Peremo

The space around Hermione was dark, dark enough that she was entirely enveloped, swallowed whole.

There was a dull, repetitive thudding sound. It was oddly peaceful. She thought she might be able to drift off with it.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

What do you think happens?

Hermione felt a surge of irritation at the interruption of her peace.

"What do I think happens when?" she snapped at the voice, trying to listen again for the thudding. Hmm. On second thought, it sounded more like rumbling, and it almost seemed to pulse. Like a heartbeat.

When you die? clarified the voice.

"...I don't know," Hermione mumbled to the voice. She wished it would be quiet. "Nothing."

Nothing?

"Nothing."

The more she listened to it, the more convinced she became that it was a heartbeat. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud.

How sad, said the voice.

"Well, that's life for you."

The thudding went on and though she couldn't see her body, couldn't feel it or move it, or even be sure that she had one, she somehow felt as though she were swaying to the sound.

How did you find this place?

Hermione didn't know why she felt so impatient, so bothered by the voice, but she did. "What place?" she snapped.

The room of hidden things?

Oh. "Is that where we are?" Hermione tried to scan her surroundings again, but still, she perceived nothing but blackness and the sound of thudding.

How did you find it? the voice urged.

"Word of mouth," Hermione said, remembering Harry's excitement when he'd told her and Ron of Dobby's suggestion for their D.A. meetings, like it was only yesterday.

There was a pause, filled by the peaceful thudding.

Others know of the room? asked the voice.

Although Hermione's own form wasn't solid, she tried her best to scowl. What a silly question. "It's a communal room," Hermione stated. "Of course others would've found it over the years. Where do you think all of the clutter came from?"

There was another long pause.

Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud.

The voice didn't speak again.

When Hermione woke, it was slowly, naturally, and she stretched out her sore, rested muscles, sighing contentedly into her warm pillow. She lay there, beginning to bask in her comfort, but then the memory of where she was seeped back in, and she abruptly sat herself up.

Searching around her, the room was quiet. She was alone. The room of requirement was in the same form it had been in when she'd gone to sleep, not a thing was amiss.

Hermione relaxed a little bit, but then—

Oh, she'd had the strangest dream. It was vaguely familiar, too, like she'd had that very same dream before.

She remembered darkness... and... a sound? What was it, what was— oh. It had been a voice. A male voice, one that had sounded almost just like...

Frowning, Hermione pulled her blankets back and dipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out the resurrection stone. She held it in her palm, examining it, rubbing a finger gently over its markings.

She had had a similar dream, she realised, one the same day that the stone had been released from Tom's ring when she'd destroyed it. The voice—the one that had sounded like Tom's—had been in that dream, too.

She narrowed her eyes at the stone, turning it over in her hand…

What if... her dream—or dreams, rather—hadn't entirely been dreams? What if the voice she'd been speaking with truly had been Tom? Just... just not all of him?

She bit into her lip.

Oh well, she supposed. What did it matter? The stone's magic wasn't real, it didn't truly bring the dead back. It simply allowed one to speak with their memory of the dead.

But... despite that, Hermione found herself considering her dream again, thinking back over what dream-horcrux-Tom had said to her.

Others know of the room?

His voice had been quiet, meek, as if he hadn't considered the possibility that anyone other than himself might've stumbled across the room...

Others know of the room?

...

All at once, Hermione just about threw herself up and out of bed.

Oh!

Her dream might've just been an illusion fuelled by the resurrection stone but— oh, oh oh!

Voldemort from her time has trusted the room of requirement enough to keep his diadem there! True, he'd stashed it more than a decade ahead of the time she was currently in, but maybe now that she'd changed history and he was back at Hogwarts far, far sooner than he'd been in her own time... could he have decided to keep his diary there instead?!

Hermione snatched up her beaded bag in a hurry and dashed to the room's conjured medicine cabinet. She grabbed a few pots of numbing balm for her arm and shoved them into her bag, and hurriedly opened one and lathered it into her skin. Like the last time, the burn was intense, but Hermione was invigorated.

Because God, it was obvious! How hadn't she thought of it before?! How could she be so thick?!

Hermione was just about buzzing when she crept out of the room and crossed the quiet seventh-floor corridor, waiting for the room of requirement's door to disappear. When it did, she immediately started to pace again, willing it to show her the room of hidden things.

The door reappeared, and in she went.

