with his dark hair and glasses. 

The plates are definitely not from the Orphanage, they look like they cost more than Hermione's current  flat , and she recognizes the Crest on them, anyway, and the way they're made, with clear disregard to expense.

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper .

It cuts a strange image, the dull room with it's old and mostly broken furniture, and the white, Fine china,  Malfoy -ware.


Tom stares, mouth slightly open.

A white cat is perched on the window ceiling. It purrs contentedly.


The boy swallows what he was eating, seemingly with great difficulty and blinks up at her, "Who are  you ?"  he says.

That snaps Riddle out of his shock.

"What the fuck , " he says, which is how Hermione knows he's  really  shocked, because he never uses 'crass' Muggle insults like that. "Hermi - what,  Hermione?"

"Hey, Tom," Hermione manages, before looking at him where he's sitting and pointedly raising her eyebrows. 

She's surprised to see him flush a little, his hand twitching like he wants to either curse her or make his hair look a little more presentable, and that he can't figure out which should he do first.

"You know her, Tom?" the boy says, and then, when Tom slowly turns towards him, mutters a quick  'sorry'  and gets up, "I'll just go, sorry!"

Hermione shifts to let the boy run out.

"Abraxas sends you food," she says, and there it is,  again . Tom Riddle has  real  friends.

"He does, yes," Tom says, and in one fluid movement, picks up all the plates, piles them up, gets up from the bed and keeps them on the Window Sill. 

"And you  shared  them with that Muggle boy," Hermione says. It's not a question, and Tom looks away. It's funny to see someone looking so embarrassed because they've done something  kind .

"He's in my room," Tom says, and draws the blind near his bed, disappearing behind it.  He's probably changing from his night wear , she realises, refusing to feel awkward. He's just changing. Hermione's seen Harry and Ron change in the open before. He's not even changing in front of her. He's behind a blind. She can't see him. He's just changing.

"I can't very well eat alone while he  watches  me and makes  pitiful  faces," Tom says, opens the blinds and walks out, and she suddenly realizes how different he looks like that, in Muggle clothes, a green flannel shirt and pants, running a hand through his hair as he walks towards the small mirror on the sidewall.

"I'm sure  that's  the reason," she says, sarcastically, but inwardly pleased, because this is good, right? 

It's another good thing about Tom Riddle that didn't survive Voldemort.

"How did you even know about Wool's?" Tom asks, forcefully changing the topic, looking firmly away from her and into the mirror. "Is this  also  something that apparently everyone in the future just  knows  about me?"

He isn't able to make it sound as casual as he wants to, the annoyance drips into his words.

"Who said I'm just  anyone ?" Hermione asks, shrugging, and Tom stiffens.

"We're not  related , are we?" he demands, narrowing his eyes. Hermione almost chokes, as she sputters out a disbelieving, "Of course, not!"

Tom nods, his shoulders untensing a little. She tries not to wonder about why he asked  that .

Hermione looks at the dinner plates on the window sill.

"Abraxas is very different from what I expected," she says, instead, when Tom doesn't speak. " Good  different," she clarifies.

"Really?" Tom asks, off-handedly . "And what  did  you expect?"



In for a knut,  she thinks.  In for a galleon. 

She eyes Tom for a moment, and then, takes the chance.



"I know his grandson," she says, and Tom spins his head around so fast, she's sure he got whiplash. "They're...  not  similar, to say the least."

"Bloody  hell ," Tom says, and she's sure she's shocked him enough for a day. " Grandson?  But, but, that means - "

"Around fifty years," Hermione nods. Tom looks even more shocked, puts down the comb in his hand, stares at her.

" Fifty  years?" he shakes his head. "That isn't possi - "

She raises an eyebrow. He opens and closes his mouth. Then, in what is an attempt to gain time,

"Right," he says, nodding even as she sees him reassessing everything about her. "Right.  Uh , what's his grandson like? Abraxas's, I mean?"

"His name's Draco," Hermione sees no harm in telling him this. "Arrogant, bullying git. He isn't that bad, though. Improved quite a lot, slow moral crisis situation, like I see it."

"That's - " he seems to be searching for an answer. 

"Strange," Hermione completes, for him, which is a horrible   understatement. 

"You know me, somehow, from  fifty  years in the future," Tom says, still shaking his head. 

"Wish I knew you for different reasons than I do," she says, quietly, but he hears her. He doesn't reply, just looks at her.

He's turned away from her, so she can't see his face, and she thinks he might be  hesitant  to ask the reasons she's mentioned. Because speaking them aloud, would make them...  real .

"Well," she says, instead, with forced cheer. "I was free, today. I wondered if we could take a day out. Maybe, in Diagon, or...?"

"Not in  Muggle  London, that's for  sure ," he says, with a bite. "Or do you particularly  want  to die today?"

Oh. The Blitz,  as she realises, with shame, that she forgot such a huge detail.

"I suppose that's not a problem for  you , though," she can't help but say, and walks out, sure that he's staring after her, in horror. Or anger. Possibly, both. 

She walks down the corridor, takes a deep breath.  Tom Riddle is not Voldemort, Tom Riddle is not Voldemort,  she tells herself.  He has two Horcruxes but he isn't Voldemort yet. There's still a chance -

He comes out of the room after her, his face more composed, but still pale. 

He's holding the plates in his hand. 

"Whalley," he calls, beckoning a tall, thin boy with a nod. The boy,  Whalley,  apparently, pokes his head out of one of the rooms, and says, slightly nervously, "Yeah, Tom?"

"Wash these plates," Tom says, and dumps the pile in Whalley's hands. The boy stares at them. "And if you break them - "

"I won't!" the boy squeaks, and rushes back inside.

Hermione sighs.  Tom Riddle is still not Voldemort, he's not, he's not -

Tom turns towards the door and walks out, and Hermione follows. Mrs. Cole eyes them as they walk out, the kids moving out of Tom's way.

It's all  very  dramatic.

They walk in silence down the street, until, Hermione, finally, blurts out, "I know you've made two! I've always known."

Tom shuts his eyes like he'd been fearing that.

"You have," he says, carefully, not really a question, not really a statement. 

"I gave you a chance despite it," she says, pausing and facing him. They're in a narrow, empty street, and she tries not to clutch her wand too tight in case things get ugly. "And I'll continue to do so. Because I feel that you were never given one by - "

"Are you - " he huffs out a disbelieving laugh. "Are you really -  don't  make me out to be the victim! I don't  need  nor deserve your pity. Everything that I've done hasn't been some kind of pent up childhood trauma, or - or some kind of rebellion against how  unfair  things are! I'm not in a bad situation that you need to  rescue  me from! I'm where I am because I  wanted  to be. Because I wanted," his voice drops, becomes slow and firm, "To kill. Because I wanted and still do, to - "

"To live forever," Hermione finishes, even as he opens his mouth, her voice patronizing. This ridiculous fear of his has never been something she can relate to, or even understand. "I'm aware of your little  q uest to immortality  - "

"My what?" Tom seems confused, bemused, even. "I don't want to live  forever  - "

She's about to speak, but that pulls her up short.

"You...  don't?"  she asks. "But - your worst fear - is, it's death! Dumbledore said that - "

"That's just precious," Tom interrupts, sneering. " Dumbledore  can certainly be relied on to speak only the  truth  about  me ."

"I don't understand," she says, honestly. "Why would you make Horcruxes," his eye twitches at the word, "If you don't  want  to live forever?"


"Just because I don't want to live forever," he says, and looks away. "Doesn't mean I don't want to live at all."

Hermione frowns.  She's missing something, they've all been missing something, how's it possible that  - 

She grabs his wrist, and pulls him across to the park bench a little ways off the street, and sits down.

"Explain," she says, simply.

"Really," he says, his lip curling. "You really think I'm going to  explain  anything to you to add on to what you already know, that you shouldn't  -  "

"Story for a story," she says, tilting her head. "You tell me yours, and I'll tell you  mine. "

He narrows his eyes at her. Then,

"I don't know if you know about the London Bombings," he begins, frowning. She crosses her arms, waits. "But they started sometime around 1940. Accident, they said, the first one was. But if you've never been in hiding during an Air Raid, accidental or otherwise, then I can't explain how  fucking  terrifying it is."

She looks away, because she's sure he wouldn't speak if she looks at him.

"I used to  beg  Dumbledore, to let me stay at Hogwarts," he says, shaking his head. " Salazar,  why am I telling you this. "

Hermione stays quiet. Then,

"He never listened," Tom continues. "When I returned after Fourth Year, I was  sure  I was going to die. Another Mudblood lost in some war," he sneers, Hermione doesn't hold the word against him. "I started looking for ways, a type of  magic  to cheat the inevitable, and instead, I came across the  Gaunt  Family. Suddenly, I wasn't just a talented muggleborn, anymore. I was...  more.  That Term, I found the word  Horcrux.  I still remember reading it for the first time, asking Slughorn about it and, well. I didn't do anything, not just then."

Hermione swallows, uncomfortable as she sees the similarities between, relieved when she sees the differences.

"Abraxas told his Father's employees to search for them. Back in Hogwarts, I found the Chamber of Secrets. Opened it,  embraced  my Blood Status," he sneers, says the word mockingly, like he doesn't much believe in it,  himself. "You already know how  that  went down. Warren was never supposed to be in there with me. But, she  was , and she saw the Basilisk and she died. I panicked for quite some time, I wanted to go to Slughorn. But Dumbledore  would  have had me expelled. I couldn't risk that.  Magic ," Tom says, suddenly looking distant. "Magic is  all  I have. I couldn't lose that."

"But then, I figured I could use her death, to my benefit," Tom says, voice growing hard again.  For a second there, Hermione truly hates him . "And I did. I did the Ritual, I framed someone else, and I got a  Special Award for Services to the School,"  he rolls his eyes. "But I felt safer, when I returned back to the Orphanage, I felt easier to walk around. Even as London was bombed repeatedly, that very year, I didn't feel that  paralyzing  kind of fear. It was... relieving .  Ultimately, I came back for Fifth Year, Abraxas found the place, sent me quite a lot of information about my estranged relatives and - "

"And you went to Little Hangleton and killed them," Hermione finishes, feeling hollow.

