1 || Pawn to D4
Hermione Granger's eyes reach those of the returned Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, a sign of panic, yet signal, as they then sprint for the fireplaces within the Ministry of Magic. Alarms of their 'intrusion' ricochet off the polished stone walls around them, like that of the spells Yaxley sends their way. The fireplaces serve as a countdown clock to their sure capture, yet further their sprint to a level they have yet to fully acknowledge. Feet race across the ground, quickly as the last fireplace comes into view, still opened, and they throw themselves into the swirling flames of magic, not fire.
Almost like Apparition, the three, then four bodies, become a jumbled mess of limbs and spells, clinging to their figures as reality is returned, then whisked away. For Harry, it is a numbing and nauseating feeling as he recognizes Yaxley slide into the fireplace behind them, sealing an almost known fate of said Death Eather and the Golden Trio.
Light flashes in their eyes as they move as messes through time and space, from one place to another, just revealing Hermione's fear as Yaxley clenches onto her robe with poisoned and paled fingers, much like Voldemort's himself. And though she finds herself for a millisecond within the confines of Grimmauld Place, she has the trio whizzing off in their next flight, this time permanently apart from Yaxley, still befuddled by the mess of the last minutes.
Harry loses consciousness for mere seconds, unlike Hermione, and in that time Hermione has risen to her feet, analyzing Ron for the injury she knows that she caused. The Boy Who Lived pitches himself onto one elbow with a slow and steady groan that echoes through the light forestry, his other hand cupping the locket that caused this whole mess. A grin spreads across his face as Hermione then acknowledges the negatives to said escape.
"Harry, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labeled 'Essence of Dittany,'" the girl commands, ever the leader and more than necessary in this war against Voldemort. Harry takes to her worried presence over Ron, his body twitching beneath her in spasms of pain, revealing the true state of their trio. "Quickly!"
Blinking softly, and then quickly, Harry Potter stumbles from his collapsed position on the ground, over to the bag of miraculous and overwhelming information and supplies. Revealing the fault to his intentions, Harry is quick to stop the mass listing of objects, muttering an "Accio Dittany."
The bottle sails into his hand as the spell has yet to fail in many years. Hermione, catching such movement even in her occupation of removing Ron's shirt, is then to command, "Unstopper it."
As if losing her temper, Hermione rips away the stolen shirt of Ron, revealing puddled blood across his chest and the cloth itself. And though it is gorey to the eye and nearly hidden by the liters of lost fluids, Harry looks to the nasty splinch wound of his good friend, carved into his skin like ice cream scooped from the carton.
"Hermione. His arm --" Harry mutters, just now coming to realize why Hermione is so panicked and bossy.
"Just do it!" she shouts, grabbing the bottle from Harry's hand at his offer. Hermione sprinkles a matter of three dots onto the nasty wound, setting off green smoke as the Dittany begins the magical work of healing. Harry, though expecting such from Hermione, is thankful for her preparation.
"What happened? I thought we were going back to Grimmauld Place," Harry says, not knowing if his vision of said household was just a dream or a vision of Voldemort's. Through the previous year, Harry had come to struggle with the fast-paced action of his life, unable to move from reality to unconscious visions without some reassurance of his state of mind.
"We were. We were there. But Yaxley had hold of me. I knew we couldn't stay once he'd seen, so when he let go I brought us here. Ron got Splinched," Hermione sputters, revealing the depth of her apologetic and guilt-ridden emotions. "I'm... sorry."
"Don't be stupid," Harry responds, knowing that the three of them would be in a far worse situation had Hermione not done what she did.
In front of them, the previously billowing green smoke shifts away to reveal the unbloodied, yet severe splinch wound to Ron's arm. Hermione nods her head at the potion, looking to Harry as she remarks that "It's all I feel safe doing."
The heroine stands to her feet, breath calming as she overcomes the life-threatening situation with some form of success. Her eyes closed and feet turned from the two friends, Hermione breathes in with the intention of her spellwork. And yet, the thought claws at her mind, a remembrance of her conversation with Dumbledore before his death, many months prior.
He'd said that Hermione would know of the 'right time' to complete her task, in which she'd feel it was the only way for Harry to be successful. Now that she's almost killed Ron and the fact that they only possess one horcrux, Hermione feels the weight of her task pressed firmly onto her shoulders, hands falling to her sides. She must win them more time...find a weakness of the Dark Lord to exploit and discover some insight on the horcrux locations. Hermione makes her decision.
At peace with the task, Hermione whips around to an awaiting Harry, his eyes reflecting concern for both her and Ron. And though, at the expression, she wishes to stay forever with her friends, Hermione can only think of how she may save them through her actions. So, steeling herself and straightening her spine, her eyes meet Harry's with a stubborn conviction he knows well.
"I will be back in a moment. If he starts to bleed again, call me back," Hermione says, turning again on her heel as she moves west from the camp and into the intended cover of the forest, face forward and never looking back.
