The Fall
the Department of Mysteries was quieter than it should have been. Dust hung in the air, seemingly undisturbed. This was a room not many unspeakables entered. It had been years since Hermione and Harry had been here-never needing to after becoming unspeakables.
Hermione pushed forward towards a shelf containing books and trinkets. Pushing them aside she grabbed a small golden necklace-revealing it to be a time turner.
“This is what I was telling you about,” she murmured. She held it up for Harry to see.
“And you’re sure it’s safe?” She shot him a look. “Well we won’t know that until we study it will we?” She huffs. Harry sighs “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that”. She moves to put it on her neck but the moment it brushes her skin, something clicks.
There’s a swoosh of air, a burst of light, and then they fall.
---
Harry hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the floor. The scent of leather and smoke filled his nose. His head throbbed from the hit it had just taken.
He pushed himself off of the ground. He looked around only to see he was in Hogwarts?
“Hermione?” His voice was hoarse.
“I’m here.” She was near the wall, sprawled out on the floor. He held his hand out to her and pulled her up.
“Uh.. why are we in *very* outdated uniforms?” He palms his forehead. “Damnit, I knew we shouldn’t have messed with that bloody time turner”.
Before he could say anything, footsteps echoed from around the corner. They turned just in time to see a figure step into view.
A boy—tall, dark-haired, with striking features and an unmistakable air of authority. He was dressed in crisp Hogwarts robes, a prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest. But it wasn’t the badge that made Harry’s breath catch.
It was the face.
Smooth, unmarked by time or war. Handsome, elegant. And unmistakable.
Tom Riddle.
The moment stretched taut between them. Tom’s dark eyes flicked over their unfamiliar faces, his expression unreadable. “New students?” he asked smoothly, his voice like silk over steel. “How unexpected.”
Harry swallowed. Hermione tensed beside him.
Tom’s gaze lingered on Harry, sharp and assessing. Then, ever so slightly, he smiled.
And just like that, the future began to unravel.
---
Tom Riddle’s eyes lingered on them, calculating, dissecting.
Harry had faced Voldemort countless times—on battlefields, in visions, in nightmares. But this was different. This was Tom before he became the Dark Lord, before his name was feared. And yet, looking into those cold, assessing eyes, Harry wasn’t so sure.
Beside him, Hermione straightened. She was always the better liar. “Yes,” she said smoothly, voice even. “We’ve just transferred. From Beauxbatons.”
Tom tilted his head, considering them. “Unusual. Hogwarts doesn’t often take transfers.”
Harry forced himself to breathe. If anyone could see through them, it was Tom. He had to play along. “Circumstances were… special.”
Tom’s gaze flicked to him, sharp as a knife. “Special,” he repeated, like he was turning the word over in his mouth, tasting it.
Harry clenched his fists. There was something in the way Tom was looking at him—interested, but not in the friendly way Dumbledore had once looked at a promising student. No, Tom studied him like a puzzle he wanted to take apart piece by piece.
“I see,” Tom finally said. “Your names?”
Hermione hesitated. A second too long.
“Hermione,” she said quickly, and then, “Hermione Proulx.”
Harry barely kept his face neutral. Proulx—a French wizarding family. Smart.
Tom looked at him expectantly.
Harry forced himself to smirk, despite the tension coiling in his gut. “Harrison Proulx,” he said.
But Tom only arched a brow. “Siblings?” A pause. “Curious. You look nothing alike”.
Harry shrugged. “Not all siblings do,” he said smoothly.
Tom studied him. He didn’t believe him. Not fully.
But he was intrigued.
And that was worse.
“Hermione. Harrison.” Tom tasted their names like they were things to be unraveled. He smiled—not warm, but charming nonetheless. “How fortunate. Transfers are a rarity. I imagine you must be very gifted.”
Harry said nothing. Hermione smiled tightly.
“Where are you meant to be?” Tom continued. “Have you been Sorted?”
“We arrived late,” Hermione answered quickly. “The Headmaster is handling it.”
Tom nodded, though something in his eyes remained sharp. “Of course. Headmaster Dippet is generous with his time.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Harry’s. “As am I.”
Harry kept his face blank.
Tom’s lips curled. “If you need anything, let me know. Hogwarts can be… difficult to navigate.”
