chapter 6
She really wasn’t sure what she had expected. She had definitely not expected to feel guilty and she had not foreseen that everything would return to relative normalcy after… that. Because for her there was no way of returning. It wasn’t the fact that she had kissed someone.
That wouldn’t have changed anything, it hardly counted as a noteworthy incident if it was just anyone. If she were still home, well, in her time, she would have evaluated whether she liked the person and the kiss and then she would have thought about pursuing it further. If nothing would have been there, well, then she would have just left it at that. No harm had been done.
Alas, this was fundamentally different. She wasn’t at home and even if she ignored the fact that it was 1944, which came with a whole set of different problems, it was still a strange situation at best.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as You-know-who or Lord Voldemort, was not by any standards a normal student and that kiss had not been just a fleeting attraction. Well, that wasn’t the best way to put it either, Hermione decided. Because what did she know, Tom had probably forgotten all about her again, it wasn’t as if she were very memorable. Hermione pointedly ignored the sadness that wanted to settle over her heart at those thoughts. She wasn’t fourteen anymore and this wasn’t some silly crush on Ron.
Her kiss with Tom, even if it meant nothing to Tom, was something of importance to her because she had never wanted to even interact with Tom. At first she was thinking about killing him, for Merlin’s sake, even if it had only been for a second or so. She fought kicking and screaming so to say against being anything with Tom. At first, mainly to avoid questions and him finding out about her being from the future. That had evidently not gone over very well. Then again, she wondered, maybe she hadn’t been so against the idea of, well, Tom. From the first seconds she had had an undeniable attraction to the man, boy, student… whatever…
Hermione continued sipping on her tea, while the mornings buzz of breakfast went on around her. She wasn’t hungry, the tea sufficed. No, Hermione was thinking because her mind was the only place that was still normal as it seemed. Her body and heart had taken the first chance at betraying her.
Her gaze drifted to Tom, taking in his pale skin and black hair. He really was extraordinarily handsome and her attraction was unfortunately undeniable. Was she as stupid as all the Professors and other students and had fallen for his charming demeanour? He put up a good front, he was skilled at lying… It made her wondered if she was blinded by her own desire and didn’t see any signs. Maybe she was just a means to an end, just someone to charm to reach something else.
However it may be, Hermione decided once again, it was undeniable that she had to have deep rooted feelings and attraction to overcome the fact that Tom was in fact Voldemort, that he had already two Horcruxes, had evidently killed at least twice, probably already had his little death eater gang behind him and that she knew exactly what he was going to do in the next fifty years. It made her shudder, the words Mudblood still ringing in her mind in that high pitched voice of Bellatrix. So where exactly left that Hermione?
What did it say about her that she had… well not fallen in love exactly… with someone who had tortured her best friend, who had killed hundreds of innocents and who had made her lose her parents. The thought about her mother and father pierced her heart like a knife.
She hadn’t thought about them in such a long time. The fact that they were safe and blissfully unaware of anything concerning magic had made her push them to the back of her mind because there had been more pressing matters to attend to but she did miss them fiercely.
Suddenly Hermione realized that she had been looking at Tom way too long. She averted her eyes just to catch somebody else’s. Raymond Nott, Hermione remembered, he was another Slytherin seventh year with dark hair like Toms but startlingly green eyes. He was, Hermione noted, just as handsome. Still, her heart didn’t sputter out of rhythm when looking at the other boy like it did when Tom was around. So, she concluded, it wasn’t just her hormones that were making her see and feel things. No, it was pretty much the opposite. She was still suffering inside, her brain was still working through all the things she had seen so actually things like boys and… she swallowed hard at that thought… love should be the farthest thing from her mind.
Besides this was Tom. Her mind threw his name around trying to see whether he elicited the same response that Voldemort it. It didn’t, not in the slightest. It was quite the opposite.
Where did that leave Hermione?
Breakfast was a short event for her, she really didn’t want to linger at the Slytherin table, and the condescending gazes she usually received were too much for her already wounded nerves. It wasn’t as if anybody would miss her, even if Lucretia raised one single eyebrow.
Hogwarts in the early morning was something… well for lack of a better word… magical.
The dew still clinging to grass and trees, the red sun only just peeking over the horizon made stillness of the morning even more enjoyable. Hermione loved to be alone, the silence and peace that took hold of her body when she gazed out a window over the vast expanse that were Hogwarts’ gardens. Usually it was the time she sorted her thoughts, where she could work on everything that had happened.
