This is the new chapter. It has not yet gone through beta and second reading. I apologize in advance for any errors in the text and for the delay in uploading the chapter.
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Chapter 17. Azemiops Feae - Love and Sorrow
Harry, which piece were we in chess?
Dear Harry, you are probably finding it strange to have to answer this question. Well, I enchanted the letter with a question that only we would know, it is a security question, where the letter will only open to reveal its contents if the answer is correct.
It is very difficult to explain what happened, but I ask, first of all, that you take it easy.
One primary piece of information you should have is that it is the year 1943. It sounds impossible, I know, but it is the truth. During the battle at Hogwarts, we were transported back in time by a Time Turner that is quite 'special'. It is of such urgency that you do not reveal your real name, the name that people recognize you by is Harry Evans. I'm sure you wouldn't mind having your mother's last name for the moment. You are at St. Mungo's. Keep all the information to yourself, Harry. All that's been said is that we were attacked by one of Grindelwald's followers and that you got hurt. Can you imagine? I will explain everything to you. Dumbledore is covering for us, he more or less knows the truth. I'll be waiting for you anxiously at Hogwarts.
From your best friend,
Hermione.
This was the sixth letter Hermione had written, all the others didn't seem very good, but this one was reasonably well written and explanatory, within all the events. After all, how do you write to your best friend that you have travelled back in time? It was complicated and at the very least, Harry would have doubts about the veracity of the events described. She couldn't blame him, if she were in his place, waking up in a St.Mungo's bed, she would also doubt everything and everyone. And let's face it, Harry had become a suspicious person, and unfortunately, with good reason.
Being true to herself, this is the best-case scenario of what could happen. The worst, for all she knows, is that Harry might wake up with no memory of what happened, of who she is or who he is, and then, she would be sure that they are screwed.
Hermione banged her forehead lightly against the wood of the table, praying that the universe wouldn't be so cruel. That would be unfair. Haven't we been through enough already?
She hopes to be there for Harry when he wakes up, like a friend, like a sister. Someone he would recognize and know he is safe.
Hermione stood up from the table, placing the quill pen in the inkwell. The women's Gryffindor uniform was impeccable, she felt the cool metal of the locket against the skin of her neck, her hair in a braid.
Calmly, she was making her way to the Owlery, one of the highest towers at Hogwarts. It was there that she would meet Riddle - Tom.
What had gotten into her? Calling him 'Tom'? Hermione's mind went over all the events. Merlin, that's a lot. She couldn't resist, it felt right, she had seen too much of him, knew too much about him to be so cold to him. He had saved her, how could she? It seemed to have been genuine, even if her interactions with him were awkward and strained in a way she couldn't explain.
And besides everything, what could she say to Dumbledore? Tell him everything? Tell him that there is someone out there who is throwing her back and forth in space-time?
Hermione snorted in derision. When her life had become a sick joke?
The wind was a bit strong and cold, she climbed the stairs that led to the top of the owl tower, her stomach having strange sensations because of the height as she avoided looking down. Her fear of heights was not over, only overcome in emergencies.
The higher she climbed, the more determined her thoughts were. She was going to put a stop to everything that happened to her and Riddle, it was too risky and she was sure that he would no longer settle for half-truths. Tom was already investigating her, hinting, searching for what she was hiding. And, to tell the truth, her empathy for him was growing, and it was frightening. Because now she understood a little more about his situation in the face of everything he had been through since he was a baby.
Remembering all that she had seen brought tears to her eyes that she blinked away.
Was there still something good inside him?
Hermione stopped as she reached the top of the tower, specifically the entrance. All thoughts determined to stop any kind of interaction with him silenced, thrown out the window as if they were nothing as soon as she spotted him. She found herself holding her breath, watching him in all his glory with his height and perfect position.
He was standing with his back to her, his hands together behind his back, looking out at the scenery that one of the tower windows provided. The Slytherinrobe he was wearing, swayed gently against the wind, which was almost always present in the Owlery.
The sight of him aroused in her an interest in understanding. Now, more than ever, she sought, fought to have the power to interpret him. One or two things about his behaviour, she could already understand, know the meaning behind the act, after all, she had lived directly with him during her time in the tent. But, his reactions should never be underestimated, he is unpredictable most of the time.
Sensing her presence, Tom looks over his shoulder, turning slowly so he can receive her. He scans her from top to bottom, his face slightly tilted diagonally downwards as he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes and under his lashes. Hermione realises then, that he is kind of copying her movements, as just like him, she is also hesitant and wary, testing whether or not she can approach. Both treating each other as if they were dealing with a wild animal and needed to be handled with care.
Tom stops right in the middle, straightening his posture in the process, waiting for her to approach him.
Hermione walked up to him, not knowing what to expect, dodging the bones and carcasses of mice and other small animals brought in by the owls. She stopped in front of him and held out her hand, asking for her wand. Feathers of various types of owls fell lightly around them. Tom raised one of his eyebrows and looked at her hand for a moment, before returning his gaze to her face.
He noticed at the very beginning that her hair was tied up in a braid, which made her face free of anything that might prevent him from noticing the expressions she was making and would make. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with a shy blush, but as much as her shyness was, she didn't look away.
"That fast? Good morning to you too ... Hermione."
Tom audibly tested her name for the first time to her.
He remembered clearly that when he left the Hospital Wing, he kept her voice in his head, opening and closing his hand by reflex as the sensation of the touch was persistent. She made him feel strange, very strange. She was a constant unknown in his head, always leaving him puzzled.
"G-good morning." She replied softly. Perhaps, a little embarrassed by her rash attitudes.
"You look fine." Tom continued, walking around her, a few owls that were present, standing at the highest point of the tower, watching the two of them with interest.
Hermione followed every move Tom made with her gaze, the situation is strangely familiar, she can't help but fear he will do something to her as this is the perfect opportunity, but she can't pick up any aggression coming from him, just this way of him that always seems to be peeking out at her.