Something in the way he said it made Harry’s skin crawl.
Then, with one last lingering glance, Tom turned and walked away, disappearing into the dim corridors of the castle.
Hermione let out a slow breath. “That,” she whispered, “was terrifying.”
Harry didn’t answer. He was still staring after Tom Riddle, his mind spinning.
Because despite everything—despite knowing exactly who that boy would become—he had felt something.
Something dangerous.
Something that, deep down, scared him more than anything else.
Hermione swung towards him, “well I suppose we need to convince the headmaster we are actually transfers and need to be sorted if we’re going to be stuck here until we can fix the turner”.
---
Professor Dippet’s office smelled of parchment and aged wood, the scent thick in the warm candlelight. The elderly headmaster peered at them over his half-moon spectacles, his kind but wary eyes scanning their faces.
“So,” he said, fingers steepled. “You claim to be transfers from Beauxbatons?”
Hermione, always the best at improvisation, nodded quickly. “Yes, Headmaster. There was… a mix-up with our records, which is why our arrival was delayed.”
Dippet frowned. “A mix-up?”
Harry kept quiet, letting Hermione work. She had that sharp, intellectual air that people trusted.
“Yes,” she continued, perfectly composed. “Our guardians finalized our transfer at the end of last term, but some of our documentation was lost in transit. It was only recently sorted out, and our acceptance was confirmed.”
Harry was impressed. That was just vague enough to sound like bureaucratic nonsense.
Dippet hummed thoughtfully. “Odd. I wasn’t informed of any transfers.”
Hermione offered an apologetic smile. “We were told our letters had been sent.”
Harry decided to add a touch of arrogance, something purebloods would expect. “Frankly, we were surprised by the delay as well. Our family was… unimpressed with the miscommunication.”*.*
“That’s understandable,” the headmaster said, his tone placating. He turned his attention back to Hermione. “And your family—”
“French,” Hermione said smoothly. “But our mother was English. She wanted us to finish my education here.”
Harry almost smirked. That was the perfect lie—enough of an explanation without inviting too many questions.
Dippet exhaled, then glanced at the Deputy Headmistress standing beside him. “Professor Merrythought, do you see any reason to doubt their placement?”
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor studied them. Harry had heard of her—an expert duelist, intelligent but not one to be manipulated easily.
“They seem capable enough,” she said slowly. “Their magic is strong. I would suggest Sorting them immediately, Headmaster.”
Dippet nodded. “Yes, yes. Quite right.” He reached for the Sorting Hat, which rested on a shelf near his desk. “We shall see where Hogwarts places you.”
Hermione gave Harry a sharp look. *This is it.*
Dippet lifted the hat and gestured to Harry first. “Mr. Proulx, if you please.”
Harry stepped forward and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
The moment the fabric touched his scalp, a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
*Ah. You again.*
Harry stiffened.
*But you are not the same, are you?* the Hat mused. *You’ve changed. And you are hiding something… something dangerous.*
Harry swallowed hard, resisting the urge to curse.
*Well? Where shall I place you this time?*
Harry forced his thoughts into order. *Slytherin. It has to be Slytherin.*
The Hat chuckled. *Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’ll need all the cunning you can muster to survive what is coming.*
The words sent a shiver down his spine.
*Very well…*
“SLYTHERIN!”
Harry removed the hat, schooling his expression into something neutral. Across the desk, Dippet nodded approvingly.
Dippet turned to Hermione. “And now, Miss Proulx.”
Hermione hesitated only for a second before stepping forward. She placed the Sorting Hat on her head, gripping the chair beneath her tightly.
*Ah, another one out of place,* the Hat mused. *And my, what a mind you have. Fascinating. You could do well anywhere.*
*Slytherin,* Hermione thought immediately. *Send me to Slytherin.*
*An excellent choice… though you are no stranger to ambition, are you?*
Hermione swallowed but didn’t waver. *I will do what is necessary.*
The Hat chuckled. *Very well…*
“SLYTHERIN!”
Hermione let out a quiet breath of relief as she removed the hat.
Dippet beamed. “Slytherin, excellent choice. Welcome to Hogwarts.”
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance.
They had done it.
They were in.
And now, the real game would begin.