Harry, Ron and the others were not dead, she kept telling herself and strangely it was helping.
She didn’t know what will happen to them but if she was stuck, she would help them as much as possible. The war was over, she was not in danger, and all her enemies were not even born yet… But still, those thoughts seldom helped to calm her. Her fear had nothing to do with rationality, it was a part of her heart and soul, had anchored itself into her very being and would probably never go away.
These thoughts went through her mind while gazing out a window in one of the lesser used parts in Hogwarts. She still had half an hour to first class.
That was when she saw it. A man, probably a student, a Slytherin, Hermione realized while squinting her eyes and seeing the light being reflected greenly, was standing outside in the grass. An owl, grey and black, landed on his arm. Who was that? Hermione leaned further into the window, pressing her nose against the cold glass, to see better. The boy seemed familiar. He had hair like Tom but was definitely not Tom. Raymond Nott? She had left so early that she couldn’t say if the boy had left earlier than most, too.
Whoever he was, he seemed to fumble with something until finally the owl took flight again.
He had received a letter. Hermione’s mind flashed to fourth year when Harry used to receive letters the same way. This was something secret. Every hair on Hermione’s body stood to attention. What could it possible mean? Who was the sender? Had it to do with Voldemort? With Grindelwald? Grindelwald… He must be at the pinnacle of his power around this time.
Or maybe Hermione was just paranoid.
After spending seven years with Harry who had seen a plot to kill him and take over the wizarding world in every corner (and who always had been right) one ought to become a bit suspicious. Especially after joining the Order it had been secrets over secrets, it had been eavesdropping, spying, deceiving and communicating without anybody knowing about it. Hermione mulled this over while Nott was just standing there, looking at the letter he had received.
Suddenly Hermione jumped from her seat at her window. She was truly being stupid but she didn’t care one bit. Too often Harry’s suspicions had turned out to be true, too often had Hermione been right in her doubt, she could not and would not ignore this.
Sprinting down the corridor she skidded around the corner, nearly losing her balance, her hair flying behind her. Last minute she slowed and put a neutral mask on her face, even if she probably was a bit flushed and breathing hard.
“Oh”, she exclaimed (she really ought to receive an Oscar in her oppinion) as she nearly bumped into Nott.
The boy in front of her was still reading the letter, it was a small yellow parchment and it was already crumpled. Hermione had learned a lot from her time in a war. Whatever the letter contained it had triggered an emotional response from Raymond Nott, otherwise he would not have gripped it as tight as he must have to crumple it. It wasn’t even a second in which she picked up on that detail but it was enough. The expression on his face, while he wasn’t aware of Hermione and thinking that he was completely alone, and therefore unguarded, was concentrated and oddly concerned but at the same time angered.
Nott easily sidestepped her, his green eyes flashing dangerously.
“Granger, was it”, he growled out.
“Oh, you remembered my name, how nice. Roland, was it?”, Hermione said innocently with a smile on her face.
“Raymond Nott”, her hissed, before turning and leaving, his robes bellowing behind him. That, Hermione decided smiling to herself, was definitely not normal Nott behaviour.
It could still be nothing but it wasn’t something Hermione would forget, she stored it in the back of her mind until she had further information.
Tom didn’t talk or even so much as looked at her during the whole day and it was excruciating. The worst part was that Hermione didn’t even get the feeling that he was avoiding her, it felt as if he simply didn’t care, like she was just another student. That hurt more than Hermione wanted to acknowledge even in the privacy of her own mind. No, because that would be whole new set of problems and to be honest Hermione had enough of those already.
She had a small talk with Dumbledore but left his office more frustrated than anything. The only thing he had said was that the chances were slim.
It was already five o’clock when she angrily stood in her own room, while Lucretia was looking at her oddly before finally caving and asking:
“Are you alright Hermione? You seem agitated?”
Hermione marvelled once more at how much Lucretia resembled Bellatrix. Her hands were twitching again but it had gotten better. Lucretia did not have that crazy glint in her eyes.
“Yes, just… restless… I guess. That stupid Slug dinner is grating on my nerves.”, Hermione answered waving her hand in a gesture that should have been nonchalant.