"I feel good."
She felt it when he stopped behind her, his breath making the hairs on the back of her neck twitch, her eyes widen and her mouth open to exhale a sigh. She was unable to manage to move away, taken aback by his proximity.
His touch travelled down her arm, stopping just short of the sleeve bar of the robe, in his hand was her wand - Harry's wand - being offered to be taken back.
Slowly, she touches the wand, feeling the wood and putting her fingers around it completely. Without reluctance, he lets her have her wand back. Finally having the wand in hand, she feels safer, feels the flow of magic and how the wand responds to that flow. Nothing is different.
Hermione steps back, putting a little space in so she could watch Tom's face. She frowns a little, wary of how this was too easy, but she can tell by Tom's body language that he doesn't look aggressive, if much he was, he was wearing a slightly confused and amused expression at her behaviour.
Is there still something good about him?
Fascinated, she takes a step forward towards him, her left hand raised in the process. He follows the movement of her hand with his gaze, trying to understand what she was doing. Hesitantly, she reached out her fingers and touched his cheek, his gaze dropping to where he felt the touch. Where once he had pushed her away, now he allowed her to touch him. His gaze returned to her face expectantly as he raised one of his eyebrows.
Hermione placed her hand on his cheek, his skin seemed to be a little cooler than hers to the touch, which was a slight indication that something was wrong for more perceptive people, but there was still warmth there offered by the blood circulating in his body.
Hermione could finally conclude that his paleness was indeed a genetic trait that he inherited from his mother and that was aggravated in the future, making him as white as chalk. The slight dark circles under his eyes didn't make him ugly at first, but it indicated something was wrong for more perceptive people. She looked at the green irises in his eyes, such colour did not belong to his mother, that came from his father. Those eyes, one day they will have blood-red sclerae with slit pupils like a cat's. Her fingers stopped near the base of his nose, where she felt his breath come out softly, this trait would become something striking in the future, where it would become reptilian.
Hermione understood that what she was doing was somehow intimate, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Her mind raced to process all the mental images she had of Tom: As a baby, as a child, as a teenager and as Voldemort. Even knowing everything, it was hard to believe that all those versions were just one young man.
He was a handsome young man, incredibly handsome and even though this is not the first trait she would look for in a person, she had to give in and admit that somehow, he managed to charm.
Hermione awakens from her musings when she feels his hand grip her wrist, stopping her from continuing her curiosity.
"What are you doing?" He asks.
Yeah, what am I doing? Hermione wonders, blinking as if coming to her senses. She takes a step back, but he holds her wrist, not in a way that hurts her, but not allowing her to go that easy. Tom seems to watch her just as intently, allowing his eyes to travel to her ajar lips.
The tension of the moment seems to fall between the two of them, both caught in the silence, the owl feathers floating until they fall to the floor.
The exact moment is broken when the black owl appears, swooping around until it settles at a good enough height for either of them to gain access.
"Nix." Hermione acknowledges, feeling Tom's grip soften until she can no longer feel his hand.
Despite being an extremely twilight and nocturnal owl, there was nothing to stop Nix from going out during the day if need be. The choice of time of preference was more out of instinct and camouflage than anything else.
Nix readily recognised the two. He spread one of his wings and with his beak, straightened his feathers after the flight. Tom walked over to Nix and stroked the feathers on his head that looked like horns, which drew a sort of happy sound from Nix.
Hermione also reached over and pulled a snack and a letter out of one of her pockets, which drew his gaze to the envelope. He let her have a moment with her owl but didn't pull away.
She stroked Nix's feathers, murmured endearments to the animal, as well as offering a treat, which had probably returned to the Owl's refuge after having spent the night feeding.
"I know you must be tired, Nix. But would you please deliver this letter for me?" She asked, offering the letter to the owl, who somehow understood what was being asked.
With his claw, Nix took the envelope and then bent down to pick it up with his beak. Hermione glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tom, before quickly turning away. If he had known that letter was being sent to his arch-enemy, what would he have done?
Hermione and Tom took a step back as Nix spread his wings and quickly launched himself towards the tower balcony, flying, gliding before flapping his wings towards the horizon.
They both made their way to the balcony, watching the owl fly away. The wind was a tiny bit colder and stronger, making their clothes sway gently. Curious and a little hesitant, Hermione looks at him, analysing, noting that in that distant look he's making, the 'gears' of his brain are working.
He is questioning something.
She would pay a good amount just to be able to know, to understand, what made Tom Riddle want to be Voldemort.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" Tom asks.
"W-what?" she blinked, trying to adjust to the question that had been asked.
"The scenery." He tilted his chin towards the horizon. "It's pretty, isn't it?"
So, can he appreciate such things?
Hermione looks at the view that the tower afforded them. Even with the wind and clouds, a few rays of sunlight were touching the trees and mountains of the valley.
"It is, it is very beautiful."
"To think that something or someone created all this."
His reflection piqued her curiosity and she finds herself asking before she can stop herself:
"Do you believe in any God or Gods, Tom?"
Hermione wants to slap herself mentally. Where did she get that question from? It is more than clear to her that he will mock her question, so she expects the sound he makes whenever he finds something silly. But she is surprised when he replies:
"Yes, I do." This time Tom looks at her and she is unable to look away because in those green eyes there is nothing, no emotion or expression that can be interpreted. "What is a god but one who has the power to create and destroy? The one who has the power of all things? One who controls life and death? Immortal? I believe in that god, Hermione."
It's a very vague description, many gods and goddesses from various cultures had such abilities mentioned. By logic and the orphanage, Tom probably attended the Christian church, but...
Hermione stopped, her eyes getting bigger and bigger from the moment the realisation fell on her, realising between the lines of what he said. Tom Riddle didn't just want to be remembered as the best and most powerful wizard that had ever existed, he wanted to be some kind of god.