Hermione wasted no time in getting started. With an energy she hadn't had in days, she started searching through every cabinet, high and low. She sifted through countless notebooks, aged photos of couples, newspaper clippings, muggle items, jewellery, accessories— all things that had once been valuable to other inhabitants of the castle. From the cabinets, she moved onto the desks, drawers, and shelves, like a woman possessed. Many of the old books piqued her interest, tempted her to sit and read, but none were the one she was after.

Hmm. If she were Tom, where would she put it, where would she put it? Somewhere that it wouldn't catch attention, she decided. Somewhere one wouldn't think to look twice.

Hermione circled on the spot. Why did the room have to be so big? She could be there for days! There were piles of books in every direction!

She supposed that at least she'd be safe in there, so she decided to start on the main bookcase, start at the books in a methodical manner. It was by the end of the room, and it was a grand one that spanned the entire length of the wall and ran all the way to the ceiling. Goodness. There must've been thousands of books.

But, alas, Hermione was not a quitter, especially when it came to books, so, she got to work.

She started off on the shelves she could reach, and when she found no diary, she transfigured a chair into a ladder to get started on the higher ones.

She searched until she lost track of time, until her toes ached from stretching so much, until all the books started to look the same. The longer she went on, the more boring it became, the ancient dates no longer exciting her the way they had when she first started. But she had to keep going. She had to be sure. If Tom hadn't kept it in his room, then this was the next best place.

It was then, as her grip slipped from the shelf she was up to and she almost toppled from her ladder, that she decided she needed a break.

Just five minutes.

Back on the ground, she summoned over a dusty goblet from one of the cabinets and spelled it clean. She filled it with water and downed it in three large gulps. After it, her throat still felt dry, so she filled it again, leaning against a large wooden cupboard as she sipped at it.

There was a pile of books in front of her. It was precariously balanced on an old desk.

Jesus, she thought to herself. The room was absolutely filled to the brim with books. How on earth was she supposed to check each one? Maybe she could summon Nispy, and a few of her friends? Multiple hands would make the job a great deal easier, but then—

Slowly, Hermione lowered her goblet. Her attention caught on the book at the top of the pile before her, her eyes narrowing. It was black, unremarkable. But unlike the majority of the other books in the room... it was suspiciously dust-free.

Hermione put her goblet down and stretched up on her toes to pull the black book down.

Goosepimples rose on her skin. Because the black leather cover was blank. Flicking its pages, they were empty. Her heart rate picked up. Inside of the cover, there on the first page, written in faded ink—

T.M. Riddle

Hermione just about screeched with joy.

"Yes!" she cheered to the empty room, jumping on the spot. "Yes, yes, yes!"

She clutched it tightly, just about hugging it. She jumped some more, struggling to think straight now she was bursting with adrenaline—she'd found it, she'd really found it!

But after jumping until she needed to catch her breath, as she looked down at it and she was reminded of what it was and what it meant, she quickly started to sombre.

Now that she had it, she needed to destroy it, and once she did... she would have to have a go at Tom himself.

A lump formed in her throat.

But— oh, she couldn't get ahead of herself. She still needed to get out of the castle, that much was clear. She needed time. Time to think, time to plan, time to prepare herself for killing someone intentionally, time she wouldn't have if she stayed here where the threat from Tom was constant. Besides, she couldn't very well just have a go at murdering Tom in the middle of Hogwarts. She needed to be sure she wouldn’t miss, and then, even if she succeeded, there would be a body to deal with, potential witnesses to silence. If she wasn't careful, she could be caught, and would have to spend the rest of her life on the run, or worse, in Azkaban.

While that was a price she was willing to pay if it meant the world would never see Voldemort, it wasn't her first choice.

And— Tom certainly wouldn't be easy. She wasn't sure how she would try to kill him, but regardless, he wouldn't go without a fight. Which all meant, she needed time to think.

Hermione opened her bag and tucked the diary inside before she started to pace thoughtfully.

Of course, the safest option of getting out of the castle was to use the room of requirement, take the hidden passage to the Hog's Head. She wouldn't need to go anywhere, wouldn't run the risk of running into Tom again. It was a perfect solution.

But—oh, it was selfish of her, and she knew it—she still wanted a life to come back to. If she survived Tom, managed to succeed in killing him, then she would still be stuck in this time for the rest of her life. She was comfortable in her job at Hogwarts, there she would eventually meet Harry, and Ron, and Ginny, and Luna, and Neville, and everyone else once they were old enough. If she just upped and left without a word, then she mightn't have a job to come back to.

Bloody hell.

So, Hermione grudgingly decided that she would go to Dippet's office. There, she would speak with Dippet, and with any luck, arrange for a leave from her position. After which, he would surely be kind enough to allow her to take his Floo out of the castle. She didn't have anywhere set in mind to go after that, but that didn't matter. She'd find Avery, make sure he was safe, and figure it out from there.

