CHAPTER ONE

Hermione was seated in Potions class. She didn't know who was substituting for Professor Snape. But this man looked remarkably like Professor Slughorn, who had left the Hogwarts last year. She was first student to arrive, choosing the back row so that she could get Harry and Ron to pay attention. Their winter exams were almost upon them.

Hermione started getting her parchment ready to take notes when the next student entered the dungeon. She wouldn't have noticed him if he had bothered to close the door quietly or if he had not chosen the seat at the table directly in front of her. She watched him make his way to his seat. He was slender and tall, almost as lanky as Ron.

His silky dark hair was ruffled, dangling almost to his jawline. The candlelit dungeon glistened against it. He had a chiseled jawline, prominent cheekbones, creamy skin, soft rosewood lips, and eyes as dark as mahogany. She remarked how alluringly handsome he was, too elegant for his secondhand Slytherin robes. He must have detected her eyes on him because he glanced over his shoulder. Hermione hastily dropped her gaze. Once the classroom filed with students, she worried that she was in the wrong class.

She couldn't recognize a single face. But, the professor closed door with a wave of his wand so she was trapped. She didn't want to embarrass herself by revealing her mistake before the whole class, deciding not to raise her hand. Once the hour was over, Hermione would run over her schedule again and would follow that with an apology to the professor she missed. Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat and her cheeks flush when the black-haired boy glanced over his shoulder at her again.

He frowned at her and slowly turned his attention back onto the professor; it was clear that he had never seen her before, neither. But Hermione set about brewing Volubulous potion with the rest of the class.

When they were completed, the substitute professor whom Hermione hadn't heard the name of yet was deciding between her result and that boy's as to who finished best.

"I'm sorry to say, but I think that she may have bested you this time," the professor even sounded like Professor Slughorn.

The handsome boy and Hermione's eyes finally met. Something behind his gaze seemed fraudulent, treacherous. Serpentine.

"Strange," said the boy in a deep silky voice that erupted Hermione's skin in goose bumps.

She tried to laugh it off, "Yes. Strange."

As the professor was explaining to the bored onlookers what she had done differently, Hermione's head throbbed with pain. It felt like someone was squeezing her brain. The boy watched her as passively as a marble statue. Her eyes were watering so she closed to dry them. She gasped and turned away from them all, leaning heavily on her desk.

"Little miss, are you alright?" asked the professor.

Hermione gazed back at him through watering eyes, "No, my head -"

The pain throbbed again and this time Hermione couldn't hide it, throwing her head back at the wave of agony. She hadn't felt a pain like this since she last used the Time-Turner four years ago. Hermione felt nauseous; she moaned and pressed her palm to her forehead. The class gasped as her eyes rolled back, her elbows buckled, and Hermione started to slip to the floor.

The handsome boy dove beneath Hermione's desk, his cloak billowing behind him, and caught her before her head could hit the stone floor.

Hermione awoke in the hospital wing, feeling clearer but very shaken. Her doe eyes fluttered in the sunset glow from the tall window behind her bed, lazily taking in her surroundings. She was startled to find the handsome boy sitting on a stool at her bedside.

The boy forced a grin, "Hello."

Hermione blinked hard to clear her hazy vision, "W-Who are you?"

The boy leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. This close, Hermione could appreciate their significant size difference.

"I was wondering the same of you." He evaded her question. "I haven't seen you around here."

Hermione shook her head, "Hermione. Hermione Granger."

He nodded and his eyes flickered to the nurse sitting at her desk set at the hospital wing entrance. Hermione followed his gaze and realized that she didn't recognize that nurse, either. Where was Madame Pomfrey? She had never known Madame Pomfrey to employ assistants.

Hermione massaged her aching forehead, "How did I get here?"

"I, um, carried you. Professor Slughorn doesn't have the muscle." He added, "Don't feel offended. The only exercise he completes regularly is eating himself to an early grave."

She sat bolt upright in the bed, "Professor Slughorn?! This is going to sound mad, but, what year is it currently?"

The overly-handsome boy frowned at her, "Urmm, it'll be 1945 in just a few weeks."

Hermione let that wash over her. Was this some kind of prank? Getting a closer look at him, she instinctively didn't trust him. It didn't seem like he was present with her; there was a sense of distance when she considered his dark eyes again.