"Well, I am going. See you in class, Hermione."
He said, ever so simply, returning to 'normal', leaving Hermione standing there, dumbfounded and unresponsive. She turns around in time to see him coming down the dangerous Owlery stairs, the hood of the Slytherin's robe gown over his head.
o0o
Hermione spent the morning classes with a headache that would make a crusher envious and as much as she understood what was going on in the classes she shared with the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, she couldn't concentrate enough to care.
Her mind was racing fast with all the information she received, there was too much of it, she was going to go crazy with it all. And even though the headache eased now with the help of a potion, there was still that feeling of distress that was stuck in the pit of her stomach and she couldn't get rid of the feeling.
She walks alone through the corridors so lost about what she would do next, feeling in the dark, with someone who can send her " back and forth" in the timeline as it pleases, only as of the power of words. The limit to that is unknown. And the worst part? The "person" apparently can be around Hogwarts.
Hermione feels like a bird trapped in a cage, "protected", "at the mercy" and with nowhere to run. A target too easy.
"Hermione." The voice wakes her from her reverie. She turns towards the owner of the voice. Leaning against one of the pilasters, there stood the young man with the earring that looked like a sea urchin.
"Alphard." She recognized him. Ignoring him would be rude and also not the best idea, after all, he was still keeping the secret about her.
"Are you alright?" He asks and she frowns. "I heard you were in the Hospital Wing."
"I'm fine." Hermione answers as briefly as possible. A little annoyed, perhaps.
His presence rekindles her memory about Evelyn's situation. Very likely Alphard noticed it; if the prolonged silence that followed wasn't any indication.
He sits on the ledge, feeling his legs weak, his hands open and close, clenching the fabric of his school uniform trousers. He's not very good at these things, but he had mentally gone over a thousand times what he was going to say, yet his mind went blank, just like it did sometimes when he was taking some test.
"Are you still mad at me?" Alphard tried, grimacing - as if he had a stomach ache. Hermione tilted her head to the side, a serious expression on her face. "Okay. I guess that's a yes." His broad shoulders wilted. "Look, I'm sorry."
The line between Hermione's eyebrows became more prominent.
"I had no choice. I have nothing against the muggle-born." Alphard swallowed dryly. "-Evelyn." He corrected himself. "-but I had no choice. Wally is my sister. What was I supposed to do? She's part of my family. How could I let someone hurt my sister and brother? What kind of brother would I be if I let that happen?" Alphard explained.
She understood. Hermione really understood what he meant. Understanding made the features of her face soften. It was his family and she couldn't judge, everyone does whatever it takes to protect their families. She has done it, Ron has done it and many other friends have had to do it. Hermione realises that she may have judged Alphard too harshly, which doesn't soften the anger, but keeps it in check, because, at the end of it all, Evelyn Thomas is a living being, with a beating heart and with feelings, she is a child.
But it is irrefutable that between Walburga and her and Evelyn, that Alphard's choice was obvious.
Hermione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to get used to this idea. When she opens her eyes, she looks straight at him. Alphard is not a bad person, on the contrary, he shows to be kind and this may be one of the reasons that in the future, he helps his nephew, Sirius. It may even be that he can see himself in Sirius' behaviour. It seems then, that the only Black who took the phrase "The Blacks protect themselves" seriously was Alphard and Andromeda, that regardless of magic or not choices, Alphard protected his family.
"Don't think Wally got away with what happened." Alphard preferred to say so that Hermione would understand that in a way there was justice to what happened specifically that day. "He made me punish Wally."
Hermione looked away, knowing that in a way she is to blame for what Alphard had to do to his sister, it was the vow she had made with Riddle, she certainly doesn't want the details but she knows that some magical torture was applied.
"I'm sorry." She murmured, turning back to face him. Hermione noted that there were stress lines on his face. "I don't want you to change what you are, Alphard. Nor what you think is right to do." She craned her head. "It's your family. You're right. I just hope you extend that feeling to all members of your family, regardless." She remembered Sirius.
Alphard opened his mouth as if to reply, but the childish voice made them both turn in the direction it came from.
"Brother?"
Alphard softened his expression at the sight of Cygnus.
"Hermione." He turned to her. "This is my brother, Cygnus."
Cygnus looked like an adult trapped in a child's body if you can understand that expression. He looked very serious, as his facial expression always seemed to be the same and the way he bowed his head in a gesture of recognition, made Hermione think he was trying to look more mature than he really was because she was sure he was still capable of throwing tantrums.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Cygnus."
"The pleasure is mine, miss."
"Well, I have to go." She told Alphard, bidding Cygnus farewell with a gesture and turning her back on the Black brothers.
"Wait here," Alphard asked his brother, as he went after Hermione. "Hermione!" He called out to her, stopping in front of her so he could speak. "Are... we friends?"
Hermione didn't know how to answer such a direct question, so she just shrugged, went around Alphard and made her way to Potions class. She knew she would probably meet him in class, but for now, she preferred to leave him in her brother's company.
o0o
The Grey Lady floated by holding a book in her hands, concentrating on what she was reading, being taken aback when she noticed the young man in the corridor.
"Oh!" she let slip and Tom smiled gently.
"Miss Ravenclaw." He greeted.
She lowered her gaze, a little embarrassed. It had been many years since anyone had called her by that name, her name being replaced by 'Grey Lady'. In fact, as much as she missed just being referred to as Helena, she preferred to hide her real identity, letting herself be recognised by the name that students over the years had given her. She couldn't bear the thought of using her mother's surname, the surname which reigned over one of the Houses of Hogwarts, after her vile betrayal.