It would all work out. It would.

The headmaster's office was a far cry from how it'd been when Dumbledore was its occupant. With Dippet at the reigns, it was... well. Empty. Boring.

The trinkets Dumbledore had kept were missing, the colour was lacking, and even the portraits behind the desk were mostly empty. It was dull.

"Erm, excuse me, Professor?" Hermione said, approaching his desk after having been let in by the gargoyle.

"How might I... " Dippet's nose was low over his newspaper. "...help you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shifted, a little bit uncomfortable about speaking to him while he was clearly engrossed in something else, and sat down opposite him. "I'm very sorry to barge in on you like this, but I was hoping for a word with you about my position."

At that, Dippet glanced up. He finally gave her his full attention, and Hermione wasn't surprised. It was only typical that it would take the prospect of another staff member resigning for him to listen. "Oh?"

"Um." Hmm, how to put it? "You see, it's— an emergency has come up with a close family friend of mine, and I really must go and visit to make sure all is well. I don't know how long it will take me, but in all likelihood, it will take longer than the rest of the break..."

Dippet blinked. "But you are... intending to return?" he asked slowly.

"Yes. Which is what I wanted to speak to you about. I would like nothing more to keep my position, but it really is an urgent matter, and I can't promise you my return will be quick..."

"Ah, never mind that, never mind that," Dippet said, tone picking up. "Worry not. Marigold mightn't be pleased, but you've been an excellent help around the castle, many of the professors can attest to that. As long as you are eager to return, then you can be sure that Hogwarts will have a place for you."

Hermione could've cried. "Thank you. Thank you, sir."

Dippet smiled warmly. "Of course, my dear. Now, would you care for a spot of lunch? I was just about to head down, and some company would be—"

"Oh, actually, sir—I was also hoping to ask if I might be able to head out straight away, and use your Floo?"

Instead of the immediate 'yes' she'd been expecting, Dippet winced. "Ah," he said. "About that. I'm afraid that's not actually possible at the present moment…"

"Sir...?"

"The, ah, Ministry has, how should I put it, seen fit to block the Floo connections to the castle, at present…"

Hermione gaped. "…Excuse me?"

"There's been… a bit of a misunderstanding, you see. The Ministry is of the opinion that in the interest of security, the school's Floo connections shouldn't be used for anything that is not strictly business, and fair enough, fair enough," he said. "That is, of course, how it should be. But—and I spoke with Colin about this personally, and he agrees with me—this should logically therefore extend to allow those who reside in the castle on a permanent basis to see their families."

"Are… are you trying to tell me…" Hermione said slowly, "that the castle's Floo connections have been blocked because you've been misusing them to visit your family?"

Dippet looked offended. "No, my dear, of course not! Juniper—my wife—has, on occasion, visited me here in my office, but you can be sure that I have never once left the castle, I have never once neglected my position."

Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"Now, unfortunately, the rest of the Wizengamot didn’t quite agree with Colin and I, and there remains the better half of a month left under the restrictions. However, after this time, you can be sure our connections will be fully reinstated. Until then, Silvanus has been kind enough to sort out some carriages, so if you're intending to head off today, he can arrange for you to be transported to gates, from where you can easily apparate to your destination," Dippet explained happily, as though it were only a slight inconvenience.

Hermione breathed through her nose. Useless, foolish, incompetent Dippet.

"All right," she said slowly, rising to her feet. "Well. Thank you, sir. I might, um, head off now to find Silvanus."

"Good, good!" Dippet said, standing as well. "I'll walk you down."

"That's quite all right, sir—"

"Nonsense, we're heading the same way," he insisted.

Hermione momentarily panicked. With the option of the Floo out of the window, she needed to get back to the room of requirement, not leisurely wander down to the Great Hall with one of the loudest people in the castle. But Dippet seemed determined, happily shrugging on his outer robe.

It seemed… she was stuck.

But— he was still the headmaster. Dippet might've been a bit of a goose, but he was still a proficient wizard who was in control of who stayed at Hogwarts. If her luck had run dry and they did run into Tom on their way, he wouldn't take the risk of harming her in front of Dippet, she told herself. Surely not.

And so, even though it made her stomach turn, Hermione followed out after Dippet as he led the way out of the office and joined him en route to the Great Hall.

Her worries might be for nothing, anyway, she told herself. They mightn't even run into Tom. It was still relatively early in the day. He might be recovering from his experience with her cruciatus curse, might still be in his rooms.