Tom raises an eyebrow, shifts the collar of his shirt a little. She looks, and sees a shallow pink, circular scar of a kind. It's slightly raised at the edges and it looks like a -

"My own Father left me in a fucking   Orphanage," he says, voice indifferent, though his face is a different story. "And when I saw him for the first time, he  shot at me . With an actual rifle. I didn't go there to  kill  any of them. But after I did, I didn't regret killing him. I regretted the fact that I never  had  a Father."

He does regret killing,  Hermione can see that, too, right on his face. She doesn't speak that aloud, though. He might just kill  her  to prove a point.


"He shot at you," she says, instead. "He was really trying to  kill  you."

"Yes, well," Tom shrugs. "I've got these  tendencies  from somewhere, haven't I?"

"So," she ignores that, her gaze unconsciously travelling to his finger. "You made another Horcrux, the Ring."

"I did," he says. "And then, we went back to school and a Time Traveling girl fell onto somebody's bed in my dormitory in the middle of the night."

Hermione flushes, a little. She'd forgotten about that night.

"I just," she sighs. "I didn't mean to - "

"What were you doing before you ended up, here?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Running," she says, with a laugh that's not humorous at all. It's tired. "Hiding. Running more."

He inclines his head.

"From you," she clarifies, and his eyes widen, but otherwise, he doesn't outwardly react. "From your people. From - from the world  you  were trying to build."

" Story for a story  you said," Tom says, lightly.

And she starts speaking.






______________






Tom's never even imagined speaking any of this out loud. But he just had, and easily, too, and she had barely reacted.

It doesn’t feel bad.

Now that she speaks, in turn, he can almost see her life building around him, a  clever, little Muggleborn girl,  and her friend who's his prophesied  Vanquisher,  and another friend and Dumbledore - 


He doesn't like it much.


Doesn't like what he'll apparently become, doesn't much like how he'll be defeated, how he'll rise again, doesn't like the fear, not when it's in the  absence of respect .  

And frankly,  Y ou-Know-Who  and  He Who Must Not Be Named  are stupid names.

"What a waste of a good name," he mutters, when Hermione mentions something about a Taboo on the word  Voldemort . "I spent  hours  making it."

She blinks.

"It's hardly a good name," she says, and he tries not to be offended. "Honestly," she laughs a little. "What's the problem with  Tom ? It's a great name. Do you know how many annoying remarks I get on a name like  Her-mi-one?  You should be glad you have such a generic name. You can even call yourself Thomas   if you prefer something heavier."

" Hermione  is a lovely name," he sniffs, and refuses to speak more on the matter, ignoring the way she colors slightly. "It's unique. It says that somebody sat down and actually  thought  of what to name you. Tom's the name you give to a  stray  cat."

She looks at him in that odd way she does, not exactly pity, not exactly indifference.

Her story ends abruptly, with one of the boys saying  Voldemort,  and a group of people called the  Snatchers  and running, yes. 


Lots of  running  is involved.

He needs time. To process it all. 

He tells her that, tells her that he'd never meant to become what he apparently had, that his goals were  significantly  different. She agrees, and tells him that that's the reason she'd given him a chance, that she'd seen something in him that Voldemort didn't have.

If Tom had to guess, he would say  a soul,  but he refrains. Maybe,  seven isn't the number he should go for. 


"Think on it," Hermione says, looking up at him, with intent. "That's what's going to happen if you continue the way you're going. Making Horcruxes can make you  that  unstable. Maniacal, honestly.  Cruel.  You... you aren't going to be Tom Riddle very long if you - "

"Give me time," he says. 

He doesn't know  why  he says that, though. 

It's clear what he should do, now that he knows all of this. He's gained her trust, like he meant to, she's told him what she knows. He should kill her.  Obliviate,  atleast. Not make more Horcruxes, not believe in Prophecies, and definitely, definitely stay away from Hermione Granger.



The problem is...  he doesn't want to.



So, instead he asks, "Do you want to go and - "

"Let's forget about this for some time and - " she begins, at the same time.


They look at each other, relieved, and nod, and Tom wonders why he doesn't have to  fake  a smile.







_______________







They take a Muggle bus, and go to Diagon Alley.


Hermione wants to see Muggle London  in the 40's! -  but he's right, she doesn't want to do it while there's so much War-related Unrest. 

They eat Ice Cream at a Parlor, and it's not as great as Florean's but it's nice all the same. Hermione bites her lip to hide a smile when Tom resolutely looks away from her and tells the guy who's making the Ice Creams, to put a  Sugar Tree Shot  in it, which is apparently some kind of Charm to make the icing sweeter than it already is.

They walk down the Alley and something in her  aches  at the fact that sometime in the future, all this would be/wouldn't be  (was?)  shut down and dull and broken and miserable .

They sit near the Mermaid Fountain, which is less of a Mermaid fountain than a Mould Fountain, but it's pleasant, and now that they've both come out and said all of it, it's easier for Hermione to talk.

They stray into the topic, again, though, and Tom looks thoughtful, like he usually does.


" Remorse ," she remembers to tell him. "True Remorse is what  heals  the soul."

Tom doesn't meet her eyes.  It's a start , she thinks.


They take another walk and another Ice Cream, and this time, Tom wants  two  Sugar Tree Shots. She shoots him an amused smile, as they enter  Flourish and Blotts. Tom looks around with raised eyebrows.

"What?" Hermione asks.

"Never been here before," he says, points out of the window at another store, one where they sell Second-Hand Books. "Hogwarts Fund is quite minimal," he says, simply. 


They talk about happier things, after that. 


He's as charming as they come. She knows that, but everything he says, still makes her laugh  or  makes her flush, even as she understands that that's just how he is, and honestly, she really can't help but like him, for that too. 

They go to  Scribbulus ,  too, and Hermione's laughing on something he's said, just as Madam Isla steps out. 

She passes them a calculating look, that Hermione doesn't like, hums and greets them back, before going back in.

"It's going to rain," Hermione says, glancing up at the sky.

"Is it?" Tom asks, when they turn the bend, sounding oddly cheerful for a person who's walking in the street, and is quite a long way from where they'd not get drenched.

Sure enough, it  does  rain, and Hermione realises that Tom Riddle doesn't just like sugar ,  he also likes  rain.


"Thunder's like  screaming ," he says, and his voice is earnest, insisting,  real . "Like the skies need to cry, too. It's," he looks at her, clears his throat, and looks away at the sky, "It's  beautiful ."



Hermione smiles, and suddenly, the rain seems to grow heavier, pelting down on them like it's -


"It's  hailing !" Tom says, and grabs her wrist, as they run behind the Alley, into the dingy pub on the side, heads ducked.

Hermione skids to a halt when they reach the nook, and Tom turns to her and he's grinning, wide, his face is wet, but there's nothing crafty about it, and suddenly,  he looks so young and -

Oh.

His grin disappears, slowly, till he's smiling down at her, soft and happy,  god, he really is too tall,  she thinks, and she's looking at him, unable to look away -

There's a  creak  behind them, like a door or a wardrobe opening, and Tom straightens up, instantly, eyes widening as she steps away, stifling a gasp.

What the fuck just happened -



Hermione turns back to look who's standing there, and comes, face to face with someone she never, ever, expected to see, not  here .

Hermione's mouth drops open, as she comes face to face, with  Harry.


Harry. In an actual pub, in 1943.  Harry. 


Harry Potter.


His scar is visible from under his hair, a Time-Turner around his neck, his eyes green and gleaming, his face pulled into a condescending smirk, that she's never seen before on him.


"Hermione," he says, slowly, his smirk falling, eyes flashing with hurt. "I  wondered  how everything changed, and yet, remained completely the  same ."


She stares back at him. Tom's looking at Hermione, his wand in his hand, eyes narrowed.


"Harry, what - " she says, not able to think properly, because  how is he here?  There was only one Time Turner and she had that one, didn't she, how would Harry be -


"You were the one who told me, remember?" Harry continues, and every word is laced with barely concealed anger. " You  were the one who told me that Time can't be changed, that the past shouldn't be meddled with, that it can only make things  worse,  can't  truly  change anything - "

Hermione's breathing is all wrong, she doesn't understand, she'd thought everything was going fine, that everything was going to improve, that Tom was becoming -


"Oh, you  certainly  changed a lot," Harry laughs, without a hint of humor. "Ron's  dead, " he says, his teeth showing as he snarls. " Everyone  we knew is dead . "






______________

Chapter Text

____________






Hermione gasps, and she can feel her wand lowering, Harry’s still in front of her, his expression mocking, as she says, "But that doesn't make any sense - "


"Wait," Tom says, suddenly, his eyes widening, and his voice odd, as he turns to Hermione, "This isn't - "

"You'll listen to  him  over  me? " Harry asks, before shooting her a disgusted look. "He's not who you've convinced yourself he is. People don't just  c hange , so easily. All  you've  done, is tell  Voldemort  all about the future, so he could create a worse one! You  failed  to change anything, Hermione!"


Hermione stares, scared, confused,  horrified , and something's tingling at the back of her mind, but she can't tell what is it. 


"Hermione, don't listen to - " Tom starts, but again, Harry drowns out his voice.

"Tom Riddle  is  Voldemort," Harry says, with a laugh. "I can't believe you've tricked yourself into thinking otherwise. You  left  Ron and me! You abandoned   us to Death Eaters, and you had the chance to kill him but instead  you fell in lo - "


"Hermione,  focus -  !" Tom's voice seems far away, distant -

"You  always  do this, don't you?" Harry says, and something about his voice rings false, even when the words cut. "Convince yourself you're making a difference. With SPEW, with this! When all you really are," Harry looks at her right in the eye. "Is a  failure ."



A failure.


You've failed.


All you really are, is a failure.


Failed.


