Chapter Text
It was supposed to be simple. In theory. As far as the basic plan was concerned. Travel into the past. Find Tom Riddle. Stop Tom Riddle. Obviously, she’d made a million plans for the various ‘how’s because she was still Hermione Granger. Thinking on her feet was fine, but plans were better. Professor Dumbledore had explained the magic which he would use to send her back, and she’d said her tearful goodbyes. For the greater good.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in that way they did when he was happy about the way things were going. She couldn’t begrudge him that, as it had been his idea in the first place. They’d ascertained, given Dumbledore’s history with Tom Riddle, he couldn’t be the one to do it. Once, near the beginning, she’d asked ‘why her’, and the Headmaster had admitted it was a risk but he thought Riddle would find her fascinating, and it would likely give her options others wouldn’t be afforded. Fair enough, she supposed. The blood status thing was another hurdle, but the wizard had thought of that as well, and they’d performed a blood ritual which would, for all intents and purposes, make her a Dumbledore. Sister, distant cousin, who knew, but a Dumbledore nonetheless. Not fool proof, but as close as they could get. Whether or not she’d use the surname remained to be seen.
“Ready, my girl?” the Headmaster asked her, and she took a deep breath as she quadruple checked what she was wearing and taking with her. Check complete, she nodded, a nervous smile playing at her lips. “Good, good. I’ve made some adjustments to this Time Turner, but we need to change locations before you use it. Minerva is already waiting.”
That made sense to Hermione, knowing the Headmaster was a Professor during that time period. Professor McGonagall’s Office was his, once upon a time, and the plan was to enlist him for her cause. Already an adult in the Wizarding World, she could complete her seventh year alongside Tom, or she could be an assistant or a visitor. In preparation for the assignment, she’d taken her Newts and so had the transcript proving her results if she needed them. Falsified documents had also been procured, which the professor was planning to give her before she left. Everything was in order. The only variable would be Tom Riddle himself. It should have been simple. In theory.
Her Head of House was teary eyed before she left Hermione and the Headmaster in her office. It struck Hermione as odd, though she wouldn’t question her professors; there must have been a reason after all. Professor Dumbledore smiled down at her as he handed her the Time Turner, moving behind her as she slipped it over her head, his fingers brushing her neck as he pulled her hair out from where it was trapped beneath the chain, making her tense from the unexpected contact. As she turned to face him, he handed her an envelope and a small box.
“Documents for you, package is to be given to me. Do that before you tell me anything; it’ll lend validity to anything you say.” His skeletal hand cupped her cheek, “You are brave and brilliant. I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”
Smiling, despite the awkwardness of his affection and her instinct to grimace, she nodded again, “Thank you, Professor. I hope I make you proud.”
As the Timeturner magic scooped her into the familiar void of time, images blurring past, more noticeable now it was years rather than minutes or hours, she only vaguely registered his reply, “You will, my girl. You will.”
-x-
Convincing a much younger Professor Dumbledore was a lot easier than she’d expected it to be. After he’d checked the package for foul play, he’d found a memory vial and a note and, once he’d reviewed both, he’d smiled broadly at her and welcomed her with open arms. Literally.
After being introduced to the current Headmaster, an old wizard by the name of Armando Dippet, as Dumbledore’s daughter, which she found out when he did, she was immediately instated as her ‘father’s’ assistant. Hermione had just turned eighteen so, by rights, she should have been in seventh year, but both professors seemed happy enough with the transcripts so here she was.
Dumbledore, not entirely content with the paperwork, apparently wanting to see her in action, decided the best place for them to test her magic was down in the area which was used for the Duelling Club. Of course, being outside of lesson time, they would have an audience. Her ‘father’ refused her request for it to be done privately, explaining that she would need to show she was impressive to earn the respect of the students, several of which were older than she was, and faculty.
Sighing, Hermione stepped through the doorway as her ‘father’ held the door open, and all eyes immediately snapped to her. A quick glance showed her the majority of the gathered were Slytherins, though there were some Ravenclaws and some of the other houses dotted here and there. Keeping her chin high, posture straight, feigning confidence before she felt it, she looked up at the professor with a smile as he put an arm around her to lead her forward, addressing the room.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we need the space for a while. Shouldn’t be long. You’re all welcome to stay.” The way his face stayed in the same expression even as there were grumbles and a student breaking from the crowd was really quite impressive. “I know,” he began, answering a question the boy hadn’t asked, “But I’m sure one or two of your champions won’t mind duelling my daughter when we’re done.”
The hush which fell in the room then was eerie, but that sure got everyone’s attention. There were no further complaints as every eye in the room assessed her, and so the professor gestured for her to get into position. Hermione did so with a smile, twisting her hair up into a bun and stabbing her wand into it through habit more than anything else, getting herself ready for whatever he wanted to do.
“You’ll need that, love!” Someone jeered from an unknown place, and she didn’t bother to look or even answer, merely smirking in response. There was a trickle of laughter, but her silence spoke louder than any answer could have.