"Well, that was very nice of you. Thank you …," Hermione realized he hadn't told her his name yet.

"Tom," he answered. "Tom Riddle."

Hermione froze, staring at him. If he was telling the truth, she truly was in the year 1945. Was there reason to fear him now? He wasn't 'Lord Voldemort' yet. Or, was he already going by the name amongst his soon-to-be Deatheater followers? Has he already made his horcruxes? Hermione shook herself out of staring at him and shakily extended her hand.

"Thank you, Tom. I'm Hermione."

Tom nodded and said with that deep voice that still chilled Hermione, "I know."

Hermione forced herself to grin at him. But, she had an inkling that he could tell she was feigning. She fell silent and still, staring ahead of her and away from him. It felt like Tom Riddle was a cobra that could strike at any moment.

"Did you just transfer here?" He asked.

Hermione glanced at him, rendered speechless by terror, barely stifling the urge to jump out of her bed and run away. She could only shake her head. She reconciled with herself that if he used Occlumency, he'd find nothing to contradict her. She had no idea how she came to be decades in the past. He'd only find that she has been a student at Hogwarts.

The nurse came over to them and asked Tom Riddle to leave. Hermione watched him go, sighing with relief. The nurse had to snap her fingers in front of Hermione's nose to draw her attention away from where Tom Riddle had gone.

The nurse laughed at Hermione's refusal to leave, "This is the first time where I think I'll have to force a student to leave early. Why do you want to stay?"

"My education is important to me?"

"Honey, I think its best that you rest in your dormitory."

Hermione noticed that her hand was trembling. She even flinched when her own long curly hair fell over her own shoulder. She tried to engrave into her mind that she shouldn't need to fear him now ... but her heart was telling her otherwise. She now regretted silencing Harry when he wanted to discuss what he knew of Lord Voldemort's years at Hogwarts. She was shocked that she had handled him so well.

"Can you stand?" the nurse prompted Hermione awkwardly.

Hermione blinked her dark long lashes up at her, "This can't be happening."

"You're not the first girl I've had to be speechless after being in such close proximity with Mr. Riddle, my child." said the nurse. The way the nurse flushed after her confession told Hermione that she had said too much, "I mean, he's barely seventeen so it would be silly of me ... the way he carried you in. I think you actually caught his attention over the 'others'."

"He just hasn't seen me before," Hermione told her as she gingerly tested out if she could stand.

She noticed as she did that her dark skirt was much longer than she remembered it being and that she was wearing stockings rather than pantyhose. Her sweater was still embellished with the Gryffindor symbol of a lion but it was much heavier than before. She looked outside and saw that it was winter rather than spring.

"It's snowing," Hermione noticed numbly, leaning back onto the cot.

The nurse followed her gaze, "We'll be having a white Christmas. I guess Riddle must have not caught you in time. Maybe you should rest here."

Hermione shook her head, "No, I think you were right. I'll prefer to sleep in my own bed."

She forced a smile as she walked around the nurse, though it probably looked more like a grimace. Hermione walked slowly down the hall, toying with the tips of her thick hair as her mind worked feverishly. The most recent memory she could think of was receiving a summons to Professor Dumbledore's office. Judging by how few people were lingering in the hallways, Hermione guessed that it was the last day of classes and that most of the students were on their way home. The sun was almost finished with its descent, pinking the falling snow.

It closely resembled dripping blood and this thought sent another wave of chills up Hermione's neck. She dropped her hands from fingering her hair and tightly bound them over her chest. She reached the stairs in the highest tower and was now climbing up it to the seventh floor. She hadn't noticed the tall, handsome boy standing stalk still in the corner closest to that staircase. He was blanketed by the dark shadow cast by the candle hanging in the air by the stairs. Tom's dark eyes followed her till she vanished above him.

Though it may be the eve of 1945, Hermione knew that the Gryffindor common room must be in the same place as it was in the 1990's. So, she kept her head down and watched her shoes take her there. Hermione could feel her wand fastened in the waistband of her skirt. She touched it with her fingertips of the hand closest to it, feeling safer than she had before. She only looked up when she arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Password?" chimed the woman merrily in the painting as large as a door.

Hermione sighed and rolled her dark eyes, realizing that she didn't have the password.