It would be fine.

Hermione jumped as they entered the Grand Staircase and ran into a tall figure, but it was just a sixth year Hufflepuff passing by. She tensed up again as yelling echoed down the second-floor corridor, but it was another false alarm. Just a couple of first years squabbling over a book.

Then, Dippet halted at the first-floor corridor, and Hermione was so distracted from keeping an eye out for Tom, that she nearly ran into his back.

"Horace!" Dippet called down the hall. Hermione winced. His voice must've carried all the way down the stairs. "Come to join us for lunch?"

Slughorn, who had been heading down the corridor in their direction, beamed at them and sped up. "Yes, yes," he said, shuffling over to them. "Wonderful timing, Armando, Hermione."

"The more the merrier," Dippet said as they started down the stairs and Slughorn fell into step with them. "How are the preparations coming along for next week?"

"Wonderfully," Slughorn declared. "I've just heard back from Primrose Hawkins—"

Dippet gasped.

"Who has graciously agreed to sing for us."

"You must tell me your ways, Horace," implored Dippet.

"Now, now," said Slughorn, "one never forgets their favourite Professor."

Dippet tipped his head to that, and Hermione pressed her lips together. They were just about at the bottom of the stairs now. Maybe she would make it out of the castle unscathed after all…

"Speaking of favourite Professors, I've heard you're getting along rather well with Mr. Riddle, yes?" Slughorn went on to say.

Hermione glanced up. Slughorn's nosy eyes were entirely on her.

"Um. I suppose. Yes," she squeaked. "We're getting along fine."

"'Fine'!" Slughorn repeated, chortling as if he were in on something she wasn't. "Well, when the wedding bells ring, you must keep in mind that I was once his favourite Professor, too."

Both of the Professors beamed at her. She cleared her throat. "I... wouldn't hold my breath on that, Professor," she said tightly.

"Oh nonsense, I've the impression that he's most taken with you," Slughorn said. "And while I don't wish to meddle in personal affairs, while I have you here, I am obligated to put a good word in. Tom is a fine man, I've heard only good things from my own house, and the scores of the history students are trending upward astronomically! Isn't that right, Armando?"

"Oh yes," Dippet agreed. "I haven't had to step a foot in that classroom a single time since Tom started. Cuthbert had me racing up to the fourth floor at least three times a day, what a blessing it's been," he said, before coughing and adding under his breath, "may he rest in peace, of course."

Hermione nodded as though she were taking what they were saying on board, but was more focused on the fact that they'd finally reached the Great Hall.

Thank Merlin. Now she just needed to ditch the Professors, and she'd be out of there.

Hermione tried to fall behind as they turned into the doorway, heading in toward the smell of food, but it was right at the same time someone was heading out—

"Ah, good morning, Tom!" Dippet chimed brightly. "Horace and I were just telling Miss Granger here about what a difference you've made to the History of Magic program already."

Fucking, fucking, fuck. Of course.

Tom glanced between them, and she felt the weight of him looking in her direction. Her bag suddenly felt rather heavy, and she didn't dare meet his eyes.

Hermione grit her teeth, tried to stop the slight tremor of her hands by wringing them together. She thought about running. It would be rude, especially since Dippet had just granted her a leave of absence, but rude was better than dead.

"You're far too kind, Armando, Horace," Tom said. His voice was coarser than it usually was.

Must've been from his screams the night before. Good.

She dared a glance at him then, and it was hard not to notice that his hair was uncharacteristically out of place, and had dark rings under his eyes. He looked... incredibly tired. Like he'd been up all night.

He must've combed the castle for her.

Her stomach turned.

"Credit where credit's due, my boy!" Dippet said, clasping a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Now, would you—"

"Ah, Armando, are those croissants I spy up on the staff table?" Slughorn interjected. "And, possibly some roast lamb?" As Dippet was distracted by the sight of the food, Hermione saw Slughorn shoot Tom a quick wink.

Oh, fuck no.

Sensing that she was about to be thrown into the deep end, Hermione stepped back to leave—

Tom's hand shot out with reflexes he looked too tired to have, grabbing hold of her wrist before she could get further than a step away. His grip was painfully tight.

"Oh, yes, I do believe so!" Dippet said, eyes locked on the food. "Shall we?"

"I think we shall," Slughorn agreed, leading the way in.

"We'll be in in just a moment, professors," Tom said, holding Hermione back.

Dippet and Slughorn waved them off, and seemingly not noticing either Hermione’s desperate glances or the way Tom was holding her back, they went on their way.