Her thoughts race and -


Something clicks in her head, and she raises her wand -  because the truth is, this can't be Harry, and if Harry was here, he wouldn't really talk like this, this isn't her Harry -  and she knows where she's heard this before, and again, the truth is, she's  anything  but a failure - 


A Failure.


Failed everything.


A voice in her head says, " You see, the thing that really finishes it is laughter - "



" R idikulus!"  she hears Tom scream, echoing her own thoughts. 


Crack!


Harry-the-Boggart turns to Tom, and spins around in a shapeless, ugly-colored cloud, and shifts to a -



A grave.



It's a Headstone in the earth, large and grey and plain, and aside from all the hysteria that the Boggart just caused her, she thinks, for some reason,  b ut he told me he doesn't want to live forever - 

Tom seems to be thinking the same thing, because he looks at the grave, his mouth in a grim line, and says, again,  "Ridikulus."


The grave shifts, except not really, the Headstone is still there, the earth is still there, but words appear on the Headstone, words that bizarrely, read,  Tom Marvolo Riddle,  with a whole list of Titles under his name, flowers on and around it, the Headstone suddenly seems  brighter .



Oh,  she realises.  His fear isn't death itself, it's -


It's dying unknown.  It's dying like one of the masses, a faceless nobody  -


His greatest fear is that he wouldn't be someone worth remembering.



In a way, she thinks, they're  very  alike.

"It doesn’t make me laugh," he says, hoarse. "But I had to show you," he says, and then,  smiles , quick and shifty and secretive.

"The only way to  really  finish a Boggart off," he says, and she looks at him, curiously. "Is laughter," he points his wand at his grave, and says,  "Ridikulus!"

The Headstone becomes smaller, and the words shift from  Tom Marvolo Riddle  to - 

Tom snorts as Hermione looks at him, and the Headstone that now reads a very tiny, 


Albus Dumbledore.


"What," Tom says, looking amused, when Hermione glares at him, or atleast, tries to. "It's not my fault your sense of humor is  dead  - "

And then, they're both, laughing, and Hermione watches with a smile as the Boggart explodes, into wisps of smoke and disappears, it's shadow running back into a closet.

It must have come out when they entered, sensing them.

Another door in the dingy pub they're standing in, creaks, and they both exchange a look before walking out into the rain.




She wonders what would have happened if the Boggart hadn't come out when it did.







______________







"If I didn't already suspect that you make it a point to break gender roles," Tom says, as they stand in front of Wool’s, lips curved in a small smile. It's around six, in the evening and the rain's just stopped a while back. "I would insist to be the one to drop you back."

"Hardly breaking a gender role," Hermione reasons. "This wasn't a  date . Or... or something."

Tom bites back a smile as she sputters, looking flustered. He thinks back to that strange moment in the pub when they'd looked at each other and -

"It  wasn’t ," she says again, even though Tom hasn't said anything. "We're just - we're just - "

"Friends," Tom supplies, dryly. 

"Yes," she looks relieved. And surprised. "That's what we are. Right. Of course. Yes, we're - "

Tom leans against the door, fist covering a laugh. She glares at him, but she looks too embarrassed for it to mean anything.

"I should go," she says, nodding quickly, completely red. "Like. Now. I'm leaving."

"Ta, then," Tom drawls, wondering if he can stack on a very casual  'see you soon' . He decides against it.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then her gaze travels from him to somewhere behind him, eyes widening, like in panic.

Tom turns around instinctively, and there's a sharp  thwack  as something rubber and blue and wet hits him right on the face. He's frozen for a second, and then glances down at his feet to see the remains of the popped water balloon that some absolute  idiot  had apparently thrown right at him. He lifts his glare up, and sees a very guilty looking boy standing at the bend, eyes round and panicky, holding around five more big, blue water-filled balloons.

He's so  incredibly  angry for a moment, as he moves, not quite sure what he's going to do, but then, a hand closes around his wrist, and suddenly, it seems like something very unimportant.

Just a kid, just a balloon, just some water. They  were  already drenched from the rain. Her hand is cold and dry against his arm.

It was just an accident , he thinks, shocking even himself, still feeling his rage just under the surface.  Small mistake. Kids make mistakes.

Tom Riddle looks down at the hand around his wrist, significantly smaller and thinner and less-paler than his own and thinks,  Hermione Granger has utterly ruined his life .

"Are you having a water fight?" Hermione asks, calm, and that, stupidly, makes  him  feel calmer.

The boy looks at up at her incredulously, and nods once. Then, blinks, and nods again, rapidly.

"Can we join?" she asks,  bizarrely , because  a)  she doesn't have to ask  and  b) why would they want to play some stupid game with -

The boy nods again, points to the playground at the back and runs out. Hermione's hold shifts from his wrist to his hand -  they're holding hands! (as friends) -  and pulls him along.


Yes. Hermione Granger has definitely, definitely ruined his whole life.







_______________






It's unfair , Hermione thinks, irritably, wincing in pain, shirt soaking wet.  Really, really unfair. 


That Tom Riddle gets to be tall and handsome and charming and he also,  somehow,  gets to have excellent aim. His balloon had hit her quite hard, and she glares at Tom as he darts back, grinning smugly. He'd been reluctant and all  'what a stupid, childish endeavor'  until he'd started winning. The kids at the Orphanage had shot Tom fearful and fascinated looks, like they couldn't believe that he actually ever laughed.


Her shoulder hurts as she bends behind the large haystack, shushing the ginger-haired girl hiding with her, who's name is  Anna , and points at the pillar that she  knows  is hiding Tom.

She glances up once, gestures to Anna to move around the side - who, she notes with pride, nods like a soldier would - and runs, tip-toed.

She turns round the bend, glances once to see how Anna is doing, and then, starts tracing back, a balloon in her left hand, two in her pockets, and a bucket full of water in her right. 

She hears one of the boys scream from somewhere towards the left side.

Anna sets her face determinedly, and throws a balloon at Tom, who's still scanning the field for Hermione. He looks up, shocked, and scowls as he throws a balloon back, hitting Anna squarely on the face. She stumbles back, but throws another and soon, they're caught up, and Hermione knows that Tom knows that he's wasting balloons.

Right when she's maybe a yard away from him, he stiffens, like he's sensed her, though, that isn't possible - but she doesn't take a chance, she throws the balloon as hard as she can, hitting him firmly on his back. 

He yelps, and looks around, he's grinning but there's also a challenging gleam in his eyes as she throws another balloon, gets closer to him and hefts up the bucket.

Gotcha.

He hadn’t seen it before, too caught up in everything else and he hisses in realization, eyes widening in horror as she smiles sweetly and dumps all the water on him.

Anna smiles triumphantly behind him, before mock-saluting Hermione and walking off to the main ground.

Tom sputters, his face wet,  Hermione wishes she was tall enough to get his hair, but alas , and shakes his head, spraying water droplets everywhere, shivering exaggeratedly.

He looks at her, his smile softening, and there's something in his eyes, that makes her unable to look away, and just when she's about to come to terms with it, when she's about to do what now seems inevitable, what she knows  will happen -

His expression drops, as he grins, sly and mischievous, and his hand comes up with a flash of blue -

Hermione tries ducking, but she's too slow, and the blue balloon bursts right on top of her hair. She gasps at the cold water trickling down her spine, and he runs, shooting her a look behind his shoulder, bright and playful.

She glares in his direction, before biting back a smile and running after him, last balloon in hand.  That one is absolutely for him and his perfect hair.






______________







They stop playing around seven, when the sky starts to get darker and Hermione says that she should rather get going. Tom offers to go with her till Diagon, but she refuses, says she'll take the Knight Bus, so there's no need.

Tom watches the purple bus appear and reappear, and suddenly feels very empty, standing at the edge of the field stretching behind him.

There's a loud  purr  from somewhere behind him, and he looks to see Betty perched on the outer brick wall.

He picks her up, goes inside, tells Mitch's friends to get out of the room, takes the washed, clean pile of Abraxas's plates back from Whalley, opens an old Defense Book, flips it open to random chapter,  Producing a Proud Patronus is Perfectly Possible!  and tries to read it.



[½]  A successfully conjured Patronus can take two forms:  incorporeal  and  corporeal , and both types vary greatly in their appearances and strength.



He's never had trouble with  reading  before. 

He still doesn't, but it's. 

It's just that.

He has things on his mind which are very...  new . He usually doesn't think of brown eyes or of -



[⅔] An  incorporeal Patronus  is one which does not resemble any living creature and has few distinguishing features (if any). Incorporeal Patronuses resemble a burst of vapour or smoke without any clearly defined form shooting from the tip of the wand. While they may be partially effective at halting Dementors (but not repelling them) and shielding the caster from them, incorporeal Patronuses are not "fully-fledged" Patronuses, and are regarded as a simpler and weaker version of the Charm.



He's never actually cast anything other than an Incorporeal Patronus, and Tom knows that's also been possible only because of his Magical strength. He's never known what to think about, when he casts the spell.



[1]  To successfully cast a Patronus, one begins by mustering  the happiest memory   they can think of (the happier the memory, the better the charm will work).



He thinks of the purple shops in Diagon Alley and the rain. He thinks of the musty smell of  that  pub. He thinks of ice cream and the way she smiles when she sees a bookstore and the water splashing on his face, thinks of her hand in his. He thinks of what he'd felt when she'd turned up out of nowhere at the Orphanage,  almost demanding a day out with him.  He thinks of how she doesn't like just the part of him that he shows to everyone else, but truly likes  him , even though she knows everything he's done.


He probably knows which memory to use for a Patronus Spell, now.






____________

Chapter Text

_____________






Mrs. Cole finds Tom sitting near the window in the morning, his Horcrux in hand.

He's flipping through the blank diary, the thick pages empty and warm under his palm, the little piece of his soul buzzing under his touch, like it always does. Tom usually always feels better when he does it. Right now, he feels... empty . Maybe the diary can sense there's something different about him, now, something which feels like a pull in his chest, like a painful squeeze. It's been like that since Hermione left the evening before, or maybe, even before that. 