"No need to be so rude." said the Fat Lady crossly, looking offended.

Hermione took a deep breath and decided to try out the most recent winter-themed password she remembered, "Mistletoe."

"I'd hate to meet you under one." snapped the Fat Lady as her portrait swung inward. "Looks only go so far, young lady!"

Hermione climbed through the portrait hole. The common room had eight girls in it. They were clearly a close clique judging by how they all looked over at Hermione at the exact same time. The common room looked nearly the same, less dated than it was in the 1990's. The couches had less stains, the carpets were brighter with the lack of dirt over the ages, and the curtains were tied aside with red and green ribbons that the house elves probably stopped doing by the time Hermione had started at Hogwarts. As she passed the large group of Gryffindor girls, all around the ages of fifteen to seventeen, she could hear them saying things about her under their breaths.

"Who's she?"

"She's the girl Tom Riddle saved. I saw him carry her out of potions class. It was so romantic."

"She must be his girlfriend. No other girl grabs his attention like that. What's so special about her?"

"She's in my dorm but she doesn't talk much. What's her name?"

"Dunno-"

Hermione spun around and interrupted whoever was last to hiss about her, "My name is Hermione Granger ... and all of you should reread the definition of 'whispering'. The whole point is for the topic of discussion not to hear you."

She turned to continue her way to her bed, hoping that she'd wake-up from this nightmare. But, the oldest girl in the group called her back.

"Wait!" the girl said and Hermione froze with one foot on the first step. "We're sorry. Can you come here for a second?"

Hermione closed her eyes briefly and set her foot back on the ground. She walked over to them and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, "What do you want?"

"What's it like?" the girl asked.

Hermione frowned down at her, "Sorry -?"

"Being with Tom," explained the girl. "Is he good at snogging? He looks like he'd be."

"That's repulsive," said Hermione quietly, her lip curling over her teeth. "I'd never kiss him."

She turned away from the group and pounded up the stairs before they could call her back. Hermione slammed the door to one of the bedrooms and leaned against the door. She slid down its smooth finishing and hid her mouth in both of her hands when her sobbing grew too loud. She heaved herself to her feet and flung herself onto the nearest bed. She wiped her tearful face on the pillow and out of the corner of her eye noticed a photo frame on the bedside table.

Frowning at the familiarity of it, Hermione reached a shaking hand out and pulled the frame closer. Renewed tears welled in her eyes as she recognized the three people in the moving photograph. It was a recent photo of her with her parents. She clutched it to her chest and buried her face into what must be her own pillow. She only stopped crying when exhaustion dragged her down in for a restless night's sleep.

On the roof of her dormitory, his feet dangling just out of sight of the window by her bed, sat Tom Riddle. He had the hood of his cloak up over his head and he listened to all he could hear over the howling wind. When he could hear no more, he pulled his legs back up over the ledge of the roof and dropped down to the window pane. He clutched the metal frame to secure himself further and pointed his wand directly at her chest. Her face was alit by the candle on her bedside table, her wild brown hair framing her beautiful face.

He noticed that her small nose and soft cheeks were reddened from the crying he had overheard. His wand trembled in his long hand and he fought to steady it. Tom shook his hood off from over his head and aimed at her chest again. When he heard the door to the dorm open he leaned as far away as he could out of sight from hundreds of feet above the ground. His wand had remained pointed at her heart.

He knew the spell, he sensed that this girl would cause him trouble, and Hermione needed to die. It didn't matter to him that he now had witnesses hurrying around the room to get into their warm beds. Still, when he began to say the spell to silence this potential threat, his wand trembled away. He snarled and redirected his wand at the candle at her bedside. The fire blew out at that moment, drowning the entire room in shadow.

Tom didn't care if he hit the wrong girl, though he rarely missed his target. They wouldn't be able to point him out even if he had the word 'guilty' written on his forehead. He would have many other opportunities to take this girl down. As his calculating eyes adjusted to the new darkness in the room, he noticed that the girl that was haunting his mind was shivering. He told himself that it annoyed him rather than concerned him.

He pointed his wand at the maroon blankets Hermione was sleeping on top of and folded one side over her. Her shivering slowed to a halt. Tom nodded and lifted himself back on top of the roof, safely out of sight.