Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Rescuing the Senior

by Ydream08

Summary: Tricked into holding what she'd thought was a broken time-turner, Hermione was sent back to 1926. She was stuck in time and lived in the Leaky Cauldron. While struggling to build a new life, an odd couple caught her attention. No way could a man love such a woman so intensely, right? A simple answer: Love potion. Little did Hermione know that she was intervening to the newly-wed Riddles.

Chapter 1

It was a rainy day. The old man seated at the dark corner of the small cafe took reluctant sips from his coffee, and listened closely to the rain as it poured outside. It beat a harsh rhythm on the roof of the old place.

He lowered his mug, not missing the flicker of light on his own skin. It made his hand translucent for a second, nearly causing the mug to slip from his ghostly fingers. He was lucky this time. He too often recalled the many times of even dropping his wand.

He wasn't sure how he had survived five years after his own death, or rather, his other persona's death, to be precise. He only recently understood the rules of time and dimensions. Although, he had spent more than a decade researching the topic ever since his mother's death. His own mother had been the catalyst of his interest.

She was an amazing witch, his mother, Mrs. Riddle. He still couldn't believe she had died at such a young age. Seventy-seven was hardly elderly age for an average witch, and Hermione Jean Riddle was anything but average.

He had lost her twenty-three years ago, on the nineteenth of September, in 1979. The formidable witch had spent her last day on earth organizing a mini-dueling tournament for her grandchildren. It was set to take place in their backyard at Little Hangleton. She had insisted that her grandchildren prove to her that they hadn't lost their fighting edge, most of them having graduated from Amoiencia School of Sorcery roughly five years ago.

As a witch, she had been strict with her children's education, especially Defense Against Dark Arts. Remembering his mother's obsession, he thought he could understand her preoccupation. If it weren't for her meddling, the second generation of Riddles wouldn't have been so ready for the Wizarding War, aiding Harry James Potter to victory.

Only after his mother's death had he understood that dimensions could collide.

Sighing, his wrinkled hands angrily wiped his face. His mother's time-traveling was exceptionally unbelievable. He understood it only on principle. Her reality so different from his own. She had spoken to him about what was to be; that in her own world there had been two wars. One before her birth, and the other during her teen years. When the time for the first war had passed and nothing had happened in his own youth, his mother had explained this situation.

The future-self he could have morphed into: Lord Voldemort.

That hadn't made sense back when he was a teen nor did it make sense when he grew to adulthood as a married wizard, and with two children. Up until his mother's death, he had always doubted her sanity. Her revelations had sparked his interest, that had been a given. So upon her death, he researched and researched and because of that research, he believed in the possibility of her scenario. Yet, aside from the allure of having had come so close to immortality, the story held no weight to him. There hadn't been any proof, his own wandering teen mind that had more than once thought of conquering the world couldn't be acknowledged as one. However, the day of Hermione Riddle's death, he had experienced that translucency for the first time, causing Tom Riddle to reconsider his conclusions...slightly.

Nothing had happened to anyone other than him. He was the one whose image flickered now and again. He was the one who read 'Is Lord Voldemort Back?' on the Quibbler instead of 'Lucius Malfoy Asks for Muggle-borns' Exclusion from Hogwarts!'. He was the only one from his family who had seen Dumbledore dueling a bald, snake-faced creature instead of the blond aristocratic heir to the Malfoy line during the attack on the Department of Mysteries.

On the burial day of their grandparents, Tom Riddle's brother and sister had never seen Harry Potter trapped on a tomb, watching a cauldron in fright as a rat-man completed a ritual for the rebirth of Lord Voldemort.

Tom could have sworn it wasn't just a coincidence that only he witnessed such distortions of reality. These unfamiliar scenes had began to occur frequently in Tom's life, and the vigilant wizard was quick to notice the pattern.

Whenever Tom Marvolo Riddle got closer to Harry Potter and the main events of those hypothetical Wizarding Wars, his own reality changed because his dimension collided with another. The one in which Lord Voldemort terrorized the Wizarding Britain. Distinguishing the two parallel worlds easily as his mother had talked about the original one in great detail, Tom had extended his interest in light reading of time travel and dimensions, so that after recording enough data, he could make an assertion about what was happening and how to fix it.