“Well, it is a good place to look for connections, Hermione. I have a feeling that you don’t want a future being married to someone and living in a manor. So you should not dismiss it.”, Lucretia said, her eyes glinting in the dim light.
“Well, you don’t look like that kind of witch, too.”
“I do not have a choice in that matter. I have been betrothed since I was ten years old. As soon as I am finished with Hogwarts I will take the name of my husband and move into his estate.”
Hermione gaped at her but didn’t say anything. She guessed it made sense. She knew that even in her time most of the purebloods were forced to marry.
“I’ll just… go get ready…”, Hermione said awkwardly. She was sure the other woman could not do anything with her pity or with any words at all Hermione had to say to that matter.
Not answering, Lucretia returned to her book.
Hermione walked over to her trunk, frowning at it. She would have to charm her hair and choose something appropriate. Mulling it over, she started to pull out dresses, skirts and robes. She hated herself for it but she wanted to look her best. It wasn’t as if that would make any difference but it felt like she had to face so much and so many people that did not want her there that she needed to at least have an impenetrable front. It would make her feel better at least.
Pulling out an emerald green dress, she smiled to herself. That would do just fine. In the privacy of the bathroom she slipped out of her everyday clothes save for her knickers. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror, her ugly scar glaring back at her. She tried to ignore it.
Forties-fashion was a bit more complicated than her nighties jeans and shirt but she had to admit that it made her look more feminine and probably more desirable as a consequence.
She slipped on her stockings and dress, her hair falling into her face while she concentrated on not ripping anything. The dress was made of a satin like material and it hugged her every curve beautifully. It made her décolleté look stunning, the way it stretched over her cleavage, revealing, but not too much to be inappropriate. It exposed just the right amount. It looked a lot like a Marilyn Monroe dress, Hermione noted. In 1944 the muggle superstar would only have started her career.
After fixing her face and hair and putting a very powerful glamour on her scar, Hermione nearly laughed at the person that was staring back at her in the mirror. She nearly didn’t recognize herself, it was astonishing.
Her lips seemed fuller, her eyes darker and wider, the dress made her look stunning and her cheeks were dusted by a pale pink. She looked unblemished, no scars and no visible indicator of what she had gone through during the last years. If it weren’t for the detached and empty gaze of her eyes, she would not have seen herself in the reflection. She looked way too normal. She looked like she did before the war and before food had become a minor inconvenience and before she had to watch her friends being tortured and before she had had things done to herself.
She could still feel the pain. Mudblood, Mudblood. She nearly felt uncomfortable with herself. It was as if she was ashamed for what she had gone through in the last years even though she was anything but. She was proud for what she had fought, for whom she had fought and that she had come out on top in the end. She had prevailed, she had faced down all those purebloods, those dark wizards and she had made them wish to never have been born. She now faced a similar situation. All those around her were the predecessors of those she would come to fight. She would be strong once more, she would hold…
“Very nice”, Lucretia commented and Hermione smiled warmly at the compliment. Coming from a witch of The Most Noble House of Black it sure was the best compliment a witch could receive.
“Is Tom fetching you again?”, the girl asked, but her tone was a little too nonchalant. Hermione busied herself with her Slytherin-green shoes.
“I am not sure, I don’t believe so, after all, I already know the way so there would be no need.”, Hermione said.
It was still way too early for leaving for the Club, Hermione noticed but she didn’t want to linger in her room if Tom decided to actually show up. She could not face him so soon.
“Besides”, she continued “I still have something to do, so I am off a little early”, with that and a smile she walked out the door, hoping to not see Tom on her way through the common room. It seemed that she was lucky, no one, except for a few first or second years were up and about. Hermione held her chin high as she silently walked through the room and as she felt the eyes of the children following her. Her hair bounced with every step and her dress whispered against her thigh.It made her think of Tom and his hands.
It was five minutes after the Slug Club had started that Hermione stood in front of the door, her hand raised to knock. She had deliberately come a little later. After all, that was how one made an entrance and Hermione was feeling a little extra at the moment.
She knocked on the dark wooden door, her hand curled into a fist but steady. It didn’t take long for it to swing open, revealing Professor Slughorn.
“Oh, Miss Granger, delightful that you could make it, we were worried you wouldn’t come.”