"Where are you going?" Harry questions, standing to his feet as he watches his friend make some decision and commit to some strange maneuver, mentally.
"I will be back," she shouts back without turning her head towards her two adopted brothers that she loves so entirely. For them, it will be minutes, but for her, it may be months and years--she must have the courage to never look back.
"Hermione!" Harry shouts after her again, never having seen her act in such away.
"I am going to the loo!" she says, finally covering herself behind a tree a great distance away. The words, though Harry is pretty sure they are false, ensure his distance from her as she pulls the Time-Turner from beneath her acquired clothing, attached to a string that Hermione did not notice upon Dumbledore's gifting.
It is scrappy, much like muggle paper materials, wide and thin with words and numbers:
09-Illi Videbunt Lucem 19-Et Potestas Tenebrarum 97- Et Lux In Regno
Grabbing at her wand, Hermione softly voices the marked incantation under her breath, basking the Time-Turner in a rosegold glow. Hermione Granger's hands worm around the dialing mechanism of the Time-Turner, well practiced in the nine turns marked. Looking ahead of her, and never back, Hermione takes a deep breath, finally pressing her thumb into the button of the device and sending her off into the past, and consequently, her future.
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Where she arrives is exactly where she expects, the first thing to happen as planned in the many months previous. Looking around, it is a dear sunset time, basking the trees in a light much like that of the Time-Turner as she shoves it down her shirt, not to be seen for some time. No one seems to prowl these areas of the forest, given the silence of the lands minus the god-sent winds, and yet, Hermione has learned not to trust such senses.
The girl, eighteen as of recently, turns on her heel and away from the forest. Knowing exactly how this is to go, given the months of her planning, she finds herself planted firmly in the darkening streets of Hogsmeade, the weather reflecting winter here rather than the autumn from where she came. And yet, she takes it in stride, having faced much worse than low temperatures, as she sidles into the shadows of the closed shops, revealing herself to no one even as she blindly gazes at a strewn copy of the Prophet: December 31, 1944.
And though it is winter and presently dusk, Hermione wonders where people are, having seen none on her way through the streets. Yet, just as the newspaper revealed the date to her eyes, the Daily Prophet reveals more information, and illuminating news at that. Hermione Granger had forgotten, momentarily, that this was the time of Grindelwald's greatest power, having conquered much of Europe and now looking to England. The paper explains the controversial decision of Headmaster Armando Dippet, of Hogwarts, to have dementors protecting Hogwarts starting the first of Winter Holiday. It takes all of Hermione's power to avoid huffing in irritation at the obviously bad choices of some Headmasters, though she is to know better than most.
Gazing back up, Hermione recognizes that the only inhabited place in Hogsmeade appears to be the Three Broomsticks, not very surprising. Then, she sees to the continued presence of Honeydukes nearby, it's face ashen in the reflected light of snow and empty of all presence. Knowing her job to be harder now, though not dramatically so, Hermione hustles across the street to the front of said store, casting "Alohomora" nonverbally and letting herself in quietly. Hermione wastes no time, in an irrational fear that someone may still be inhabiting the shop, the girl passes into the tunnel marked by the Marauder's Map, the start of a new trek.
She moves at a comfortable and fairly safe pace for the first time in weeks, not having to fear others in the depths of the unlit tunnel, wand illuminated ahead of her. And yet, she considers a topic nothing less than precarious: how she'll manage to get information about Tom Riddle's weaknesses and horcruxes, and maybe try to get him to understand compassion. Knowing the latter to be some impossible task, Hermione ticks over the list she's written and rewritten many times, only to finalize days ago in Grimmauld Place:
Get into Slytherin
Join his Knights of Walpurgis
Gain his trust
Bring up horcruxes
Discuss his history
Show him what kindness looks like
Hermione is less than certain that her plan will work, and yet, she has no idea how else to appeal to him in an effective manner. She must learn to be cunning, to say 'mudblood' without a thought, and learn to work around his ability to detect lies. To say this is her most challenging assignment would be an understatement, as she now relies upon her own acting skills and the flexibility of Lord Voldemort. For once, Hermione is not sure that she will even slightly succeed.
Her thoughts take a downward turn as she comes upon the exit to the one-eyed witch tunnel, feet steadily mounting before she pulls herself from the small tunnel which seemed so much larger when she was a child.
Hermione's senses are again on alert as she enters the identical yet newer halls of Hogwarts. Her feet carry her silently through the passageways, taking to the shadows as would a well-trained spy, which she could easily be at this point. Moving especially quickly through the windowed areas, Hermione casts no glances at the early night sky, so beautiful and so missed, though now is not the time. But she continues onward towards the Headmaster's Office, determined and sly...so determined that it is obvious to Tom Riddle that something is up.