His research showed that it was possible for two dimensions to co-exist for a limited time however unstable they might be. As a result, different people would witness two totally separate worlds during that time interval. It has been 23 years in Tom's case. It had been mild changes at first, making Tom doubt himself and his research. However, the day on his grandparents' burial Tom had become sure of his deductions.

His speculative explanation to only him noticing this collision between the dimensions was that he was going to make the decision that would decide whichever would overshadow the other.

His wandering mind coming into focus, Tom Riddle left a few sickles on the table for the coffee. His eyes followed a curly haired witch rushing to the bookstore across the street.

This version of his mother from that foreign dimension wasn't so different from how Tom remembered her. In a moment of benevolence, Tom thought that perhaps he should have brought his siblings so that they could see their mother once more. However, even if they had come, they wouldn't be seeing this Hermione Granger who was to be a Riddle. They would see a young woman newly graduated form Hogwarts who looked eerily similar to Hermione Riddle. Practically a stranger who had no knowledge of whom the Riddle siblings were, only to have heard their family names from their association to Amoiencia School of Sorcery. His siblings would see a Hermione Granger blissfully ignorant of Lord Voldemort.

Dismissing the useless idea that was too much sentimental for Tom Riddle's taste, he kept his watch on the young witch. It was a shame that she wasn't using an Umbrella charm while running in the rain, her shoulder-length hair was definitely going to be a mess as it dried naturally. Just as it used to be every time she was too tired to dry her hair after bathing her three young children, ages varying from six to two. Tom knew that that was the only flawed planning his mother had done- being a mother of three in such a short span of time.

He smirked, his mother would have playfully smacked him hard on the head if she had heard that last thought. He couldn't help it though, seeing her this young and alive made him yearn for his mother as he remembered her from his youth.

He shrugged off the thoughts, and set his mind to the task at hand.

He was going to choose a future today. Either have Hermione Granger as his mother, or be killed as a madman in the hands of Harry Potter.

It wasn't a hard choice, but Tom knew if he did not act on it today, his reality as he knew it would disappear. Nobody would remember a single Riddle. Not Tom's brother, sister; not his children, his nephews and nieces; not himself.

Correction, he would be remembered alright, remembered as the psychopath, who killed half of Wizarding Britain in the delirious hopes of eradicating the world of Muggles, Muggle-born, and Half-Bloods.

A shiver went through his spine, but Tom shook it off and exited the cafe to hurriedly enter the bookstore.

Inside was dry and warm. The lighting was dim, mostly thanks to the bookcases covering the walls from ground to roof preventing any window from letting in the sunlight. Tom noted that the place could have been rather spacious if it weren't for the books piling on the floor every few steps. There were a few armchairs shoved into the empty spaces available, giving the bookstore an overall feel of chaos rather than being inviting.

The young woman behind the desk didn't mind, though.

Hermione had shed her outwear, opting to stay in her thick red jumper and jeans. Her wet curly hair was braided at the side, and she struggled to put a ribbon at the tip of it. Tom watched her soundlessly, she was so engrossed on the book open in front of her that she had even failed to notice his presence.

Finally, she was finished with her braid. Just when she leaned over the desk to solely concentrate on the book, Tom cleared his throat.

"Oh, I hadn't seen you there!" Hermione acknowledged him. "How may I help you, sir?"

Tom smiled, feeling lucky that she hadn't asked for his name. He doubted this version of her would be delighted to see her son, Tom Riddle.

He straightened his wavy hair, it was a habit he couldn't get rid of even at this age when his hair had thinned and greyed. He started to shed his own coat, and found his mother rushing to his aid and hanging his coat before he could say anything else. He had deduced from the armchairs spread around the place that this bookstore was open for people who wished to stay and read, but he was surprised that Hermione Granger was eager for company.

Then he remembered his old age of seventy-six, and realized that her helpful nature was due to respect and perhaps a bit of pity.