Thinking about it made her sad and melancholy, the evil she did always returns to her thoughts, the karma she carries, the weight of the then ghostly life that is hers. If there is one sure thing to know, it is that ghosts are executioners of their own happiness. As intelligent as she claimed to be, she should have been wise enough to know that she was meant to have moved on, there was nothing left for her on the earthly plane, but then, her regret, guilt and fear were so deep that they served as a heavy anchor to leave her here, trapped. She couldn't get there fast enough to ask forgiveness of her mother who was on her deathbed, nor could she find her in the afterlife.
The name "Grey Lady" suited her just fine, she concluded. For she was always crying around silently, grieving for many reasons.
"Call me by the name 'Grey Lady'" She commanded, lifting her chin, daring the young man to contradict her. Few knew her real name and those who did had done their research.
"As you wish." He tilted his head to the side, the gentle smile never leaving his face. "I fear it is impolite not to have introduced myself. Tom Riddle, at your service."
"I know who you are." And she did. She had watched him grow with each new school year, as had many other students. Yet she had never come into direct contact with him. However much she had heard the portraits and paintings talking about how kind, intelligent and skilled he was. In the Ravenclaw tower, she had heard his name often being mentioned. At celebrations, she had seen him, as well as in the Student Rankings. So yes, she knew who he was.
She just avoided socialising, often preferring to stay in the Ravenclaw Tower wing. She wandered around sometimes though, but one thing was for sure, she would never, ever go to the Dungeons if she could help it. Not when the Baron was circulating there.
Uncertain and caught off guard by the silence, she looked around searching for a way out of the situation. Her translucent fingers tightened around the book as she thought about making her way through the walls until she walked away.
"I've always had a curiosity for Ravenclaw." He spoke suddenly, unexpectedly getting her attention. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, tilting her head, considering what he was talking about. "I never understood why I wasn't selected for that House. Not to brag, but many say I'm intelligent, I wonder if my other personality traits influenced the Hat so much."
"Nasty traits, I suppose" The Lady replied boldly, nodding at the Slytherin emblem on Tom's uniform. Proud of her comment, for a moment she wondered if she offended him deeply, but to her surprise, the young man laughed. A little embarrassed, she apologised for the rude and mean comment.
"Maybe." He shrugs. "I heard you were the best student in your school days."
"Yes, the best." She doesn't deny it, proud to be acknowledged. Her intellect, perhaps, is only below her mother's.
"I'd like us to be friends if it's not disrespectful." He suggested.
It wasn't, but she wondered why. It was unusual to prolong unnecessary contact with the living ones.
"Why?" she asked, floating around him.
"It may sound presumptuous of me, but I would like to talk to someone with wisdom and intelligence. Sometimes it's frustrating not having someone who can understand me."
The Lady, Helena, smiled. Presumptuous, but he managed to get her attention. Finally, she understood why his name was on the lips of many girls. She would have yielded to his charm if he had attended Hogwarts at the same time as her.
The Lady never experienced romantic love, not for lack of wooing. Many young men followed her around and tried to gain her attention, and many times she was proposed. All of which she fervently denied, her standards were too high for those men to fit, she would accept nothing less.
She wondered if this young man was born at the same time as her, would she have considered him. She probably would have. Perhaps her life would have taken a different path.
The Lady shook her head, clearing her mind of such thoughts. No use thinking, she thought.
She sat down on one of the stone seats, straightening her puffy dress as she would have done if she were alive. It was just a polite, ingrained custom she hadn't lost. The weak sunlight seemed to touch, but it was actually passing through her person, making her image almost seem invisible for good. The long hair floated a little around her.
The appearance and the ghostly effect might frighten some people, but she meant no harm.
With a brief smile, she said:
"Talk then. Entertain me." That was what she used to say to the gentlemen of her time.
It had been a good, long time since she had talked to anyone. Well, a proper conversation.
Am I needy? She wondered. No, it wasn't very logical. She'd never been very emotional or so she'd always thought.
So wrong about herself.
Tom sat down next to her, not too afraid or impressed by her ghostly appearance, and smiled. His eyes closed and a smile on his lips. She's just another one.
---
Hermione looked hesitantly out of the corner of her eye at Tom as she stopped writing on the parchment. She was in potions class, with Ectur sitting on her right side and Bilius sitting in the back next to Arabella McLaggen.
The class was silent, if not for the rustling of writing quills as everyone made small notes.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for the little demonstrations." Slughorn interrupted the students.
Hermione paid attention to what Professor Slughorn was saying. It was interesting and a little scary to watch him teach, and not in a bad way. In general, Slughorn was the same way she had known him in her real-time.
Slughorn pulled out of his hard briefcase, five prepared potions. Of the five, Hermione recognised four, Felix Felicis, Laughter Potion, Hate Potion and Amortentia...
Resting her chin on the part of her fingers, she watched with renewed interest. Her mind racing to interpret this class would go.
"Would anyone care to tell me what emotions can be considered opposite and can be felt at the same time?" He asked, looking cheerfully at the students. "Hm? Anyone?"
"Love and hate?" Hermione heard someone speaking from the back of the classroom.
"A good answer, indeed. But is it possible for a person to love and hate someone at the same time? Of course, emotions are much more complex than a simple question like that, nothing is 'black and white'."
Hermione thought and looked at the bottles of potions presented by Slughorn. Slughorn's question could be answered just by observing, the answer was there, right in front of everyone. At that very moment, she and Tom both raised their hands to answer the question.
She looked at him and he returned her gaze, both slowly lowering their hands. Her thirst for learning had gotten the better of her again and without realising, there she was trying to answer the questions as if she was attending sixth grade normally. She mentally scolded herself.
But more controlled than she was when it came to hiding her expressions, Tom gestured for her to speak first. Again, she couldn't tell if he was actually being solicitous or if it was just one of his public interpretations.
Slughorn watched the exchange with a smile on his face, as if the interaction of the two was something pleasurable to watch, looking like a sort of 'Father' as he watched his favourite student interact.