When Hermione’s there, though, he can't feel it.

"Riddle," Mrs Cole says, from where she's standing at the door. She's looking at him with an odd expression, surprisingly lacking of the judgement he always sees there.

"Mrs. Cole," Tom replies, dully. "Mitch is still alive, in case you were wondering. He's outside, I suppose."

"Indeed," she says, and uninvited, and  unwanted , comes and sits across from him, on Mitch's bed. She smiles, just a little, and it looks painful, but Tom has to give it to her, she looks like she's trying her best. "Your girl seems to be doing you good."

That  takes a moment to register. 

"She's not my - " Tom says, then stops aware of how juvenile he'll sound if he continues. "She's not - she's just my school - " he sighs, "Your point?" he asks, finally.

There's a long pause.

"Tom, I won't pretend that there has ever been anything between us except dislike," she says, briskly. Tom rolls his eyes.  There's  an understatement. "But I need your help. I wasn’t going to ask because I did not think you would - " she halts, pursing her lips.

"Excuse me?" Tom asks, bewildered. His  help ?

There's another long pause.

"The children listen to you," she says, in a placating kind of voice. Tom scoffs.  Like they have a choice. Like they want to.  Mrs. Cole seems to find that a moot point.

"You're the oldest in all the children here," she says, and glances out of the window.

"No," Tom corrects, out of principle. He's really not sure about where this is going. "I'm not the oldest. Baker is. He's a year elder. So is Edwards."

"Except they're not  here , anymore," Mrs. Cole says, her fingers tapping anxiously on the side. "Johnny Baker and George Edwards  left  two days back. Martha and I didn't realise until last night. The children in their rooms are saying - that he - that they - "

"That they?" Tom snaps, prompting her to speak. He definitely doesn't care about Johnny Baker. Nor can he possibly pretend to.

"They," Mrs. Cole makes a choked sort of sound, and reaches inside her pocket, pulls out a sheaf of papers of some sort, and hands them to Tom. "I found these under the newspapers in their cupboards after they had left - "

Tom takes them instinctively, eyes scanning the colorful posters, papers with bright illustrations and headings.


"THERE'S STILL A PLACE OF HONOR FOR YOU"   the top reads, in bold blue and red and white.  "DON'T WAIT, VOLUNTEER! YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU!"


"Oh," Tom says, in understanding, feeling slightly sickened.

"I didn't have any idea before I saw these," Mrs. Cole says, weakly.


You too, this day, do your duty!  the soldier sitting in the green canon proclaims. There's a whole photo depicting a son and a father in an Army Uniform. Tom shuffles through, there atleast ten leaflets, all declaring the same, with different pictures.  Th e true youth, the proud citizen, the warriors of equality!   Under the titles, there are addresses and names, and lists of other jobs besides the mainstream soldier,   Assembler, Metal Chipper, Carpenter  -

Are you also tired of sitting around and waiting? DO YOU WANT ACTION? DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM?  Tom clenches his jaw, where would the kids even get these from, and why would  any underage idiot  believe in this obvious drivel -

Tom hands the papers back to Mrs. Cole, seeing the last blue, star patterned  REAL MEN FIGHT FOR THE RIGHT OF THEIR NATION!  and sighing.

"Johnny and George were - " Mrs Cole says, before looking away.

"Naive idiots," Tom finishes, dryly. 

"Barely seventeen," she finishes, sounding more miserable than Tom would have expected, considering the fact that the food isn't even enough for the rest of them, and considering Mrs. Cole's tendency to hate most of the kids.

Tom is still wondering why she's come to  him  to show this, of all people.

"I want you to talk to the rest of them," she says, abruptly, almost making Tom choke on thin air. "I've seen Dennis and Billy and, and - Eric and Francis, the way they've been acting these past few days and - "

"And you want  me  to  talk  to them?" Tom interrupts, sputtering. "About what? I do not  care  about mug - " he stops himself, sighing.

"I know you don't care, Tom," Mrs. Cole says, disregarding the half formed word. "But they're just children. They will  die , out there. And I cannot - "

"What would I even say?" Tom scoffs, humoring her. "I'm hardly trusted   here, let alone - "

"You don't have to explain yourself, Tom," she says, firmly. "They listen to you," she doesn't say ' and with good reason'  but its implied. "Tell them they're not  allowed  to do it. That, that if they do it, you'll, you will - "

Do freak magic on them.

"Threatening, Mrs. Cole?" Tom asks, instead, amused. "How crass."

"This Orphanage is built in a gutter," Mrs. Cole says, so honestly that Tom blinks. "I don't care what's  crass  or not. I want the children under my care to not be - to not - "

The door bangs open, and Mitch comes in, smiling, before he sees them talking. He picks up Betty, and runs out, shooting them a wide-eyed look.

"Dennis and Billy will listen to you," Mrs. Cole says after he's gone, and she's right. They would probably do whatever Tom tells them to. "They're the ones who were in the same room as Johnny and George. They are planning to leave, to go to the Recruiting Station. But I'm sure if you just talk to them, they don't understand, they're rash and immature and - "

This will probably be the stupidest thing he's ever done.

"And what do  I  get out of it?" Tom asks, finally.

Mrs. Cole smiles, for the first time since she entered, and the smile is very  slytherin.

_______________






"Bitsy!" Abraxas Malfoy calls. The little House Elf appears with  crack!  and smiles nervously up at him. Bitsy's easily the tiniest House Elf Abraxas has ever seen, and also his favorite, because she's always helped Abraxas with everything. She's the one who packs Tom's food all the time. Abraxas wonders what his Mother would say if she found out Abraxas regularly sends food and cutlery from the Manor to  muggle  London. 

"Yes, Master Abraxas?" Bitsy squeaks. "What can Bitsy do for yous?"

"Hello, Bitsy," Abraxas says, as he pulls out an Envelope. "Please deliver this letter to Orion from me, please. And make sure Walburga doesn't see you, okay?"

She nods and disappears with another  crack.






_____________

"Do you all understand?" Tom asks, sharply. Billy Stubbs and Dennis Bishop shift their weight from one foot to another, still looking defiant. Francis is chewing on his lip so brutally that Tom can see the blood ooze out.

"Yeah," the boys say, in a chorus. A few girls, who'd wanted to hear what 'Tom Riddle had to say to the boys' nod from the sides. Mrs. Cole isn't here, because Tom's threats are apparently more effective this way. It's like Mrs. Cole's done some sort of thesis on Tom's tenure ("reign of terror")   at Wool's.

"Am I  clear , Whalley?" Tom snaps, because Eric Whalley's still not replied.

"Y-yes," the boy stammers out, when Tom glares at him. "Clear."

"Get everything you have to me. Right now," Tom instructs, leaning on the sill behind him. "And I mean  everything . I don't know where you got it from, but you're never bringing any war-related or propaganda based reading material inside this building. Ever. And I know for a fact that there's nobody here who's eighteen, so do not, I repeat, do  not  pretend to be. Or I promise," he fixes a dark gaze on a few of them, "You  will  regret it."

A few of them shiver. Tom feels satisfied enough.

"Billy's eighteen!" one of the younger boys, squeaks, suddenly and quite unwisely, since he's speaking out of fucking turn, and he's also incorrect. Billy looks at the boy nervously, which means he lied to him. Typical.

"Billy's sixteen," Tom says, calmer than he feels. The boy glares accusingly at Billy.  Oh, Tom really hates muggles . "And I was  born  in this Orphanage, so I'll thank you to not presume you know better than me about this place."

"Shitty as it is," the girl at the back, Anna, mutters, sardonically, before shooting Tom a vaguely apologetic look. She's the girl who helped Hermione trick Tom during the water fight, if he remembers correctly. 

There's a short pause, before Tom points to the door. Most of them rush out, and after about five minutes, come back with a ridiculously large number of nationalist pamphlets and blue and red posters about drafting.

Tom takes all of the posters, tells the boys that he can tell they haven't brought everything out, and waits for them as they come back, looking guilty, with a few more colorful sheets, and surprisingly, one  Cassette tape . 

After they're gone, he goes out to the ground at the back, pockets the  tape  cassette , sets the papers down, and glares at them till they catch fire. 

His Wandless Magic really  has  gotten stronger, it seems. 


When he's done, he goes to Mrs. Cole's Office. She's waiting for him, eyebrows rising when he enters. 

"All well?" she asks, rhetorically, and smiles slightly when he nods, once. He waits, until she pulls out a drawer, and hands him a wallet, a black leather one, kept inside.

"The money is inside," she tells him, pursing her lips. "For the bus. And food. If you want to buy your little girlfr - "

"My  friend ," he corrects, through gritted teeth, wondering when he reached that point in his life where he's being made fun of, by Mrs. Cole.

"Yes, yes, the girl with the big hair," she makes a vague gesture. "If you want to buy her dinner, or anything, there is enough."

Tom hums, looking inside. It's apparently Mrs. Cole's personal savings, and he's apparently going to be using all this muggle money for -

'I would love to see how London looks like fifty years before my time! How absolutely fascinating!'  he remembers Hermione saying, quite clearly. Well.

Yes. He's definitely using the money for this. There's something fundamental in him that protests vehemently against wasting money like that, but then -

"Oh, you're right, of course. I didn't realise we can't actually go out in Muggle London right now,"  she had said.

Except they could. Tom knew exactly where to go, and exactly what to do. Hermione would like it, he thinks, resolutely, and a voice in his head says  what she likes isn't supposed to matter!  but he ignores that, and puts the wallet in his pocket.

"Thank you," he says, genuinely. 

"You're welcome, Riddle," she sniffs, looking at him sternly. "Be careful. And don't be too late."

He nods, and goes out.

He's almost out of the front door, his hand curled around his wand in his pocket as he wonders if he should take the Knight Bus, or if it'll be too much of a hassle in broad daylight.

"Hey, Riddle!" 

He turns around to see Anna. "Yes?" Tom asks, raising an eyebrow.