"Thank you, young lady," Tom said,and he couldn't help but smile at the irony of addressing his mother as such.

"No need to mention," Hermione said and looked at Tom expectantly.

"Well, I've been researching time-travelling for some time. A word reached me that this bookstore is a distinct site for collectors or curious researches such as myself," Tom told his tale. He noticed how his mother squared her shoulders in pride and her eyes sparkled with joy; Tom had realized at a young age that his mother was a sucker for well-deserved praise. It was the skill of the manipulator to judge the correct time to give such a praise, and what better word could describe Tom Marvolo Riddle?

"I have recently come across a rare time-turner and was wondering if there could be any parchment, diary, list, book, anything actually, that could point to its origins. Sadly, I believe it is broken and the research I conducted indicated that without proper knowledge of the specific device, it is impossible to fix it."

Hermione Granger was silent for a moment. Probably going through the inventory in her mind, Tom mused. It didn't take her five minutes before she sprinted in the direction of the bookcases and was lost behind the piles of books.

Tom smiled to himself and opted to sit at the chair his mother had vacated behind the desk. His eyes scanned through the book she had been reading. She was nearly finished with it, and it was pleasing to see that the book Will Against Magic: Fight or Surrender? was about the factor of will when it came to love potions and spells such as the Imperious Curse and Petrificus Totalus. This reading would prepare his mother in her quest to come.

Feeling the weight of the time-turner in his pocket, Tom straightened in the chair, wishing his mother to come by his side quicker and yield to her curiosity. He could sense her mind pondering over his words, wondering what kind of a time-turner he had in his possession and whether he was licensed to own one. That last thought Tom believed his mother to have was what made her Hermione Granger. If it weren't for her, he would be tempted to crush the rules instead of manipulating them to his will.

Then, Tom Marvolo Riddle couldn't have opened the second Wizarding school in Britain, Amoiencia School of Sorcery.

The sound of scrambling feet and the thud of books being dropped on the desk brought Tom's attention back to now. He raised his gaze to meet with the curious brown eyes of the woman in front of him.

He knew he had her even before the question tumbled out of her mouth.

"These are all the sources I've found. May I take a look at the time-turner while you look through them?" she asked. "I had one in my third year, I'll be careful."

Tom wasn't surprised that his mother hadn't noticed the anticipation and restlessness building up in him until she had asked that question. She could have seen a shadow of anxiety in the older man's dark gaze if she had known how to look, just like she used to know. In reality, Tom Riddle had been dying to hand over the time-turner to the young woman across from him.

His fumbling fingers grasped the metal of the small device, and to his utter relief, he handed over the time-turner to Hermione Granger, who accepted it eagerly. After finally achieving his goal of transferring the temperamental, magical device into her capable hands,Tom didn't even bother to stick to his scheme, dismissing the mountain of books his mother had brought without a single glance.

Hermione Granger was inspecting the golden ridges of the time-turner, her thorough gaze taking in the ancient runes carved on its body without overlooking the lively, but unusual green colour its sand possessed. Tom Riddle wondered how long it was going to take for her to realize that the time-turner in her delicate hands had once belonged to none other than great Salazar Slytherin.

To Tom Riddle's immense delight, the Chamber of Secrets housed many different rooms filled with interesting artifacts, making the place his favorite hide-out. Not to mention, it came in handy for situations like these.

Tom refocused on the face of his mother, carving her features into his memory, as he completed the final step of his ingenious plan.

With a flick of his hands, the action going unnoticed by Hermione Granger for a long few seconds, he cast a sticking charm and initiated the required turns of the artifact.

He watched as his mother's eyes opened wide in shock, but before she could raise her gaze to meet with his -he knew that she had realized she couldn't remove her hands to grasp her wand- she vanished out of sight.

Tom Riddle looked at his hands immediately for some kind of confirmation.

His flesh hadn't looked so palpable in the past twenty years. He sighed but soon after it turned into a joyous laugh.

He would have killed before losing Hermione Riddle neè Granger- his mother.

Hermione Granger hadn't known that waking up this rainy day would be a life-altering event. She had had her breakfast as usual -toast and coffee, nothing special- and then got ready to head for her bookstore.