“As you’re my assistant, shall we start with Transfiguration?” her ‘father’ asked, and she nodded, to which he said, “Conjure, transform into four separate states, vanish.”
Tilting her head, considering the instructions, she made a firm decision, deciding to be unapologetically herself, yet also dramatic in a way she was sure both he and the Slytherins would appreciate. Without moving or speaking, she conjured a writing desk between her and the professor, enjoying the way his eyes twinkled at her display of non-verbal wandless magic.
At length, she finally spoke, voice soft but strong, carrying through the hall, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
The whispers began to spread, though she doubted the pure-bloods in the room had any idea of the reference, and it was that, or her magical prowess, which had them muttering. They didn’t need to understand the riddle though because, within moments, the desk was a raven, flying around the perimeter of the room before landing on her shoulder quite happily. Conjuring a treat between her fingers, she offered it to the bird who munched away as she began to recite the Edgar Allen Poe poem.
“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,” The bird took flight then, landing in Hermione’s outstretched hands as a book before she continued, “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” Dropping the book, it became a door before it hit the floor, which Hermione opened and stepped through. “‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door - only this and nothing more.’”
The door closed automatically behind her, bursting into hundreds of droplets of water which rained down on the crowd, or those of them who weren’t quick to shield themselves from it. Chuckling at them, the water finding its way back to her, she chose specific lines of the poem to continue.
“here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more….
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!’”
The water droplets began to spin around her, dissolving into a fine mist which then became wind, blustering about her in a way which made her robes billow and her feet rise an inch above the floor. She made a mental count: conjure solid object, animal, liquid, gas. Almost done.
“Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.”
The wind surged into the shape of a bust then, spinning tighter and tighter until the gas became a solid once more, this time dropping into Dumbledore’s hands. He went to speak but Hermione spoke first,
“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’”
At this, the bust became the raven once more, Hermione offering the line, “Quoth the Raven,” to which the raven perched upon Dumbledore’s hand replied, “Nevermore.” before exploding into a cloud of feathers which promptly vanished.
Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Professor Dumbledore grin before, but grin he did, beginning to applaud, the students surrounding them quickly joining, some even whooping. Perhaps people weren’t so different in the past, after all.
As the applause died down, the professor spoke again, “Next, Charms. Show me five separate advanced charms.”
Without hesitation, Hermione cast the Atmospheric Charm, again wandless and non-verbal, proud of herself when that one worked, as she’d never managed it wandless before. She allowed the rain to centre between her and the professor, though she reached out to run her fingers through it, enjoying the cool water as it doused her hand.
“What’s the counter-charm, Hermione?” her ‘father’ asked, and so she cast aloud.
“Meteolojinx recanto.” It stopped raining straight away, and she took the moment to cast one of her favourites: Avis. Her flock of yellow birds appeared above her head where she’d instructed, and she sent them spiralling straight towards the professor who dispersed them while chuckling.
By the time his eyes had fluttered back to her, Hermione’s outer robes were pooling around her feet, having been removed as a precaution for her next charm. Holding her hands out, palms up, she remained unmoving as bluebell flames erupted in her hands, engulfing them before spreading along the bare skin of her forearms, stopping just shy of her sleeves. The flames climbed higher and higher, gasps sounding around her, when, suddenly, she snapped her hands closed and the fire immediately disappeared without a trace.
Her need to think of a last charm was halted when the professor asked, “Can you conjure a Patronus?” Hermione nodded and he followed, “With your wand.”
It was unsurprising he’d like to see her wandwork which was why she didn’t protest, instead pulling the implement from her hair, the curls framing her face as they fell. Knowing it was unnecessary to shout the incantation, Hermione kept her voice soft but even, her wand gliding effortlessly through the air as she said, “Expecto Patronum.”
The animal which flew from her wand had her eyes widening, having expected the otter. She’d taken her NEWTs in the summer, so it had only been a few months since she’d last cast the spell. How much could she really have changed since then?
“You look surprised.” The professor-turned-father brought her out of her reverie.
“It’s changed. Last time I cast it, it was an otter. The new form startled me.”
Albus grinned at her again, “It’s quite rare to have a magical creature as your Patronus, though it makes sense in this instance.”
She nodded, “Yes, yours is a phoenix, after all.” If he’d been surprised by her knowing that, he didn’t show it. Ending the spell, her Patronus disappearing, Hermione realised the room was deathly silent, and her nerves almost betrayed her.
Luckily, it was onto the next test, “I think we’ll forget the rest and just get onto dueling. Hermione stopped, dropping her hair from where she was about to pin it up again with her wand. Dueling against Dumbledore? That was hardly fair. “Tom, how would you like to put my daughter through her paces? You are the reigning champion.”
Hermione hadn’t realised he was in the room. There was no missing him now. The man, a few months younger than she, stepped forward, million galleon smile in place. It was easy to see how he might have charmed people when he looked like this; tall and lean, jaw line crafted by the Gods themselves, obsidian hair falling in effortless waves. It was his eyes though. Those eyes which would one day be red were now bottomless pools of darkness, the brown of the irises only a shade lighter than the black of his pupils, and they were trained on her, full of hunger. Well, fuck. At least she’d gotten him interested, right? He wouldn’t go easy on her, and she wondered just how dark he would get with an audience.