"Stop," the voice rings out and into Hermione's ears, startling her, but sending shivers of fear down her spine. It is a voice that she has never heard, although it bears a similar tone to that of the villain himself, almost snake-like in its drawling and cutting syllables and enough to frighten the lion within her.
And yet, Hermione continues to move, as if praying that this is not the monster she fears most, but her paranoia of attack playing her nerves. Her feet move as confidently as before, though the tension of her spine sends the sound of her footfalls ringing into the ears of the tell-tale voice.
"I said stop!" it rings again, this time with a more commanding tone that sings of experience in leading. It is the voice of a tyrant, of a man who is constantly obeyed and one that is feared by many. And though she is stubborn, Hermione stops with the reminder of her mission, that this is likely the man she must convince of her honesty.
Feet click towards her figure in the sound of old shoes, not like those of Hermione's time. Like she'd done with Harry, though for differentiated reasons, Hermione straightens her shoulders and spine perpendicularly, straight and flat and screaming of her bravery. Around her heel, she pivots quickly to face the man with a superior facade, his straight-mouth winning against her fake smile. It falters with her fear, but grows with her sudden strength.
Tom Marvolo Riddle is exactly what Hermione imagined, having heard the accounts of Harry far too many times through her years at Hogwarts. He is far taller than Harry, though lesser than Ron by about an inch, seeming like a giant due to the posture and confidence he radiates. And to accompany the height, he has the face that many women, including her previous self, would have fallen for in an instant. Yet, Hermione only mashes this face with that of the serpent in the future, so nauseating that Hermione wishes to both flee and gag. And though, for a mere second, she questions her certainty in his identity, she knows it to be Voldemort by the soulless eyes, not red, yet as dark as his partitioned soul.
Hermione Jean Granger is a complete mess in that moment, not that she notices given her recent trials, but this is all Tom Riddle sees. He grew up in a orphanage where luxuries were nonexistent, and yet, Tom thinks the orphans never got to this point of nastiness. The girl wears an interesting, yet inappropriate clothing combination that screams more of a carny than it does of a witch. Her skin show signs of damage and squalor, painted by bruises, scrapes, and dirt. Hermione's hair is as fluffy as usual, though now adorning twigs from her unexpected fall to the forest. But moreover, Tom notices she looks extremely haggard, pained, and exhausted. Quite honestly, it looks like the girl went through hell.
"You are in the halls after-hours," the sharp, yet snake-like voice calls, not breaking the facade of seriousness that Hermione has never pictured for Voldemort. Rather, everything seems like a joke to the monster of her time, likely due to his sheer insanity and bloodlust, unacceptable here in the 1940s.
"I apologize; I did not know. If you cannot tell, I am not from this school, nor this area," Hermione responds, wishing she had read some books on how to behave like a Slytherin before travelling here. She is sure that Slytherins are users of sarcasm, and yet, Tom Riddle might not be the best person to practice on. After all this, she ought to write a book called 'How to Talk to a Dark Lord Like a Slytherin Would without Being Crucioed.'
"I well and easily caught onto that, thank you," Tom Riddle hisses back kindly, though with distaste ringing in his eye, palpable to Hermione due to her experiences in war.
"Is there anyone I can speak to?" Hermione asks, looking around, as if lost, although Tom does not fall for it. He had been following her for some time, and she seemed to know exactly where she was going. And yet, she has the bravery to lie: "I seem to be lost."
Instead of answering the intruder, Tom simply nods and leads her towards Dippet's office. He does not cast one gaze upon her, for which she is grateful, as her facade slips as she tries to keep up with his long and quick footsteps. It is only made more precarious, especially for Hermione, by the fact that she is wearing heels.
"My Lor--," a voice exclaims from down a small, perpendicular hallway, a boy rushing into their path before realizing that Tom is accompanied by a non-follower. But more than that, the boy sees a stranger, eying her suspiciously in a onceover. And, upon noticing the girl to be attractive, he looks appreciatively down on her petite form.
"Yes, Nott?" Tom responds without a hitch, revealing the great ability of Lord Voldemort's acting ability to the keen Hermione Granger. And though the voice would never reveal such intention, Hermione knows that this boy will be punished (tortured) later for his slip.
"The tool has been found," Nott says, now aware of what his future holds once away from the delusion of Hermione Granger.
"Thank you," Tom responds smoothly, though Hermione sees a flash of red echo in his eyes. It chills her to the bone as the boy flees, following his nod to Voldemort and leaving Hermione to feel his pain as if it is her own.
Tom pulls her onward to the Headmaster's Office, and yet, all Hermione can think of is how hard this task will be. She will need to infiltrate his organization quickly if she is to return to Harry and Ron. And yet, she must not be suspicious in her intentions. Hermione must draw Tom's attention to her, rather than the other way around. It will be difficult, and yet, Hermione expects she can play on the ignorant followers of Voldemort.
With each step forward, she becomes more uncertain of her plan.
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