She bites her lip for a second, before seemingly coming to a decision. "You should wear green, instead of blue!" the girl blurts out, and Tom blinks, glancing down at his navy blue jacket. He blinks again, and looks back at Anna.

"Um," she says, intelligently. "You look far better in green. You  are  meeting Hermione, are you not?"

Tom nods, because he's still a little stunned.  A muggle girl just gave him unsolicited fashion advice, and he feels... not much anger.  There's definitely something wrong with him.

"Yes," Tom replies, finally. "Hermione. I am meeting her."

He watches Anna dash down the Hall, and bring him the green jacket hung on the peg in his room. He wonders how she even knows where it was, wonders why he doesn't much care that a Muggle just touched Tom's belongings, his  personal  belongings.

He  shrugs off the blue jacket,  slings the green one on,  thanks Anna, and walks out, extending his wand hand, for the Knight Bus. He's not sure if he'll survive an hour or half with muggles after this without snapping.





______________

Madam Isla is smiling at Hermione.


Hermione glances around a little, there are no customers, nothing new about anything. She's dressed the same way she always is, so it can't be that either. Madam Isla is big on complimenting changes in appearances. When Hermione had first come to the store with a braid, Madam Isla had picked out flowers for her to put in.

 Hermione resumes her reading,  Hourglass Half-Life - A Theoretical Study of Time Magic,  or atleast tries to, because Isla is still staring, and smiling. She's just come back inside. And also, the book is irritatingly damning to Hermione’s current situation.

"Is everything fine?" Hermione asks, after a moment, eyes on the book.  [⅖] Time-related magic is unstable, however, and as serious breaches in the laws of time was widely accepted to potentially result in catastrophe if meddled with...

"That's an interesting question," Isla says, which Hermione takes to mean  no.

"Erm," Hermione says, shutting her book and looking at her, as she says, simply, "You can take a leave today."

"Erm," Hermione says, again, eyes widening. She didn't do anything wrong, did she? "Why - "

" He's  waiting outside for you," Madam Isla sings, smiling, and walks back inside, as Hermione blinks, and tries to smother her involuntary smile.

She wishes she didn't immediately understand who Madam Isla was talking about. And she wishes she wasn't this happy about him coming here.

She is, though, is the thing.

She pats her hair down a little, before feeling annoyed at herself, and stopping, and glaring at her reflection as if to make her hair frizz out again. She puts the book down on the counter, checks her pocket for her wand and spare cash, and then, goes out of the store, the door tinkering behind her.

Sure enough, Tom Riddle  is  there.

She's been forcing herself to think about anything but him since yesterday, and now that he's  here , Hermione wishes she'd taken the time to think about just what the hell is going on between them.

She ignores that feeling though, at the moment, and instead goes, and greets Tom, who, like always, looks casually sharp, like his personality is already so  immaculate  that he doesn't need to worry about what he wears or what he does, things just sort of fall into place. Or arrange themselves, into perfect places.

"I wondered if we could," Tom says, clearing his throat. His expression is mildly neutral, in that careful way, that sometimes worries Hermione. "If you were free. Because, I was. Free, that is. And if we could."

"Go out?" Hermione asks, before blinking and coloring at her wording. Her nervousness seems to make him feel more comfortable, because his shoulders untense a little, and he smiles, lazily, leaning on the red brick wall.

"Yes," Tom says, simply. "Like friends do, of course," he adds, biting the inside of his cheek, and Hermione nods, quickly.  Like friends do.  She's friends with  Lord Volde  Tom Riddle. She's friends with Tom Riddle. 

"So," she says, when they start walking. "Where to?"

"It's a surprise?" Tom shrugs, looking quite pleased with himself. She wonders if that bodes well. For her.

"Why are we going away from Diagon, then?" Hermione asks, realising the direction they've been walking in.

He smirks. "Spoilers," he says, lightly.

Hermione narrows her eyes at him, but he refuses to give.  I can't believe I trust him enough to just follow him like that , she thinks, as they walk. She looks at him through the corner of her eye. His strides are naturally longer than hers, but he slows down, when they're walking together, steps shorter. It's sort of... endearing .

They enter Muggle London, from Diagon, and Hermione looks incredulously at Tom, as they walk to the bus stand.

______________

Chapter Text

______________






An hour later, Hermione’s sure that she isn't actually with Tom Riddle. No, this is someone else, polyjuiced to look like him, because there is  no way  that  Voldemort  Tom Riddle would willingly come to a  Muggle Cinema Theatre  for a movie. Watching a movie. With Tom Riddle. She's going to watch a movie in a 1944 London Cinema with Tom Riddle. 

If this wasn't Tom she was talking about, she would be sure of the polyjuice theory. But then, she's also sure nobody would be able to do that.

As it is, he points to the ticket counter, and tells her to select a movie, while he gets something to eat, from an old man in a hat, leaning against a tiny popcorn stall. 

There isn't any food available at the counter, just two bored looking men in white sitting with a file and a locked glass box with money in it. A huge board above them reads  Dr. Pepper .

There aren't many people here, just a few more, looking about Hermione’s age, or younger, mostly couples. She realises that they all must look at Tom and Hermione and assume that, too.

Hermione looks at the black-and-white movie posters stuck up, and a few colored ones, quite a few of them recognizable as old  classics , that she can apparently watch in the Cinema.

Forever and a Day ,  the biggest one reads, in bright yellow and blue, and just by the illustration, she can tell how utterly out-of-time she is. The name on of the old posters,  For Whom the Bell Tolls  strikes her, she's sure she's heard of it before, and even,  Clancy Street Boys  and  The Song of Bernadette ,   but nothing seems to fit, exactly. There's also a big chance that everything here would seem misogynistic and/or sexist to Hermione, but that's definitely not stopping her from watching one.

"They've still got it on!" a girl yells to her right, her hand curled around the boy's arm she's with. "Oh, we simply  must  see it again!"

And she drags the boy to the counter, tapping on the box of tickets and pointing to the framed poster behind the counter,

Casablanca , it reads.  Bogart, Bergman, Henreid.

Oh , Hermione thinks, and walks to the counter.






______________






Tom returns after five minutes or so, two big butter popcorn pouches in hand, and two glass Cola bottles, and gives her one each. 

There's a metal ball in the bottle opening, instead of a tin cap.  Strange , she thinks, as Tom pops it  inside , and hands it back to her. The steel ball settles down in the bottle and Hermione sips, the taste of Coca-Cola very foreign for a moment.

"Casablanca?" Tom pronounces, warily, and Hermione nods, amused at how skeptical he looks.

They make their way inside, through the narrow passage, and into the dark room. It's cool, and quite small, a few rows filled. Their seats are somewhere in the second row, and they squeeze through the group of kids nearby, and sit down, eating popcorn and drinking fizzy drinks, in a comfortable kind of silence.

The movie starts with little fanfare, there's barely one advertisement, and music plays, and it's -

It's just so nice.

She suddenly feels very relaxed, carefree, like she used to, sometimes before Hogwarts. 

'It must have been that something lovers call fate,'  Frank Sinatra sings in the background.

' It had to be you
It had to be you
I wandered around, and I finally found
The somebody who
Could make me be true'

The Theatre isn't very much like the ones she knows, it's obviously not air-conditioned, neither does it have recliner seats or something - it's more  homely . It's small, and simple and it reminds her of the time she used to sit with her grandfather at his house and watch  West Side Story,  and  Goldfinger,  and  Back To The Future.  She abruptly remembers watching Marty McFly, and wishing the same would happen to her, and wonders if this is some ironic punishment, except -

It's not a punishment, is it?

Hermione and Tom's fingers brush together when they reach for the popcorn at the same time, and it's incredibly cliche, and also, heart-warming, in a way.

"And what in  heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?"  the actor on the screen says. She doesn't quite know their names, yet, and it's harder to tell in a black and white movie.

"My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters,"  another man replies.

"The waters? What waters? We're in the desert."

"...I was misinformed,"  the man says. Hermione huffs out a laugh, and surprisingly, so does Tom.

She glances at him, because he keeps glancing at her, as if to make sure she's enjoying. 

That too, is incredibly warming.

Hermione’s Cola finishes too soon, to her disappointment, but then, Tom nudges her and passes her his bottle, still looking at the screen, like it's no big deal. It isn't, is the thing. It just feels like it, because, well. It just feels like it. Their fingers brush again, and she stops wondering about it.

"What is your nationality?"  the man is asking, on the screen.

"I'm a drunkard,"  the other guy replies, and Hermione laughs, not-so-accidentally leaning into Tom. He looks at her with a smug kind of smile, like he's the one who made the movie.

Their shoulders are brushing together.

" Play it, Sam. Play "As Time Goes By,"  the woman says, softly, and the music starts again, slow and simple.

'A kiss is just a kiss.
A sigh is just a sigh.'

The couple sitting in front of them starts snogging, when the song plays. Tom clenches his jaw irritably, but Hermione just takes the popcorn from him and chucks a few at them, till they stop, laughing and mock-glaring at Hermione, who hits Tom lightly on the elbow, until he cracks a sardonic smile, too.

'The fundamental things apply.
As time goes by.
And when two lovers woo.
They still say, "I love you."

It continues like that for a while, Tom and Hermione eating and laughing at some things, even the little smiles and exasperated looks, feeling meaningful, atleast to Hermione. 

" Of all the gin joints  - "

Hermione glances once at Tom, and then, forcefully, tells herself to  stop thinking, just do it! , and takes his hand in hers. It's dry, and on the colder side, as he looks at her once, and then, hurriedly looks away. She suddenly realizes that this was probably the first time she's seen him flustered, even a little, as he curls his fingers around her palm.

" Of all the gin joints,  in all the towns,  in all the world,"  the man sings, low and rumbling and familiar.  "And she walks into mine."





____________





Of all the gin joints, in all  the towns,  in all the world, and  she walks into mine.