Ectur looked at her expectantly, having cast a glance towards Tom. Making noise with her throat, Hermione explained her theory.
"Love and Sorrow." She muttered. "The answer is Love and Sorrow." She continued.
"And why is that, Miss Granger?" Slughorn pressed her to explain herself.
"We can love and still feel sad."
"Excellent, Miss Granger."
Hermione gave a sideways smile, half embarrassed. Ectur beside her gave her arm a little squeeze, congratulating her.
"Allow me to introduce you to the potions we will be studying in the next few classes. The first is Felix Felicis, also known as Liquid Luck. The second is the Laughter Potion, the third is the Hate Potion, the fourth is Amortentia and the fifth is the Longing Potion."
Hermione knew the Felix Felicis potion well, only she knows how frustrating it was trying to make the Death in Life potion, competing with Harry and the Half-Blood Prince's diary, so she could have the chance to have the Felix Felicis. She can't deny that losing left a bitter taste in her ego until she understood the situation.
"You guys may be wondering why I asked you that question. You see, each of these potions directly messes with our emotions. They are dangerous and should be used with great care and caution. They can be described as a kind of addiction and are poisonous in a very particular way. Today, my students, we will study the Potion of Longing, also known as the Potion of Sorrow."
Slughorn took the small flask that looked like a crystal chalice with a lid, which contained the dark, black liquid, the surface of which glowed like ink and handed it to the left side of the class. Tom was the first to pick up the chalice, he frowned as he touched the flask. The interest could be seen in his expression as he wondered at the steam rising from the trapped liquid.
Tom turned and handed the chalice to Malfoy, who shared it with Mulciber, both of whom found the sensation odd and so on it was passed to Avery and Rosier, Lestrange and Nott, Alphard and Virginia Flint until all the sixth year Slytherin students had interacted with the potion, soon after which it was passed to the Gryffindor students. Hermione waited patiently for her and Ectur's turn after Bilius and Arabella handed it to them.
She and Ectur watched the liquid and with the tip of her finger, Hermione tapped against the glass of the chalice, noticing that the potion was barely moving.
"What is it?" Ectur asked.
"It's not just an impression, the potion has a thick texture." She explained. "That means if we have to reproduce it, the right point to deliver is with that texture."
He looked at her, a little befuddled to say the least. "Wow."
She smiled at his expression and then handed Slughorn the chalice.
"Does anyone know anything about this potion?" Slughorn asked.
Hermione refrained from answering, she really didn't know anything about this potion. However, she was not surprised when by a glance she saw Tom raise his hand.
"The Potion of Longing is a potion that is forbidden and controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Quotations about this potion are found only in the oldest tomes from the 15th century. Some believe that Zygmunt Budge is the creator, but it has never been confirmed. The Longing potion is considered poisonous for its hallucinogenic effects and it can be ingested or its vapour can be breathed. Consuming it makes the effect longer and more effective, but both ways are extremely efficient and risky if used in excess. Its biggest effect is to create perfect illusions about something we miss, not necessarily about a person, but that is where the biggest reason for its existence. The illusion is so powerful, it makes a person believe that perhaps, a loved one is present and alive. It is said to be so perfect that many go mad and prefer to live in the fantasy reality created by this potion."
She wasn't surprised that he knew the answer, but maybe a little bit angry at herself for not knowing anything about this potion. She couldn't even remember Snape or Slughorn mentioning it in her time. She didn't doubt that Snape knew the potion, but the lack of lecturing on the subject made her think that the Ministry of Magic really wanted to prevent witches and wizards from knowing about this potion.
"Excellent answer, Mr Riddle. Ten points for Slytherin!" Slughorn congratulated Tom, who gave a sideways smile.
Okay... She bit her lower lip and turned her face in the other direction so she wouldn't have to face him, this is clearly turning into a competition.
"An excellent answer, indeed." Slughorn continued. "But I would add that so potent is this potion, that even those around will be able to catch a glimpse of something."
Slughorn removed the lid of the chalice and the greyish vapour of the potion began to rise. Strangely it looked like a kind of smoke, but it didn't smell bad, quite the opposite, it was attractive in some peculiar way. But such was most potions that try to trick the mind, a lure.
The Potions Professor, tilted the chalice so that a generous drop fell onto the floor, the students leaned to watch, curious for the reaction the potion would have. The thick liquid fell, making contact with the floor and much like ink, it had stayed consistent until it was magically absorbed.
"What happens now, Professor Slughorn?" Mulciber asked.
"Each of you will see something, that doesn't mean it will be something specific to you. It could be your classmate's next to you."
"I don't see anything," Ectur muttered beside her and Hermione was about to reply that she couldn't see anything either, but was silenced by the clear image that came to her.
Without realising it, she found herself affected by the smell of the potion which was already messing with her head, creating a small illusion. A glimpse to which she succumbed. The image that emerged, ached her heart, catching her off guard as if a supernatural force was squeezing her heart for the way she missed what she saw.
"Ron."
She saw Ron, tall and with the flaming hair that belonged to the genetics of the Weasley family.
"Mione." He called out to her, extending his hand for her to take and join him. Beside Ron stood her parents, smiling so warmly it was impossible to resist.
She almost raised her hand to take Ron's hand.
"Hermione." Ectur brought her back to reality, his voice serving as an anchor. She blinked, adjusting to her surroundings again and looked at Ectur, a little confused and pale from feeling so exposed and easily caught in the effects of the potion.
"I-I saw something..." She muttered.
"I know," Ectur replied seriously. "I'm not sure what it was, but I saw you interacting as if you were here. Who's Ron?"
Hermione stammered at the question but was relieved of the question when her and Ectur's attention went to Bilius and Arabella, who seemed to be enjoying themselves. Wow.