The rosy cheeks of the man indicated that he had already started drinking, his gaze was slightly unfocused.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world”, Hermione answered, her voice sounding more sure than she felt. She sidestepped her Professor, letting her gaze sweep through the room. Her heels made a clicking sound against the stone floor. The same men as last time were seated around the round table with the addition of Abraxas Malfoy. Hermione studied them all before drawling in her most bored tone: “Gentlemen.”
As if they were one person, they all stood, their chairs scraping against the floor. With as much dignity as Hermione could muster, she pulled out her chair and sat, the others following suit.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”, She said, not really meaning it, on the inside she braced herself against the suspicious and out right hostile gazes from the men at the table. She didn’t glance in Tom’s direction, not wanting to see the same expression on his face. Hate and condescension she could handle but not indifference from, especially not from Tom.
“We thought you might not have wanted to come.”, one of the students said. Hermione recognized him. What was his name? Edger, she remembered. He looked a bit like she always imagined Frankenstein’s monster to look. Mismatched and ugly.
“Oh and why would I not?”, Hermione asked innocently. They started to eat. The sound of clicking cutlery was heard around the room. Edger looked at her, his face filled with open disdain.
“You know, “, he said, ignoring her question. “I was curious, I haven’t heard your name before. So I asked my father and he hasn’t either. Which is most peculiar because he knows every pureblood family there is.”, after a small pause Edger continued, grinning like a child before Christmas. He looked triumphant, like he was about to reveal something that would destroy her. She only smirked. “And he knows every half-blood family of reputation. That leaves the question as to who you are.”, he finished, looking incredibly smug. The whole table was deathly silent. Hermione levelled her stare on Edger, absolutely unfazed.
“Well, seems to me, your father has a very interesting hobby if he knows all the pureblood families there are. Then again, there aren’t that many are there? Not since pureblood has become a synonym for incest.”
It was as if the whole room had frozen.
“I think I am glad that my aunt isn’t also my grandmother.”
Edger’s whole face went red and pure hatred flashed through his eyes. He surly would have screamed at her or done something worse but surprisingly it was Tom who cut him off.
“I think that is enough, Edger.”, his voice wasn’t loud or forceful, but it took hold of the whole room, as if everyone was magically bound by his words. It made Hermione shiver, it made her hand twitch.
“Yes, of course”, Slughorn said, chuckling “Quiet right, my boy. How is your father doing, my dear boy…”
The conversation changed instantly and as did the mood of the room, even if nobody tried to engage Hermione in any conversations. But she was quiet comfortable with that. Once she gazed at Nott, who was seated beside her, just to find him already studying him. He raised one eyebrow and smirked at her. Which she didn’t return, she just tried to let the evening wash over her and fill the emptiness of her heart.
~
“On Halloween we will have a ball.”, Lucretia said to Hermione during breakfast the next day. Hermione ripped her eyes away from the book in front of her and put her cup of tea away. “Just in case you weren’t aware that it was a tradition.”
“I wasn’t, thank you.”, Hermione smiled at the woman.
“Every year it is the same.”, Lucretia continued. “It is all about who gets asked and who doesn’t. It is kind of social suicide if you don’t get asked.”
Hermione laughed. “Well, I would not want to go with anyone, believe me. It is not like I have a big social life that I would kill, if I went alone.”
Lucretia studied her a bit, before smiling. “I think, if anyone could pull it off, it would be you. I have a feeling that most of the student population is more lax towards you. They accept things from you, they wouldn’t with other people.”
“Because they know that I don’t give a…”, Hermione just caught herself on time. Maybe saying fuck on the breakfast table wasn’t the best idea. “Damn…”, she ended lamely. Lucretia didn’t comment.
“You know”, she continued after a few beats of silence. Hermione was a bit weirded out. She hadn’t talked so much with the other female student so much in the last month combined. “That is kind of what I saw in you. You seem so different. I could never imagine you in an arranged marriage. I could never imagine, you backing down for that matter.”
Hermione laughed. “That is a very nice thing to say”, she smiled warmly at Lucretia.
“Maybe Tom will ask you”, Lucretia continued. Hermione flinched, her tea nearly spilling over.
“Oh, I doubt it.”
“Oh, do tell”, Lucretia said, with a hint of interest in her voice.
“It is complicated.”
“It usually is”
“Yes, well, this is very different. I… there are some things that I can’t change and some things that I did not want to let happen. And then there some things, well Tom to be precise, that I can’t change and I am not under the illusion that I can.”
Lucretia only nodded, as if she understood.