Tom swallows slightly, as Hermione holds his hand. She isn't looking embarrassed or anything, and her is expression open and... fond. He turns her palm over, his thumb tracing the back of her hand, almost without realizing, but she doesn't mind or react, so he keeps doing it.

'It's still the same old story
A fight for love and glory.'

Hermione’s grip on his hand tightens, just a little.

"The world will always welcome lovers.
As time goes by..."

The movie is surprisingly engaging, he thinks, because that's easier to worry about than Hermione holding his hand. Anyone holding his hand is surprising, actually. The fact that he would let them, the fact that he wouldn't hear their heartbeat speed up, out of fear.

"Here's looking at you, kid,"  the man, Rick, says, and Tom watches Hermione mouth the words. He raises a questioning eyebrow, and she shrugs and says, "This one line is going to be immortal."

Immortal. Tom winces, and Hermione pretends not to hear.

" With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love,"  the woman says to the man, and Tom has to tell himself to breathe, to look at the movie, and not at Hermione.  Love.  What a mundane concept. Foolish, really. Very foolish. 

" Can I tell you a story, Rick?"  the woman,  Ilsa , asks.

"Does it got a wild finish?"  the man retorts, his accent thick and rolling.

Hermione looks at Tom, and under the light flashing from the screen, says along with the actress,  " I don't know the finish yet."





_____________






When the  "To America, Viva la France!"  part comes on screen, the people cheer, yelling "To Britain and America!" and another confused boy from the back says, "Captain Renault!" 


The ending is about to come soon, just when their popcorn finishes and Ilsa's love is proven to be doomed.

It isn't a tragic ending, though, Hermione thinks uncomfortably.  It's just realistic. It's what happens. What's going to - 

Tom's looking at her, she realises, suddenly. Intense gaze, eyes dark and gleaming, his face a little flushed. She looks back, the angles of his face sharp in the shadows, his cheekbones high and cutting. She bites her lip unconsciously, and he follows the movement with his eyes, so she stops, because is this really - has she really - does  Tom  too -

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, slowly, carefully, as he looks at her through lashes, long and dark. 

The couple in front of them starts snogging again, and Tom blinks at the abrupt noise, startled as he looks at the screen and looks back at her, like he hadn’t realised what was happening.

She doesn't know if she wants to thank the two in front of them, or curse them. Possibly  curse.

Hermione looks at Tom once more, who's looking ahead now, at the movie, and leans in sideways, putting her head on his shoulder. He stiffens, then, relaxes, and after a short pause, maneuvers his arm to her back, his hand lightly touching the top edge of her shirt.

"Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,"  the man, Rick, says, and Hermione smiles, leaning up to Tom.

She kisses him on the cheek, tender and soft, and its definitely more intimate than just a friendship. Especially, when he looks at her, and kisses her on her forehead, a light, feathery kiss, like he isn't quite sure if he's doing it right, his hand on her arm.


I think this is the beginning of something even better,  she thinks.






_______________






They're still holding hands.

They come out of the Cinema when the movie ends, not before Tom kicks the seat of the muggles in front of them at least once, just  because . Hermione looks amused, and they're holding hands.

It's evening, by now, the sky is orange and pink and purple, and also, Hermione is  still  holding Tom's hand.

He hasn't ever had a friendship (or more?) like this before. He takes what he wants, and he's quick about it, and it's satisfying once he gets the desired results, but this. This is slow and strange and heated and Tom has no idea what is happening and what he wants out of this and what she wants out of this and  why won't she leave his hand?  He's certainly not going to, but she should. Probably. He feels too warm.

"You can drop me off now, if you want to," she says, teasingly. "It's still evening. Maybe we can take a walk in Diagon."

"I, uh," Tom says, then, clears his throat, feeling frustrated that he doesn't immediately have words ready. Like he always does. Like he  should.  "You want to go back, now? I actually thought we could - uh. Do you need to go back now?"

He didn't sound so inarticulate even when he was five,  he thinks, resigned to embarrassment around her.

"Not particularly," she says, looking puzzled. "Where'd you want to go?"

He starts to speak, but then. She had liked the movie, hadn't she?

"It's a surprise," he says, loftily, and pulls her along across the street, as she laughs, and says, "Oh,  honestly !"






_______________






There's something wrong , Abraxas Malfoy thinks, as he watches his parents rush to firecall the Blacks.  Something's definitely wrong.

It's been a week since they've come back from Hogwarts, and Abraxas's parents have been acting quite strange. Distant, in a way. 

At first, he'd thought that it was because of his less than enthusiastic reaction to their very sudden and abrupt demand for him to find a suitable wife   but no, it's definitely more than that. It's something bigger, something that's affecting not just his family but - 

" - the war, yes, foolish, of course - "

Abraxas first hears the rumors through his usual means - Eavesdropping on his parents' private conversations and floo-calls.

" - Pollux, of  all  the reasons to - "

Abraxas shifted slightly from his place when a House Elf shuffled out of the foyer, catching Abraxas listening. He glanced once inside the parlor, where his parents were sitting and talking, and ducked out of sight again.

" - Dumbledore is certainly skilled enough - "

" - oh, but the germans are - "

Germans?

The House Elf shoots him a panicked look, back and forth between him and his parents, wringing its hands, and Abraxas sighs, as he gets up and sneaks back to his room, passing a warning glance to the Elf, so he doesn't tell on him.

Germans , Abraxas thinks, sitting in his room.  War. Dumbledore.

Grindelwald.

He really needs to know more. Right now. He knows, like everybody does, of Grindelwald's violent campaign of Wizard Superiority, and that his parents, like most pureblooded families across England, are neutral, regardless of their respective views on it. Abraxas's just never thought much about how it would end.  Seems like I don't have to guess, now.  Something's happened. Something big. He's just about to try sneaking down again, when,


"Brax! Psst -  Brax ! Listen - !"


He blinks, then startles into motion, rummaging through his open trunk, and taking out the gleaming, rectangular Two-Way Mirror, that he'd gifted Orion last summer, so that they could stay in touch easily during vacations. 

Abraxas had tried giving one to Tom, too, but he'd refused, and Abraxas wondered if Tom really thought they would still mind the distinctly muggle background that would appear behind him while talking.  Well,  Abraxas thought,  they might have minded if they were eleven. Tom had certainly upended their expectations of those from muggle backgrounds since then. 

And it wasn’t like anyone would dare say anything about that to Tom's face, but Tom didn't like rumors flying about his Heritage. 

"Yeah, Orion?" Abraxas says, grabbing the handle of the mirror to see Orion's face in it, dark hair and grey eyes, looking excited. Or alarmed. It was hard to tell, with Blacks. Atleast, Orion's finally replying to Abraxas's letter.

"Did you hear?" Orion continues, in a hissed whisper, which tells Abraxas that Walburga is trying to listen in. "About Dumbledore? And Grindelwald? They're saying - "

There's a yell from somewhere behind him. Orion shoots a hurried look behind him, before turning back to Abraxas.

"No, no I didn't," Abraxas shakes his head, quickly. "Your parents are talking to mine, right now. What's going on? What's everyone talking about?"

"Nobody's sure about anything, yet," Orion tells him. "Lucretia is saying that Aunt Cassie - "

His face ripples, as someone yells again, no, that's not yelling, Abraxas corrects, that's  ear  piercingly loud  shrieking . Oh. That's Walburga, then. 

" - like they knew each - "

Orion's voice cuts, again, and Abraxas can't hear anything.

"And the wand didn't work for - " Orion is saying, his pale face flushed.

"What? Who's wand? Orion, I can't hear - " Abraxas says, right before Orion's reflection disappears, and the Mirror goes dark.

He curses under his breath, and tries reconnecting, but Orion's face doesn't appear again.






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Chapter Text

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Café Ivy,  the wooden sign reads, in curly, chipped paint. The tables are wooden and wide, soothing music is playing, and the walls are clearly painted by hand. It's very pretty, and very, very empty. 

"You'll love the food," Tom promises, and they go in, and sit on one of the window side seats. "I came here once, back in Third Year."

" You  came to a Muggle restaurant yourself in - " Hermione starts, then stops, flushing a little.

Tom gives her a wry grin. "Abraxas was going through is...  rebellious  phase. And the Blacks live quite nearby, so we all came here together, all the Slytherins."

"Oh," Hermione says, surprised at the differences between the Slytherins she knew, and the ones in this year, casting a glance behind her shoulder. "Grimmauld Place. Right."

"I'm sure you're  not  supposed to know that," Tom says, idly, and beckons a waiter. "I won't even ask."

"I know -  knew  Orion's son," Hermione tells him, anyway, feeling a little tinge of sadness at that before firmly putting it away. Tom's eyebrows shoot up. "Orion and... erm. Walburga? Yes, their son. Sons, I should say."

Tom makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Orion and Walburga  do  marry, then. He often swears he wouldn't. How..." he scrunches his nose.

"Backwards," Hermione agrees, nodding, as Tom taps the smaller menu, and asks if she wants a drink. She thinks for a moment, then agrees, saying, "You can order for me. I wouldn't know what to take. Something on the milder side, please."


He complies.






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She's a beautiful,  Tom thinks, the unwelcome thought coming unbidden, as Hermione sways exaggeratedly to the music with a wide smile, singing it with enthusiasm. The crowd around them has increased, atleast ten more muggles are there, all of them humming or cheering.

"Oh, we ain't got a barrel of money," Hermione sings, awfully off-tune, with an even worse accent. It sort of hurts Tom's ears. Just a little. Maybe more. Frankly, she's  horrible  at this.

"Maybe we're ragged and  funny !" Hermione’s voice rises steadily, and the guy at the counter looks at them warily. 

She's not drunk or anything. Just a little... happy.

"Come on, Tom, sing with me!  But we'll travel along - !"

"Singing a song," Tom chants, softly, and unfortunately for him, Hermione suddenly seems  very  sober.

"You can sing!" Hermione gasps, accusingly. Then, "That's not  fair !"

"Fair?" Tom asks, laughing.

"Of course it's not," she says, indignantly. "You can't be good at  this , too!"