Hermione's heart fought to escape her chest. "Let go of me," she hissed.

Tom intruded into her space, stepping close enough that she could see his eyes were bloodshot, mouth twisting upward. "We're not done."

"Yes, we are, unless you want a repeat of yesterday." Hermione pulled her arm back, hard enough that to an onlooker, there wouldn't have been any doubt they were fighting. "Let go, everyone can see—"

Tom glanced back toward the Great Hall. Sure enough, their altercation had already caught the attention of several of the students, several of the professors, too.

Tom let her go.

Hermione stepped back, reinstating some distance between them.

But despite that he'd let her go, despite the eyes on them, despite the diary burning a hole in her bag, Hermione's hands trembled, nonetheless. Because everyone watching from the hall would all assume it was a lovers spat, a mild disagreement; no one would consider it could be anything more serious. No one would suspect her life was at stake.

And— now he'd found her, what would it be this time? What would he throw at her? Would he imperio her in front of all those witnesses? It hadn't stopped him before, and she mightn't snap out of it another time.

Instinct took a hold of her. She couldn't go through that again. Wouldn't. Now that she finally had his diary, she couldn't let him win. She had to finish it.

And so, Hermione bolted.

Breaking out onto the grounds, Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket and disillusioned herself, running like her life depended on it. The main path of the castle was snowed over, and as it started to veer down into the steep slope, it became difficult to be swift. Her thighs quickly started to burn with the effort and with each step, sharp pain stabbed into her knees, but she pushed through it.

Her lungs finally got the better of her when she made it down to the forest path, and she slowed down as she hit the main carriage way, still not daring to look back. She couldn't waste any time; Tom's legs were long, and though she'd disillusioned herself, she'd left tracks in the snow. If he'd followed her out of the castle, then she was sure he'd catch up with her.

It felt safer in the forest though, with the cover of trees on either side. If he had followed her, then he would have a much harder time of aiming through the branches, a harder time seeing her footprints in the thinner snow—

"Ah!"

Hermione was thrown off her feet as a stray branch caught her ankle, grazing her hands as she landed face down in the frozen forest dirt.

She pushed herself up, but as she did, she saw her arms. They'd become visible again.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Hermione turned back just in time to see a curse coming at her. She swore, aloud this time, only just managing to conjure a shield in time.

From where the curse had come from, Tom was stalking down the hill toward her, and when she tried again to push herself up, the branch that'd tripped her stretched itself out to wind around her ankle.

Hermione kicked at it, striking it with her free foot, and when it didn't let up, she cast, "incendio."

Though her charm burned her own leg, it did the trick. But though she was free, she'd wasted valuable time in the process, and when she reached her feet, Tom had just about caught up with her.

And he looked exhausted. He looked entirely done, and when he cast at her, his spell ricocheted off her shield with enough force that the ground by her feet cracked.

He threw another, and another, and another. His spells were slowly paced, and from the looks of them, he was casting to restrain her, but—fuck—he might as well have been casting to kill. The force behind his curses were enough that they broke all of her shields, driving her back toward the tree line and she had to cast a new one each time.

Hermione had been on the receiving end of many wands throughout her years, but it had never been anything like this. Her shields were just about useless. His curses blew right through them with a force that she felt through her wand, and she had to use the cover of the trees to avoid them.

How did he do that?

And how in hell had Harry survived all of those times, facing Voldemort head on?

It became obvious quickly; she wouldn't be able to fight him off—not fairly, anyway.

"I'm not— I'm not with Dumbledore!" she yelled out desperately between his spells, but Tom sent a strong slicing hex right at her that she only narrowly avoided. It splintered the tree she'd ducked behind, and she had to jump out of the way as a large branch fell to the ground.

Her cover gone, Hermione raised her wand to shield herself, but then Tom—

He vanished.

Hermione eyes scanned her surroundings, shuffling backwards as she searched for any sign of movement, any sign of him at all.

"Homenum revelio."

All was quiet. Her charm didn't reveal him, and she didn't see any sign of movement. Aside from the gentle hooting of the owls of the forest—nothing. He was gone.

There was only one thing for it.

Hermione turned and continued to run, continuing on down toward the edge of the grounds.

She didn't have far to go now, she was sure. She bolted past a stack of rocks she knew that marked a point near the gates. Just a little further—

The wind was knocked out of her as she collided into Tom's unseen form, and while she struggled for air, he wrenched her wand out from her fingers. He wrestled her back until she was shoved against a thick tree trunk.

Tom became visible before her, and though he was panting, he was grinning. "You thought you could outrun me?"