For a moment she laughed at the reaction of the two, but that didn't erase what she saw and felt, even more so when she looked away, finding Tom's gaze so intense and questioning. A crease between his eyebrows showed.
She looked away, not daring to look at him or Ectur, preferring to concentrate on Slughorn. As the rest of the students came to their senses. Some are affected, others not.
From the back of the room, Alphard Black watched the interactions. Well, well...Could it be? He wondered as the thought came to him.
When class was over, all the students were putting away their belongings, Slughorn stopped her, asking her to stay for a moment. Bilius left for lunch, while Ectur signalled that he would wait for her in the hallway.
Tom walked past her, glancing from under his lashes at her, a small, sideways smile wanting to appear on his face. Convinced that Slughorn would invite her to the private club, he was not surprised. It had been just as he'd predicted.
o0o
Closing the door to the Potions classroom, Hermione found Ectur standing in the corridor as he had said he would.
"Hermione?" He asked, finding the expression on her face a little strange. "What is it?"
"Hm...Slughorn invited me to the Club." She said, holding the strap of the cross-body bag she wore, with both hands.
Ectur blinked at her answer and then cracked a bright smile. "Hermione, that's great!" He congratulated her. "Do you know what that means? It means that he considers you to be one of the best students!"
Yes, Hermione knows what The Slug Club means and all the members of it who are handpicked. The reason behind the creation of the Club could be genuine, a way for Slughorn to benefit his favourite students in the wizarding world, but surely there were also the benefits Slughorn received.
"You accepted, didn't you?" Ectur asked as they walked towards the Great Hall.
"I said I would think about it." She replied. "Professor Slughorn just said that the Club would have a meeting and would let me know when and that if I wanted to, just turn up at dinner time."
"Hermione, you have to go! It's the chance of a lifetime!" Ectur encouraged her. "Not for nothing, Hermione, but Slughorn has many contacts that could pave a path for you into adulthood."
Hermione had no way to answer that, so she kept quiet as she thought. In her mind it was clear, nothing was going the way it should.
They walked in silence for a moment, until Ectur spoke:
"About the question, I asked in Potions class... I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, no. It's okay." She muttered.
"It's just...I just asked because you had said that name before." Ectur kept his tone of voice low. He didn't know if he was being inconvenient or not and he didn't want the conversation to reach the ears of others, as it seemed like something very private to her. "To me." He added.
"What?" Hermione inquired. There was no way she could remember mentioning anything about Ron to Ectur.
"Well, yes. When I found you at the lake. You opened your eyes and mumbled the name: Ron." He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "What happened, Hermione?" Ectur gently asked.
Hermione stopped, recognizing the memory of when he had helped her in the lake area. Looking at him, she could see the little details that made Ron and Ectur alike. For a moment, while she was being rescued, she saw Ectur and thought it was Ron who came for her.
She didn't want to mention something about Ron, not for some dark reason, but Ectur's pleading eyes for an explanation broke her.
"Ron..." She murmured his name softly, wistfully. The tone of her voice attracted Ectur's attention even more. " He's special to me." She continued. "You remind me a lot of him." Hermione gave a brief smile. "I've known him since I was eleven to twelve and grew up with him and met his family. He's awkward, a little bit grumpy, with a unique comic sense. He always tries to stand up for his friends. He's...Ron." She sniffled and with the heel of her hand, tweaked her nose as she looked down at her shoes. How to describe Ron? "You look just like him." Hermione looked at Ectur.
Ectur understood. He couldn't be jealous, not of that.
"Is he okay?" Ectur asked. Maybe it wasn't the right question to ask, not when he noticed the white part of her eyes start to redden as she bravely fought not to shed tears.
"I don't know," Hermione replied softly, her voice numb. "I want to believe so." She sniffled again, swallowing all her tears. "I have to hope."
Ectur hugged her. It wasn't right, it could be considered inappropriate, but if for one second she was surprised, the next she returned the embrace, hiding her face in his grey sweater.
If anyone had seen them standing in the hallway hugging, they would probably get the wrong idea, but he couldn't care less.
When they parted, Ectur put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, she smiled at the gesture and was reciprocated equally.
They heard a noise coming from someone's throat and quickly separated to face the person.
"Hm...Huh...Professor, I mean Headmaster Dumbledore...!" Ectur stammered. "It's not at all what you're thinking, sir! We just...I was..."
Dumbledore, whose hands were interlocked in front of him, looked at Hermione and Ectur and raised one of his eyebrows at the young boy, who was turning red with embarrassment.
It was hard to keep the expression on his face, as he found the Prewett boy's behaviour a little comical and to tease him, Dumbledore spoke:
"The act of hugging a friend is commendable, Mr Prewett, but I ask that exaggerated affections be for another time."
"What? No, no, no, Headmaster Dumbledore! I wasn't going to...I mean...I wasn't going to do anything."
"I understand, Mr Prewett." Dumbledore smiled. "By the way, aren't you late for lunch, Mr Prewett ?"
"Yes, yes. We were just going."
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask for Miss Granger's attention."
"Huh, all right. See you later, Hermione." Ectur waved goodbye to Hermione, who confirmed with a nod.
As they watched Ectur walk away, Hermione let a soft chuckle escape.
" We weren't doing anything. " She explained. "He was consoling me. We were talking about Ron." She continued, walking alongside Dumbledore. "I didn't say much, but the subject came up. I guess I needed a friendly shoulder, I miss that... It's just... He looks like Ron."
"I'm sure he does, Miss Granger."
"No, Professor Dumbledore. He looks a bit like Ron." Hermione emphasised and realisation appeared on Dumbledore's face.
"Oh, I understand now."
"It's hard because I know who he is and what he's going to be." She tried to smile to soften the words.
They were silent for a second, absorbing the weight of the words.
"I would like, Miss Granger, for us to talk in my sitting room about recent events."
"Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore. I would like that."