" Just as long as we're together," Tom sings, louder, mainly to annoy her. "It doesn't matter at all..."

" You ," Hermione says,  angrily,  pointing a finger at him, before the verse shifts, so she starts her  caterwauling  singing again, getting up from the chair. 

Tom watches, confused, as she goes and sits  on top  of the glowing, and buzzing Jukebox. 

Tom wonders if that's a future thing, before realising that all the muggles are sitting in weird places, too, one of them is hugging the large potted plant in the corner, two of them sitting atop the yellow Arcade Game Box, cross-legged and tipsy.

Tom finishes his drink, gets up, and goes to her.

" When they've all had their quarrels and  parted ," she's singing, when he reaches, biting back a smile. "We'll be the same as we started... "

"Chair not comfortable enough?" Tom asks, lightly, as Hermione makes to  stand  on the jukebox, fails, and sits back down.

"You can hear the music better here!" Hermione shouts, because, of course, the music here is  so  loud, that they cannot hear themselves.

Tom starts to speak, then, thinks better of it, and just stares at her.

"Hey, Tom, sing for me, won't you?" Hermione asks, leaning forward on the jukebox to speak in his ear. "I want to hear you sing!"

Tom laughs, and he's about to say something, when the beats of the next song start, and Hermione opens her mouth, blinking down at the jukebox, and the changing colors.


"Tom," she starts, smiling, and -


He can't help it.


He kisses her. 


Hermione doesn't push him away, doesn't yell, like he'd secretly been worried about, barely even looks surprised. Infact, she responds with as much (or even more) enthusiasm than him, even more  than her singing contained.

She slips a little down from where she's sitting, wrapping her legs around his waist, her shoes knocking roughly together behind him, her hands on his neck.

He moves his hand from her neck to her hair, and she gasps, pulling back for a second, but before he can even think, she presses her lips on his again. 


She tastes like strawberries.






_______________






He tastes like lemons.


Hermione doesn't know what it was that she expected, but whatever it was,  this  is a hundred times better. Thousand. Million times the tingling in her toes, million times the fluttering in her stomach, and  oh, god, he is sucking on her lower lip - 


When, suddenly -


There's a loud, whirring noise which makes Hermione glance involuntarily out of the window, a  woosh-pssh  like something heavy falling too fast -

A white flash, a brilliantly,  blindingly  white   flash appears, like the sky lighting up, like hundreds of cameras going off at once. 


Tom freezes.


And then, there's pitch darkness.


A torch lights up somewhere in the Kitchen, as people scream, and are hushed by others, panicked voices rising.

"Air Raid,"  Tom breathes against her, horrified, and her stomach drops.





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Chapter Text

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When the  owl  comes, Mitch screams.

It is an owl, though. Not just any old bird.

He had been sitting on his bed, petting Betty and trying to feed her a biscuit (that he'd sneaked in when Martha wasn't looking) - when there had been a knock on the window, and outside, there's an owl, a big, black thing with scary eyes, one of it's clawed feet tapping on the glass.

He stares, and stares, but the owl looks at him like he can understand him. Like it's  waiting  for him to open the window.

He stands up, and thinks of bolting but the owl taps harder, and Mitch is sure it'll break the glass in a minute or two. None of the children are outside, anyway. He doesn't know anyone enough to ask them to see the  owl on his window.  Maybe Mrs. Cole? She's also very scary, though. Her eyes are even worse than the owl's.

Tap, tap, tap.

Mitch doesn't know much, but he knows owls make  hoot-hoot  noises. At night.

This owl taps the window, in the afternoon.

Mitch slowly goes to the window, and opens it, just a tiny bit, and ducks.

The owl doesn't enter, just stares at him, until Mitch opens a bit more, and then, the owl pushes its wings in, and flies inside, even as Mitch yells for Amy and Mrs. Cole.

But, before anyone hears him and comes, the owl drops a piece of paper on the floor, and flies right out. Betty purrs, and Mitch looks to see if Mrs. Cole is coming, before picking up the paper and reading. It's a very thick paper, pretty and yellowish on the sides. Mitch isn't very good at reading, though, and the handwriting is too curly and small, so all he can make out are a few words,  "Tom"  it says, in the beginning, " war"  is one word, and another is  "safe"  - 

"What's that in your hand?"

Amy Benson is standing at the door, looking at him suspiciously, but he doesn't say anything, just hands over the paper.

Amy looks white when she's finished reading it. She gives him a last narrow-eye look, before walking out. 

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Cole tells them that they'll be going to the seaside, today. Dennis and Billy make a fuss when they're coming out, and it seems that nobody but Mitch wonders about where  Tom  is. He forgets soon, too, as he carries Betty on the yellow bus.


(On Mrs. Cole's desk, there's a piece of parchment which says, in cursive script, 

Tom,
Mother is at Abraxas's, and Aunt Cassie says that things aren't looking well for England. But messages haven't been coming through from Father's associates in Germany.  I have a bad feeling about all of this. Trust me, Tom, and get out of London for the day. Go to Malfoy's, or Diagon Alley, but get out of Muggle London, and find a safe place. 

I'm sorry if I'm being impertinent, but everybody is tensed, and I worry.

Orion.)



A two hour bus journey later, Mrs. Cole sits on Brighton Beach, and stands her ground when Martha asks her  what was all that about?

"The post hasn't been coming for quite a few days," Mrs. Cole tells her. "That letter got through, and it was someone from Tom's strange school. They meant what they wrote."

She knows that, all the way down in her bones, she  knows.

"Strange school," Martha mutters, huffing. She doesn't know Tom Riddle like Mrs. Cole does, though. She doesn't understand that there's  something  about Tom, that he isn't just another troubled kid, that he isn't just a bully who's now growing up. 

There's something about Riddle. Mrs. Cole wouldn't know, but her instincts say that there would be something about his friends, too. With a name like  Orion...

"Think of it as a hunch," Mrs. Cole says, and grimaces when one of boys says that he's hungry. They've used it all for the bus fare, though, all the money for today and tomorrow's ration.


But Mrs. Cole has a feeling she did right.


(The younger children bawl through the afternoon because they're hungry, but in the evening, there are sirens and they all sit in the bomb shelter at a school on Brighton Pier. The next day, Mrs. Cole is told by a group of burly men in uniforms that Wool's Orphanage  stands no more.)



Martha doesn't argue about food rationing, again.





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The music in Café Ivy has stopped abruptly, there's absolute silence for just one moment, and then, there's wailing,  terrifying  wailing, the sound of glass breaking. Hermione pulls back, jumps off the box, gripping Tom's hand.

A piercing signal starts somewhere outside, the high-pitched sound like a siren, over and over in the same warning siren, loud and shrill and frighteningly  real.

Hermione looks around in the dim light, the people in the bar are tensed, coiled, for just a second, before a waiter comes running out of the Kitchens, and yells, "Get up, get up, GET UP! MOVE! INSIDE, INSIDE!  NOW!"  and then, everyone is running about, there's complete chaos, as tables are shifted, chairs are pulled out, as people run into each other.

More waiters come out of the Kitchen, all holding torches, candles and lamps of sorts, ushering people inside the backroom. Hermione’s heart beats painfully fast, almost throbbing inside her chest, as Tom pulls her into the backroom, glancing above the people's heads, as one of the waiters opens a compartment sort of thing in the floor, an Underground Air Raid Trench, she realises, as Tom curses under his breath as someone pushes past him. 

"There's no space here for so many people, for fuck's sake - !" Tom says, and lifts his hand up with a Wandless  Lumos.  The Muggles don't seem to notice, in all the rush. Hermione tries doing the same, but the panic is making it hard to breathe, and she can't summon it. There's no space, even as she tries reaching for her wand, everyone is pushing and running. 

Besides, there's still the Underage Magic Decree.

The man who's holding the lid to the makeshift Bomb Shelter open, pushes in the people who are hesitating, handing something that looks like a piece of rubber attached to a string.

Hermione watches as Tom takes two of the rubber-string things, pushes one  between his teeth , and hands one to her.  For the shock , she realises. "Bite down on it!" Tom yells, and she does, teeth trembling out of pent-up nerves, as he maneuvers a way outside, "We're leaving! Wand!"

Hermione shakily pulls her wand out, as Tom picks up the water jug from the table and wets his jacket. The man at the door shouts at them to get back inside, but Tom pushes him roughly out of the way, and they escape out onto the street.

The first thing Hermione sees is the  fire . The first thing she hears is the crying of a baby, but she can't see where it's coming from.

Great plumes of black smoke rise up in the distance, and Tom's eyes widen, in what she's sure is fear. She can relate, there's something paralyzing scary about it all.

The sky, that was once clear is now an inky shade of  grey , and purple and red, and Hermione can hear people screaming, two men running across the street, their faces grime-covered and soaking wet. There's tiny bits of dust and debris floating everywhere. The air smells like burning wet wood, and like potion fumes, but magnified, like she's been drenched in it. 

Half burnt bodies are lying on the ground, eye balls white and bulging. Hermione can see a cow lying dead near the road, it's abdomen swollen up and purple - 

Tom takes off the jacket as they run, and hands it to her, saying, "Hold it up, don't breathe too deep! And  don't , for Salazar's sake, step in a puddle! This water's fucking  poison !"

Hermione does as he says, masking her face with his wet jacket, too stunned to even think. The cold, damp material instantly makes her feel better, as he pulls out his wand, looking hesitant.

A man suddenly runs out from the smoke, and his face is -

It's completely burnt, the skin is peeling off, it's  melting -  horrifyingly wet and red and angry, and he points upwards when he sees them, and yells, hoarse and strained, but loud enough, "PLANE!" 

Tom glances up at the same time as Hermione does, and there is actually a plane, a little, greyish silver thing, and there's something about that, that seems to snap them both out of their shock.

The man pushes against the door of the building to their left, a wretched sob escaping him when it doesn't open, even as he pushes and bangs with both fists.

Shelter. He needs shelter,  Hermione thinks.