Hermione kicked and scratched at him. "Let me go— everyone saw you leave with me, you'll never—"

Tom brought her hands together, holding them down between them while his other hand gripped her jaw and forced her head up. "Look at me."

She kicked out some more, screeching at him wildly, desperately. "You don't need to— I'm not working with Dumbledore!" she spat. "I swear—ah!"

Hermione's muscles all contracted at once, and her neck craned back, the back of her skull colliding against the tree. Unrelenting agony set in, and she'd never felt anything like it. Her bones were breaking, skin ripping, nerves burning, and she screamed. She screamed and screamed, completely losing sense of self, losing everything except for the pain—

It went on and on, and when it finally let up, she cracked her eyes open to find herself, once again, face-down in the dirt. She didn't remember falling, had no recollection of Tom letting her go.

Tremors coursed through her body, and she tried to move, to push herself up, but her limbs refused to do her bidding. She gasped for air and by the time she caught her breath, she was dragged over onto her back. Tom crouched over her.

"You see?" She heard him say, slightly out of breath, brushing back his hair. "When you use the cruciatus, to reach the full capacity of the spell, you need to keep the end of your wand here, at the base of your palm, at the end of the metacarpals." He held his wand out demonstratively. "The movement isn't as important, but it needs to be straight, a true extension of the forearm."

He pointed his wand at her once more. "Like this."

"N-no—" Hermione fumbled her words. "Stop it, ple—"

"Look at me," he repeated, and though his words were gentle, soothing, he didn't lower his wand.

She didn't want to, but she wanted to avoid being tortured again even moreso, and so, she did as he said. But she kept her occlumency up as best she could, and as her eyes met his, an entirely different type of pain struck, like knives piercing into her temples. It wasn't as awful as the torture had been, but it was still intense, and combined with the lingering pain in her muscles, it became too much to bear.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

Tom growled as the stabbing suddenly let up. He moved over her, swatting her hands away and roughly gripping at her jaw again.

"Let me in," he hissed.

She shoved at him, tried to buck him off. "They'll know," she whined. "They all saw you follow me, if you kill me, you'll be caught—"

"Crucio."

Somehow, it was even worse the second time, like heat on an existing burn. It was white and unrelenting, like being burned from the inside out, and all Hermione wanted was to die.

When the curse let up the second time, Tom was still over her, and his hand was over her mouth. Her throat was raw and dry, ears ringing, and she could feel her tears streaming into her hair.

As her whimpering quietened, Tom's hand left her mouth, and he wiped her tears from her cheek. "Let me in, Hermione," he repeated, jarringly gently, "and I'll stop."

She squeezed her eyes closed. She'd thought of revealing her time travel to him before. Maybe it was for the best— it might even save her.

But if he found out about his ring, his diary in her bag...?

She couldn't risk it. She could hold out. She could.

"It's a simple choice. Aren't you tired of this? This game we're playing?" Tom murmured. He sounded pained. "I know I am."

She could last longer. She had it in her, she knew she did, but— oh, fuck, what was the point? He would keep torturing her until he got what he wanted. They were alone in the forest. No one was coming for her.

At least if she let him into her head on her own terms while she still had some energy left, she might have a chance to control it, to show him only what she wanted him to see.

Her occlumency was good. If she could just keep him away from the horcruxes...

Stiffly, she nodded. "Just, n-not again. Please."

Tom's smile didn't meet his eyes. "Look at me." His hand was wrapped around her head, into her hair, holding her still.

Hermione opened her eyes, and she grudgingly met his.

Then, this time, she finally relaxed, bringing down her walls, welcoming him in.

Tom's presence in her head was immediate and harsh, and he didn't waste any time in ripping from memory to memory. But while she tried to steer him, to show him only what she wanted to see, she found him far more difficult to control than she'd expected now that he was in.

She tried to throw them at him, memories that might catch his interest—

She was in a quiet, icy street of Hogsmeade. Avery was before her, and he'd only just ceased his pacing. "He wants you dead," he whispered.

The scene changed, and then, Hermione ducked out from behind a tree to cast a slicing hex. Felix was knocked back by a spell from Avery, and her hex struck him squarely in the neck.

Then, Hermione and Avery were at the lake, standing close to the waters. "You might not put it together, but he might. I can't risk that." Hermione aimed her wand right at Avery's face. "Thank you for helping me. It means more than you know."

"N—"

"Obliviate."

Her memories flashed by, too fast to see, and then they wove back together, forming an entirely new scene.