---
Taking a seat in the armchair in Dumbledore's living room, she looked around and then deposited her satchel beside the armchair. On the tray in front of her on the coffee table were some natural sandwiches and a glass of juice. A courtesy from Dumbledore for getting her attention during her lunch hour. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen.
"I believe we can talk freely now." Dumbledore sat down in the armchair opposite her.
"Yes." Hermione agreed. She looked at the never-ending flames of the fireplace, the memories of what had happened to flash through her mind as she watched the flames dance. "The Time-Turner activated." She muttered. "I travelled back in time again. I went to the past and back." She continued. "It's not normal. -" She shook her head. " - No Time-Turner has the power to make in that way. It's not normal enough to have travelled fifty-five years in the past, to go back further into the past and then go back to where I left off, makes me think that this - " She held up the iron cord attached to her neck. " - doesn't follow the same patterns."
Hermione lowered her head to look at the locket, the important part of which she now held in her hands.
"I've witnessed things... things that until then I didn't understand and judged without knowing. That doesn't change anything, I think... But it makes me think. I don't want to justify what I know with what I saw, but I have a hard time understanding. I thought I understood...I don't know ..."
"What did you see, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore, very cautiously, asked.
She raised her gaze, it was possible to see the watery gleam in her eyes because of the emotions she felt.
"I saw... A part of the dark wizard's childhood I told you about." She swallowed, trying to placate the lump forming in her throat at the words. "It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was... sad. Lonely. It won't justify what he's going to do. But I feel strange... because he was naive once... I think... I don't even know anymore. The weight of all the things...Of everything I've seen, everything I've been through, everything I thought I knew...It's starting to weigh on me. I worry about Harry, I worry about what I'm doing, I worry about whether or not I'll make it back, I worry about Ronnie, I worry about my parents - if I'll ever see them again." She wiped away the tears that were trickling down to her chin. "I'm scared."
Hermione showed the part of the closed locket, which held the Time-Turner, to Dumbledore. "That's not normal. It's like it opens some kind of portal. A passage? There is -"
Hermione was interrupted when the fireplace in Dumbledore's Office spat out a letter. The letter glided softly until Dumbledore picked it up with one hand.
He opened the letter and read it carefully, Hermione noticing how downcast he seemed by the words that must have been written and how hard he tried to control his expressions.
" Professor?" She tried.
"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that we will have to postpone this conversation." He said suddenly, rising from the armchair at the same second. Placing his hands behind his back as he was wont to do. "There are certain things that need my attention urgently, but don't think in any way that I'm not interested in your position. I say only to you, have faith - " Looking at her over the half-moon glasses, he continued. "- and be careful. Your journey was felt. It may have been softer than the other, but it was not missed by attentive people. Magic speaks for itself."
Hermione found Dumbledore's behaviour strange, for whatever was written in the letter he had received had completely caught his attention. She glanced over her shoulder at the wood of the doorway to Dumbledore's Office before heading off to her next class.
As soon as Hermione left, Dumbledore opened the letter again, he propped his hands on the table and bowed his head, a little embarrassed and a little disappointed. On the letter was written:
For the Greater Good.
It didn't have handwriting, but those words would haunt him for the rest of his life.
--
The person who wrote the letter was standing still, feeling that the letter had been delivered at just the right moment for everything to happen as it should.
The cloak covered the entire body, the hood preventing the light of a cloudy temple from touching the skin, the charm on the face allowed no one to know the identity or gender.
The words written had an important meaning, the person knew. It was For the Greater Good, a greater good for itself and for all it knew. Now it understood the important role it had. The person will not be the cause and motivator of everything, it is only a little push here and there for the route that is destiny to be paved.
The One looked with an interest at the scene it was seeing, after all, watching Gellert Grindelwald getting information from Leeza Zabini, who was on a mission and then clearing her mind, was interesting, to say the least. Of course, that was only one step towards chaos and then peace.
With a simple *whoosh* it apparated.
o0o
"Some Aurors have been attacked," Lestrange commented one evening.
"How do you know that?" Dolohov, who was sitting on the sofa asked. All the members who were The Walpurgis Knights, including Tom, were in the Common Room after classes and dinner.
Lestrange showed the letter that was in his hand. "My father wrote it."
"And what does that mean?" Rosier asked.
"It means danger." Abraxas Malfoy cleared Rosier's mind.
"It's sending a message to the Ministry," Tom said.
"Tom -" Lestrange, very carefully, spoke Tom's name. They spoke the name as 'Tom' or 'Riddle' to keep up appearances, as it would be very odd to say 'My Lord' to a young man the same age as them, however, that was how they referred to it when they were in Tom's presence. Lestrange had nothing against that, after all, 'Riddle', 'Tom' or whatever the reference was, nurtured and showed the paths to the sense of freedom he sought."- It's right." He continued.
"How so?" Mulciber raised one of his eyebrows.
"The Ministry of Magic will summon Dumbledore." Nott exchanged glances with Lestrange, Malfoy and Tom. "They're saying that the only thing that's stopping Grindelwald from taking over Great Britain, is him."
"My father says they might ask for Dumbledore's help, after all, many members of the Ministry hold Dumbledore in high esteem and consider him a powerful wizard. Especially if he is an ally."
"Dumbledore will not fight. This is the third time the Ministry has requested his presence." Malfoy observed.
"Well, the difference between Spencer-Moon and Fawley, is that one of them is taking it very seriously."
As they spoke, Tom absorbed every comment made, his mind processing the information. Why? He wondered. It's not typical of Dumbledore to deny help, especially if it's something that's not against his ideals, but him vehemently denying any kind of confrontation...
Why doesn't Dumbledore want to fight?
Tom paused, the light of an idea arising, like when you manage to solve the mystery of a potion or a spell. Maybe the right question wasn't that but rather: can Dumbledore fight against Grindelwald?