"Fuck it," Tom mutters, and pulls out his wand. The man stares at it,  uncomprehendingly, bewildered, until Tom blasts  open the lock of the door, points at the disfigured, injured man to go inside, careful not to touch, grabs her wrist and apparates, and the last thing Hermione sees is a smaller black thing being released by the plane, falling, falling,  falling , on innocent people below.






______________






Abraxas eats Supper alone.

His parents aren't there, they're with the Blacks, and the Lestranges, and the Greengrasses, discussing something  'of urgent importance.' 

They usually floo back, but this time, he's just about done with the food, when there are two sharp  cracks!  and Mother and Father both appear in the foyer, looking grim, faces set in hard lines.

"Abraxas, get your wand out and go with your father," Mother says, briskly walking to the living room, and raising her own wand.

Abraxas blinks, but does so, and follows Father to the grounds behind the Manor.

"What is it?" Abraxas asks, confused. He's looking unusually pale. "What are you both - "

"Salvio Hexia,"  his father mutters, waving his wand in a curve.  " Protego totalum... Salvio Hexia...  Cave inimicum...  Fianto Duri - "

"Are, are you," Abraxas stammers, even as he lifts up his wand to imitate his wand motions. "Why are we expecting an attack?"

" Protego horribilis,"  his father says, before turning to him. "Our Manor already has enough Enchantments and Wards. We are just renewing the few basic ones. We're safe, here."

That  didn't answer his question, though. 

" Repello Inimicum,"  Abraxas says, sighing. It's clear his father doesn't want to answer anymore questions.





_______________





Grimmauld Place shakes with the force.

It doesn't fall, because its Wards are too powerful, the way Orion's Father has set them up, and because  ' they're just some muggle toys, darling. ' 

Orion's Mother sits placidly, sipping tea, even as people scream outside, people  die  outside. Painfully. Walburga and Lucretia are arguing about some 18th century scandal, like it matters.

Orion feels sick.

His Father isn't here, still in his study. 

Orion's head plays in a loop of  whirr-thud-crash  and his eyes burn with the acrid smell when he opens the window a crack. Tom hadn't replied to his Letter yesterday. There's no way for Orion to check, not now, not with muggle London's current happenings.

Alphard is sitting by the fire, expression sullen and hard, especially when he looks at Walburga. Orion's often surprised by Alphard's patience. He's often surprised by his own patience, but then again, he  is  the good son. The Heir. The one who 'gets' to marry Walburga.

Orion wonders what his parents will do now, which side they would choose, or still be neutral. His Mother wants to get involved. His Father wants to drink to his death.

(Orion's Father hates Orion's Mother, too. Sometimes, when Walburga clings to him, he thinks that someday he'll drink to his own death, too.)

For now,  Orion  just wants the muggle  toys  outside to stop falling. 





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Tom has always been excellent at Apparating.

He always was, the first person to know the theory, the first to make it out of the Hoop. In fact, he had learnt Apparition  so  quickly that the instructors had been baffled, and had insisted that somebody was teaching Underage Apparating to Tom. Until it had come out that he was a Muggleborn from a no-name Orphanage, of course.

Right now, though, Apparating doesn't work as well as he wants it to. 

"This was not supposed to happen," Hermione whispers from next to him. They're both lying flat on the ground, but Tom isn't having much trouble breathing so atleast they're out of  that  area.

"Yes, I'm aware," Tom groans, and gets up using his elbow. "We must have hit their Wards."

"No, I mean, the - the," Hermione says, shakily, sounding horribly shocked as she spits out the rubber shock absorber. "The... bombing," Tom tries to steady his breathing, "I'm sure this didn't happen the first time around. It couldn't have. It wasn't supposed to. We changed something," Hermione looks at Tom with poorly concealed panic. " I  changed something."

"I don’t see how anything you do would cause," Tom starts, then pauses, reviewing theories of the Butterfly Effect in his head. Hermione Granger is certainly more proactive than a butterfly, for Merlin's sake. This anyways seems like a Later-Problem. "First we need to contact Abraxas. They must have No Apparition Wards set up around the Manor - "

"Abraxas?" Hermione says, bewildered. "What - you, you were trying to apparate to  Malfoy Manor?"

Tom blinks. Looks around. "Yes," he says, warily.

"I was aiming for Hogsmeade!" Hermione says, standing up with a stumble, as Tom steadies her with a hand. 

They both look at each other, and then, look around. There's nothing much to see, just trees and barren land in the distance, with patches of brown, dry grass, and rocks.

Lots of rocks in front. And thick trees, behind them.

"We're  shockingly  lucky,"  Hermione says, finally. "Splinching would have been a pain right now," she shudders, like she's remembering something. "I don't even have my bag. It has... varied  supplies in it," she adds, for his benefit.

Tom nods.
"I think we're in AONB," Hermione says, sighing. He frowns at her. "Forest of Bowland?" she tries, but he hasn't ever heard of it.

He shakes his head, squinting his eyes to see what's beyond the fields.

"Oh," she says, looking surprised. "It probably hasn't been named, yet. The terrain matches, though, and it should lie right between Wiltshire and Hogwarts, if I'm right - "

"We can just Apparate again," Tom says, absent-mindedly, looking around for a clue as to where they are, even if it apparently hadn't been  named.  "To...Hogsmeade, I think. We've already broken the Decree once. What's once aga - "

Tom pauses, a movement catching his left eye, but before he can say anything, he feels something press into his back, too wide to be a wand, and too heavy and deliberate to be a branch -

"Hands up," a gruff voice says, right behind Tom.

"Not fucking likely,"  Hermione replies, evenly, and Tom feels a sense of pride, even as he catches her eye, and ducks, a red beam of light flying above him and striking the man behind. She casts a glance around, eyes widening, her stance changing.

The man falls, stunned, and others appear, all muggles, far as Tom can see, his wand raised high and steady, all of them in military uniforms, rifles up and pointing -

He wants to  kill  them.

It would be easy, he thinks, two words, and  a few more worthless muggles gone, muggles who attacked them for no reason - attacked Tom - attacked Hermione -

"Hogsmeade, come on, concentrate," Hermione whispers, and grabs his wrist, and they disappear, with a tug.






______________






"Orion?" Abraxas tries, for what has to be the thousandth time, and somehow,  somehow  - it  works.

"Abraxas?" Orion says, sounding breathless. There's sweat on his forehead, and he's pale, a half-formed shock on his face. "Oh, thank Salazar!"

"Orion, what's going on?" Abraxas asks, quickly. "My parents aren't breathing a word, and I could swear the ground is vibrating - "

"It is, it is," Orion says, swallowing. "I've been trying to talk since so long. Tom lives in Muggle London, doesn't he?"

"What," Abraxas says, blinking. "What about London - ? What's wrong - is Tom fine?"

"I don't know," Orion says, shaking his head, and glancing behind. "There's - there's been a - "

A deafening sound echoes from Orion's side, and Abraxas understands, a cold feeling creeping down his spine. He remembered Tom staying behind classes to ask Dumbledore if he could stay, and explaining in gruesome detail about -

"Bitsy!" Abraxas calls, and the House-Elf pops up, smiling nervously at him. "Go and check if Mother and Father are asleep yet. Go."

He whistles for his owl, Eros, while scribbling down a hurried  Tom Riddle  on the Parchment, though Eros knows where to go, followed by a  Are you okay? Send word if you need help,  and ties it to Eros's leg, as Orion explains what he knows.

He's worried, like anyone would be, but he doesn't think he logically needs to be.

Because if nothing else, Abraxas knows that Tom is a  survivor.





______________






Tom and Hermione stumble into Hogsmeade.

Tom and Hermione stumble into utter  chaos.


"It isn't safe for children out here," a woman hisses at them, as she crosses, a hand on her hat as she walks. "It isn't safe for anyone, anymore - !"

She's gone, before they can ask. Wizards and Witches are running about, people are locking and barging their pubs, all looking scared, or confused -

"Mummy, have we really - ?" a young girl is asking, and Hermione hears her Mother says, "Anna,  no  questions, don't speak, it's just a rumor, it's all going to be okay - "

"We need to go" Tom says, and pulls along Hermione, to the second street off High Street, and they enter a grubby, sawdust-strewn bar, a place that Hermione can vaguely recall is called the  Hog's Head Inn.

Tom doesn't stop in the bar, just walks inside, to what must be the kitchen, with complete familiarity, and they stand, leaning at the counter and catching their breath, when the door near the stairs opens, and -

It's  Dumbledore.

Except, of course, Hermione thinks, as he walks out, it's not.  Rita Skeeter said,  her head screams,  she said in that book of hers that -

"You're  Aberforth  Dumbledore," Hermione realises, staring, at the man's beard, and the crystal-blue eyes. He makes a vague noise, and his

"What's going on?" Tom asks, and Hermione realizes that his accent isn't as gone as he would like people to believe, settling down on the table. Aberforth grunts, and Hermione wonders again, why Tom seemed so comfortable here. "Nobody will give us one straight answer and we've just - "

He breaks, taking a deep breath, as Aberforth pushes a cup into Hermione’s hand, and in front of Tom.

"Muggle London is a... mess,"  Tom settles on, staring into his mug.

"You don't know, yet, do you, boy?" Aberforth asks, taking a sip, from his own mug. It's warm mead, and it makes Hermione relax a little, when she drinks a sip. "Suspected you don't," he says, at Tom's wary gaze. "My  idiot  of a brother may just have - "

"Dumbledore?" Tom asks, instantly suspicious. "What's  he  got to do with all this?"

"My brother sought to correct his...  mistakes,"  Aberforth says, impassive, jaw clenched. "But, he couldn’t do it."

There's a sinking feeling in Hermione’s stomach, as she remembers what Rita Skeeter had written in her book about Dumbledore's teenage years, little hints of -

"We've lost, Riddle," Aberforth says, roughly, his expression heavy, and for a second, Hermione doesn't register it. 

"W-what - " she sputters.

"My brother is dead," Aberforth says. "Grindelwald has  won."






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