She was only a child, seated cross-legged in the middle of her living room in a pair of overalls, her favourite book perched open on her lap. Her mother came in, interrupting her reading to chime, "Hermione, sweetie, a letter's arrived for you!"

Then, she was at Hogwarts, seated along a full table adorned with red and gold. Red banners were hanging from the Great Hall ceiling; Gryffindor had won the house cup.

She was on the train, walking its corridor with Ron, doing their prefect rounds. "Bloody Neville," he whined, rubbing at a blob of stinksap on his trousers. "What's he bringing that thing on the train for?"

She was seated in a grandstand. The music that had been playing abruptly broke off as Harry had materialised in the centre of the stage before a giant, hedge maze. He was crouched protectively over a body.

There were screams and gasps, and an elderly, bearded Dumbledore surged forward.

"He's back, he's back!" Harry yelled. "Voldemort's back!"

The scene changed drastically once more, and she was sprinting through a ruined Great Hall. The space was filled with duellers, stray curses of red and green flying overhead. The entire castle was in ruins—

She was in the headmaster's office. Dumbledore's portrait was before her, and Dumbledore's image was aged and solemn. "I'm afraid... I must now ask the unthinkable of you, Miss Granger."

Tom's presence abruptly tore out of her head as he got up, releasing her.

And—Hermione had never seen him like that. Tom was breathing heavily, and his eyes were wide, lips parted. He was plainly... shocked.

Hermione's head was pounding, her muscles stiff and raw, but despite her body's protests, he was off of her, so she forced herself to move, forced herself to her feet. Her limbs quivered, and she gripped the nearest tree to hold herself up.

"When... when was that?" Tom slowly murmured, almost too quiet to hear, staring at her. His wand was down by his side. "When are you from?"

"I...” Hermione sniffed. “I left on the third of May, nineteen ninety-eight."

"Ninety..." Tom's breath was sharp and he glanced away. He moved abruptly, starting to pace, before he halted just as quickly. Then, he dragged his hands over his face and laughed. It was loud, unrestrained, reminiscent of the previous night. "Fifty years,” he said between laughs, “Dumbledore managed to send you back fifty fucking years?!"

As he'd spoken, his voice had risen to a yell. Hermione gave him a slight shrug. Fuck. She hadn't wanted him to see anything of Dumbledore's involvement. And now, he— Tom had resumed his pacing. He was quickly becoming furious. On the brink. She didn't know what to say.

"How old was he then?!" Tom snapped. "In your head, in the memory I saw? In the portrait?"

She shook her head. "I... I couldn't t-tell you. One-hundred and ten, or thereabouts, maybe?"

His mouth twitched. "That long?" His pacing was getting faster, angrier. His hands were just about shaking. "I let him live for that long?"

"Well, I— I wouldn't say you let him."

Tom groaned, squeezed his eyes closed. "But he was dead? Yes? That's why you were speaking with a portrait?"

"...Yes."

"How did he die?" he pressed.

Hermione swallowed. She hadn't anticipated him being this focused on Dumbledore of all things. "Y-you killed him. Well—one of your followers, rather."

Tom continued to pace, deep frown firmly in place.

Hermione leaned her weight onto the tree. Her body was screaming at her, even her bones. She wanted to try to run again. Surely she wasn't far from the border of the grounds now? She didn't know if she had it in her to apparate far without being splinched, but—oh, he had her wand…

"You... that's how you knew. That's how you knew." Tom was murmuring quietly, as if speaking to himself. He laughed again shortly, incredulously. "And it—," he paused to groan. "Dumbledore did this?"

She gave him a shaky nod.

"Fucking... that's..." Tom spoke under his breath, tapping his wand against his leg in agitation. He abruptly stopped, eyes boring into hers. "Why?"

Hermione's stomach twisted.

"We—where I'm from, the wizarding world was at war. One you started. Almost e-everything was lost. Dumbledore wanted to end it before it began."

Tom's eyes were unwavering. "And he sent you?"

She gave an uncertain laugh. "I was one of the last ones left. He led a... resistance, I suppose you could c-call it. I don't think I was his first choice, but all others... well. They were either too struck by grief, or they didn't make it."

Tom slowly looked her down and up. "Did you know me?"

"N-no. We'd never met, actually," she said, licking her lips. They tasted like dirt.

“But you knew of me?”

“…Everyone knew of you.”

Tom's lip pricked up. "So… what? Dumbledore thought you'd... what? Kill me?" He smiled at that, as though the thought of it was laughable.

He wouldn't be laughing soon enough.