Unlikely he couldn't, but...
---
A few short days passed, Hermione began to focus more on herself and the situation she found herself in. The focus of her studies went to the Portkey, Time - Turner and Salazar Slytherin.
From everything she understood, the Time-turner attached to her neck really wasn't ordinary and the fact that she had travelled back in time to a specific place reminded her of how a Portkey worked. At night, in the women's dormitories, she would spend her time reading, thinking, and sometimes trying to draw the Time-Turner to get a better idea of its handling. As much as she could open the locket, she couldn't activate it, the sand of the hourglass standing in place without moving.
How had someone managed to combine time magic with transport magic?
Come to think about it, both spells had an equal base. But that discovery didn't do much to clear Hermione's train of thought, making her more frustrated than pleased.
For the Slytherin part, Hermione was concentrating on the book about the Founders of Hogwarts, paying close attention to everything that quoted the famous Parselmouth wizard. She doubted there would be information about anything so unusual in a book like this, but she couldn't rule out either hypothesis, after all, there are often riddles hidden in the words.
Her attention was taken away momentarily when she saw Evelyn smiling and waving at her from across the courtyard, Hermione reciprocated the kindness like a loving older sister, watching Evelyn rush off to her next class.
It was fresh in Hermione's mind how she still had to defend Evelyn from some Slytherin girls in the same class as her, but not that Evelyn was weak she was doing very well with the spells and potions, so much so that as a thank you, Evelyn gave Hermione a whole jar of Moonstone Powder that she won for being the first student to perform the potion in class.
Hermione had smiled at her but said that she was the one who had to stay, as she had won a class prize for the first time, yet Evelyn insisted. She hugged Hermione's waist and ran to the Dungeons.
Hermione had stashed vial in her bag, but a thought occurred and she found herself looking where Evelyn had left. It could be thanks, yes, but the words Tom had said to her about how the relationship worked between the Slytherin students, made more sense now. It's like a two-way street.
Hermione closed the book on the Founders of Hogwarts and picked up another from her cross-body bag, a book written specifically about one Founder: Salazar Slytherin.
She ran her fingers across the leather cover, the name of the Parselmouth wizard in large, silver letters. It brought back to her bitter memories of one of the days when passing by the hallway of the Ravenclaw Wing.
Hermione saw him, Tom, talking to the Grey Lady. She was smiling at him, her ghostly voice sounding more lyrical than Hermione had ever heard. The Grey Lady, Helena, seemed content if it were possible...alive. This left Hermione terrified.
Not because of the presence of the ghost of Ravenclaw House, nor because of Helena's cheerful simplicity, but because of the possessor of such contentment. Because at that moment, Hermione realised what he was doing and how everyone, ghosts included, can fall for the charm he has. Because there, he was making his way to get the Ravenclaw Diadem.
She didn't know how many times they had met, because yes, that seemed like a secret meeting, nor how many times they had spoken, nor if Helena had told all about the Diadem yet. She only knew that at that moment she had understood that Tom Riddle wanted to be Lord Voldemort, Who Must Not Be Named.
Hermione had turned away so quickly from the scene she had witnessed and while her mind said she had to interfere, she couldn't stop herself as she had been... disappointed. The same young man who saved her is still the same wizard who wants to exterminate her existence. Ironic, isn't it?
"What are you reading?"
She was startled at the voice that pulled her mind away from the memory.
Speaking of the devil...
He sat next to her on the stone picnic table, while her body was facing in the right direction, with her legs under the table, Tom sat the opposite way, his back facing the table where he propped his elbows in a significantly relaxed position.
She squinted at him, who particularly didn't shy away from meeting her gaze. Hermione turned her face away, turning to her book, reading the first page. Tom frowned and raised one of his dark eyebrows at her behaviour.
He looked at the books on the table, curious.
"Well...?" Tom tried to bring some response from her.
"I want to be alone, Tom." She said, without even looking at him.
The tone of her voice was like a knife - ouch - she sounded hurt and, frankly, offended.
What had he done now? Tom wondered. He clenched his jaw and looked around. Honestly, he was getting tired and his patience was running out, she had avoided him throughout these days, the estrangement from her was disturbing, to say the least. But on the other hand, he saw her smiling at Prewett.
He was aware of the friendship she had with the Prewett brothers, with Weasley and the Longbottom's, but he knew how to recognise when there was something more involved; and he was referring to Ectur Prewett.
The Prewett boy was indicating that he wanted more than her friendship, whether she realised it or not... He looked at her again, down at her, bothered by the thought.
She was largely ignoring him, not acknowledging his presence and it made him angry. Tom tugged at one of the strands of her unruly hair, not hard enough to hurt, but just to get her attention. How childish, he thinks, but he delights in the frown she offers, particularly proud of himself for managing to snap her out of her cold behaviour. She's not very good at that.
He can see her taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, gathering all the patience she could. Delightfully sensitive, he wants to laugh.
"I'm reading Tom, that's what I'm doing." She replies, her eyes going back to the book, but she didn't seem to read it.
"Fair enough. But that's not what I asked."
Hermione blinks, her eyes still on the book, her fingers caressing the page, where it said about Salazar's genetic heritage, that it came from Herpo, the Foul, who everyone believes to be the first Parseltongue.
This reminds Hermione of what she had promised herself after she recovered from everything that happened, but especially seeing Tom with Helena Ravenclaw.
"I was curious about a topic-" She begins, still not looking at him. "-I mean, about the Founders of Hogwarts. So, I started reading about them and the legacy they left. And can you believe that at this very moment, I'm reading about Salazar Slytherin?" Hermione turned towards him, face to face, this close, both of them staring at each other.
She had promised herself that she would make Tom Riddle reveal himself to her.
______
Azemiops Feae, also known as Fea's Vibora, the seventeenth most venomous snake in the world.