After the war, she had wanted peace and quiet to get herself refreshed, and her dear friend, the new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, had agreed to hold off the job offers for her in the Ministry. If she ever wished, her place in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was waiting for her.

Hiding herself within books had been her first option, that's why she had opened this bookstore. It wasn't like she hadn't considered going to Hogwarts to redo her seventh year and take her NEWTs, but she knew herself well. If she had done that, she would never come out of the library anyway, making her stay in Hogwarts quite meaningless.

Hermione had decided at last that she could easily take her NEWTs from outside and read to her heart's content in the meanwhile, securely hidden away in her introverted comfort zone afar from any one even loosely associated as being a friend.

Her little bookstore hadn't always been this crowded with books. The very first weeks of her opening, the bookstore only had the copies of Hogwarts curriculum and Hermione's books from her beaded bag, which were dearly held and well read. Even with that small of inventory, her bookstore had attracted attention. Only due to Hermione Granger, the War Heroine, being the owner of it. With a few Notice-Me-Not charms and threats to Rita Skeeter to not mention the bookstore every single day in her column, Hermione Granger had achieved the peace she was aiming for from the start.

Her bookstore ran on orders and she gladly collected the interesting books from all over the world herself to broaden her inventory. Her rare visitors were mostly her most loyal clients. On weekends, older Hogwarts students visited too, but the ones who came by were on recommendation from Madame Pince, and they opted to stay the whole day, curled up in one of the armchairs. Most of them were Ravenclaws, some Slytherins and Hufflepuffs being rare exceptions. Sadly, her own house had never made the trip to her bookstore, but then again, Hermione wasn't surprised.

Today was a Monday and as a result she wasn't expecting any students, or any visitors for that matter. That's why she hadn't realized that she wasn't alone right away.

The old man entering her bookstore was slim and tall. His hair was the darkest grey, once-black strands strongly resisting the natural order. His dark eyes shone with delight when she had addressed him. He was an unusual fellow, his tone so kind that she felt humbled and undeserving for his praises, although she took great content in hearing them. His research and time-turner were interesting as well.

Damn, him and his interests. That's what had brought her seventy-seven years in the past.

The familiar re-winding of time had morphed into a blur of colours and senseless noise in the blink of an eye, making Hermione realize immediately that it wasn't only a couple of hours that the time-turner was undoing.

She had found herself in a run-down storage room filled with dusty boxes of various sizes. Exiting her once-beautiful bookstore and stepping into Hogsmeade streets hadn't given her the greatest shock.

Going to Leaky Cauldron to book herself a room, then learning the date had given her a heart attack. Thirteenth of June, 1926.

Seventy-seven years. As a witch, her life span allowed her to live and catch up with her future self, however it would have been damn difficult to explain to Harry and Ron how she had gotten older so quickly. She had to find a way back, but before she even thought about that, she knew it was impossible. She had already read enough back in her third year to know that.

As despair seeped in from the cracks in her defense, she found herself drinking Butterbeer every night, going through any book related to time-travelling that she could find from her beaded bag, and cursing that old man who had given her the time-turner.

That only continued for a week before she got bored and decided to broaden her research, the Leaky Cauldron was becoming lively with the Hogwarts semester on the corner anyway. She could use the break.

Purchasing close to ten books for research later, Hermione went to an apothecary thinking that she could very well buy a hangover potion if she intended to get drunk at night. As a person staying just under a newly-wed couple, who was into loud sex, she needed her consciousness closed if she wanted to sleep in her room back at Leaky Cauldron. Really though, Hermione would have expected more discreet behaviour from people in 1920s. A Silencing charm worked wonders too.

When she exited the apothecary with her potions in her beaded bag -thank Godric she was paranoid enough to deposit her savings and vault into her beaded bag after the war- she was stopped by a shady witch, who sold various questionable potions on a cart.

The witch looked as though she was in her late forties, Hermione couldn't be sure as magical blood concealed the age well. The older witch wore scarlet robes, which was the first thing to grab passersby attention, aiding her somewhat with the sales.