"He sent me back to stop the war from happening," Hermione said. "You are central to that, yes, but... there are multiple ways to skin a cat."

Tom paused, the curve of his brow becoming sharp.

"Well, believe it or not, but Dumbledore and I weren't close," she said when it became clear he was waiting for her to go on. "He ruined my life. He conspired for children to fight his war, my b-best friend died because of him! He sent me here, and I'll never see my family again, never see my friends!" Hermione folded her arms to stop their shaking. "I... I thought... maybe I could sway you. Help you make better decisions, nudge you in a way that would get you what you want without it taking half a century, without it costing so many lives. But then you started trying to kill me, and here we are!"

Tom watched her for a long moment. Her heart was beating in her neck. It was terrifying, standing there, wandless while he scrutinised her.

"You're an awful liar," he eventually stated when he looked away, resuming his pacing.

"It's—it’s the truth," she insisted, but Tom only scowled at her.

He paced quietly for a while after that, and Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around herself to stop her tremors. He seemed deep in thought, and she could see his mouth moving subtly as he seemed to speak quietly to himself.

She didn't know how long he did that for, but eventually, he stopped turning back to her.

"If he sent you back...” he murmured, “and he believed you could change it, the future... then, have you?" he asked, stepping closer to her. "Is anything... different?"

She gave him a small nod. "Some things have already changed. You never taught at Hogwarts, where I'm from."

Tom took another step closer. He was only an arm’s reach away. "We've diverged?" he asked.

Hermione nodded again, and Tom glanced off into the forest. He stayed like that for a while, eyes unfocused and thoughtful, until he eventually nodded. "Well. Then you're useless to me," he said, and just like that, his wand was back on her, pressing into the hollow of her neck.

Hermione raised her hands, heart just about stopping. "No, no, no— wait! Wait, I can help you!"

Tom's lip picked up into a slight sneer. "If this time is not the one you know, then you are no more useful than tea leaves."

"No, I— let me prove it!" she pleaded, pressing herself as far back into the tree as she could. She just needed time, just a little bit of time. "There has to be something you want, I— what about the locket?" she blurted.

Tom's features remained in place. He didn't seem impressed. "The locket," he stated. It wasn't spoken as a question.

"I-I can get it for you."

Tom was still. "…Can you?"

He didn't sound like he believed her.

She nodded stiffly.

His mouth twitched. "Clutching at straws now, aren't you?" he said, a slight laugh. "Your will to live is nothing if not inspiring, but the locket is long gone."

"It's not! Where I'm from— it was found. I swear it, and I-I know who has it," she said, desperately clinging to his arm, trying to make him lower his wand. "I know you're descended from Slytherin. It's rightfully yours, and I can get it for you. I promise."

Tom slowly grinned. With his wand pressed into her neck, burning her skin, it was menacing. "If that's the truth, then I can take that memory from you as well."

"Please," she pleaded from between her teeth. "I-I can be of use to you. Surely you can see that, just let me prove it! Besides, you're... a man down now, aren't you? Doesn't that mean you have an opening?"

She gave him a feeble, desperate smile, and his eyes roamed down to her lips. He looked incredibly amused.

"Oh. Just when I think I've got you all figured out…" Tom closed in to reach up and ran his thumb over her lip. His eyes focused on her mouth.

Hermione could barely breathe.

"A week," he eventually said, eyes snapping back to hers. "Get me the locket, and then we'll see if you can be of use."

Her heart skipped a beat. She nodded. "C-consider it yours."

Finally, finally, he lowered his wand, the burn at her neck finally letting up.

She breathed a deep breath of relief, but Tom didn't step away.

"Could— could you give me my wand back," she dared to say, outstretching her hand expectantly.

He was looking at her strangely. Differently. She didn't want to stay and figure out why, she just wanted to leave.

He didn’t say anything, and then slowly, Tom reached back into his pocket and pulled it out. He offered her the handle.

She grabbed it at once, but Tom didn't immediately release it. He raised his eyebrows, as if daring her to try something, before he finally let her have it.

Hermione squeezed herself out from between him and the tree at once, and with one last look, she turned and started back down the path toward the boundary of the Hogwarts grounds.

"Remember what I told you, Hermione," he called after her, his smooth voice carrying through the trees.

Hermione paused, glancing back.

He was on higher ground than her now, and he was smiling warmly, pleasantly, as if he hadn't just been torturing her, hadn’t been a breath away from killing her.

Her hairs stood on end.

"I'll find you."

Hermione swallowed, gave him the smallest, most subtle of nods.

Oh. She was counting on it.

And then she left without another look back.