“It’d be my pleasure, Professor.” Riddle moved to the middle of the room, facing her, and gestured to the space in front of him, “If you’d care to join me, Miss Dumbledore.”
His voice was smooth as silk, and she had to take a deep breath to compose herself before she moved, her mind whirring with strategies. As she crossed the space between them, she swiped her wand down her body, transforming her dress into a long sleeved black tunic, slits either side from knees to hip, and straight legged trousers, ensuring the outfit was modest despite being a tad scandalous. Another swish of her wand had her hair pinned up, and Riddle smirked.
“Not using your wand for that now?”
Hermione’s smile was polite, “Using my wand as the magical conduit it’s intended to be will provide more powerful spells at less cost. It would be stupid to hinder myself against an unknown opponent, wouldn’t it, Mr…?” She knew, of course, but she shouldn’t know and, therefore, she didn’t.
“Riddle, though please call me Tom.” He held out his hand expectantly and Hermione did the correct thing rather than grimace as she wanted, placing her hand in his and maintaining eye contact as he pressed his lips to her knuckles. The way his skin felt against hers was unsettling, magic thrumming between them, his eyes lighting up as he felt it too. That was a complication for later.
“Let us duel then, Mr Riddle.” Hermione smiled internally when he failed to suppress his frown at the snub, and she walked away, turning when she was at the correct distance, “Don’t go easy on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
That was all the warning she got before he began flinging non-verbal spells at her in quick succession, going on the offensive. Instead of blocking them, Hermione moved, dancing across the floor gracefully, the tune familiar. This had been something she’d worked very hard on, Professor Snape helping her privately, honing the skills she already possessed and twisting them into weapons.
Riddle, it seemed, was getting annoyed, his spells more aggressive as they continued. Acquiescing, she pulled him into her waltz, spells flying at him with the barest twitch of her wand. The grin which split his face was infectious, her own smile widening. Most of the spells she recognised, Riddle precariously skirting the edge between light and dark, several deadly had she not dodged or countered, and so she repaid in kind. That seemed to please him too, and they fell into step, synchronised perfection. That was until her little slicing spell clipped his cheek, blood dribbling down his beautiful face. On a whim, she shoved her thoughts towards him, an image of her removing the crimson trail with her tongue. Despite the distance, she heard his low growl, easily mistaken for aggression, though she knew better. It was confirmed when he smirked, his returning images of her, covered in blood as he fucked her against a wall, stoking the fire of excitement in her core.
Laughing, which probably seemed maniacal with the power booming around them, she changed tactics, setting his robes on fire with the bluebell flames, forcing him to divert his attention or else end up naked. Taking advantage, she disarmed him, pocketing both their wands as he threw wandless magic at her, refusing to submit. Batting them away, she closed the distance, sending her thoughts to him.
Won’t you kneel for me, Riddle? She thought, more flirty than taunting.
Will you bare your cunt to me if I do? His eyes sparkled with mischief, most likely aiming to shock, and it encouraged her.
What have you done that deserves the honour of being the first man to taste my forbidden fruit? It was difficult not to laugh as she teased him with Muggle references, knowing he’d hate it. The dangerous flash in his eyes was sweeter than any berry.
Are you a good girl, Hermione? Curse her ‘father’ for using her name and giving him that knowledge. Have you been saving your purity for your future husband?
If he thought he could mock her, he was mistaken. A nasty jinx narrowly missed him as he barely managed to dart out of the way, and she chuckled. I doubt there are many who are worthy of the privilege of touching me.
By what criteria do you assess them?
Intellect, magic, personality. Are you applying?
Yes.
That was her cue to stop playing with him. The smug look on his face lasted mere seconds before she hurled a Diffindo which caused him to dodge, only to be hit with a Depulso already careening towards the space he now occupied, the latter spell cast before releasing the former, therefore casting both spells wandlessly and non-verbally at the same time.
Riddle’s wasn’t the only face to look stunned at the display, the students, and even some of the staff who had joined them, gaping at her. Dumbledore looked like a cat who’d got the cream, recovering before the whispers started, gesturing to Hermione, “It is my absolute pleasure to introduce you all to my new assistant: my daughter, Hermione Dumbledore.”
Chaos exploded around them as everyone reacted at once, though Hermione didn’t consciously register any of it. Neither did the man now striding purposefully towards her, their sole focus each other. When he held out his hand, palm up, she placed his wand in it, drawing a chuckle from him as he transferred it to his robes then reached for her. Perhaps she should have flinched, but she stood frozen as he took her hand in his and pressed his soft lips against her knuckles again, the trail of blood on his cheek now dry. Not breaking eye contact, even for a moment, he offered a smile that seemed to reach his eyes, yet it didn’t prepare her for his presence in her head.
Reach your judgments. I make you mine on the solstice.