She had just finished explaining the qualities of her potions to some other witch when she abruptly turned her attentions to Hermione, going into salesman mode.

"What a pretty witch you are! I have no doubt you attract many wizards, but is that sadness I see in your eyes? Is the wizard you fancy, not returning your affections? Let me help you! I have just the thing- love potions! I have every kind, from the faintest to the strongest-Amortentia! Here! Smell this one. This will make him fall for you at first sight!"

The witch pushed a vial in Hermione's face, urging her to drink or smell, Hermione couldn't be sure which.

She inhaled to smell the scents wafting from the potion, thinking that it would smell faintly of Ron. Although they had broken up two years ago, her love for him was undeniable. It had abated over the years, but if she was to smell anyone from a love potion it would be him. That was the trick to Amortentia as well- for people who didn't have any special someone, if the potion wasn't blended with the caster's blood or anything to draw the actual truth, he or she would smell of anyone whom they loosely associated with love, making them think they were in love with that false person.

That was why potion masters avoided brewing Amortentia for fun.

To Hermione's surprise, the vial the older witch offered for her didn't smell at all. It was like water.

"It doesn't smell," Hermione stated, her confusion and distrust colouring her tone. The older witch laughed at her openly, she was obviously amused with Hermione's reaction.

"Of course, you silly thing! And you call yourself a witch? How do you suppose you get to make your lover drink this if it smelled like any other witch?"

Hermione snorted. Thinking about how people were forced to do many things they didn't desire in the war, she answered without thinking, "Imperious?"

The older witch's eyes widened in shock only for a moment before she snickered in amusement.

"I love how you think, witch. Here, this potion is on me," the older witch gave Hermione a vial, not taking no for an answer. The witch said to Hermione, "Make him yours, sweetheart!" Then she shooed Hermione away.

Hermione Granger returned to Leaky Cauldron with the extra weight of the love potion. It was consolation that she could easily forget about it in the depths of her bag charmed with Undetectable Extension Charm, and that's what she did.

She got drunk that night, crawled in her bed and slept long before her tired and intoxicated brain could register the copulation sounds of her upstairs neighbours.

Over two months had passed since she visited the apothecary, and with the start of a new school year in Hogwarts, Hermione Granger had gotten the chance to converse with a young Albus Dumbledore.

She had owled him asking for academic consult and the young professor was eager to accept the witch's wish. It wasn't a long conversation as Hermione had only so many hypothetical questions to ask without raising suspicion on her person.

Deciding that it was time to move on and face the facts, Hermione Granger decided to build herself a life in 1926.

First of all, she couldn't live in the Leaky Cauldron, and she also needed a job. Having decided that, she didn't want to cause massive changes in the timeline, so Hermione dismissed the idea of getting a job in the Ministry, fighting for creature's rights. That's why buying herself a two-story house and using the first floor as a bookstore was a perfect idea that took care of her main two problems.

So in the end, her new life here wouldn't be that different from the life she lived in 2002.

The thing was that finding such a place was hard. She had no connections here, and wizards and witches in this time were weary of selling -or renting- their properties to an unknown witch. She had given up on finding such a place in Diagon Alley, but the more she widened her research, the more secluded her neighbourhood became. Being honest, Hermione Granger was bored with having no visitors in her bookstore even in her own time. If she was to go further away from the civilization this time, she wouldn't even have friends to meet up for dinner to make up for her loneliness.

As a result, one more month passed. Bob, the innkeeper of Leaky Cauldron, was content with Hermione staying as she was a steady and punctual income for him. He liked humoring her when she stayed up late, talking about one time-travelling theory or the other as the umpteenth Butterbeer the young woman had drunk went to her head.

This evening Hermione Granger had started early, she was drinking a firewhiskey mixed with pumpkin juice.

"...Knockturn Alley is a hell no, Bob. What I'm doing is an investment, and let me tell you what, that place's future looks dark."

Bob snorted and patted Hermione on the forearm, deciding that he should bring her chips and cut her alcohol while she was too drunk to notice.

Hermione huffed when Bob turned his back, leaving her with no one to listen to her lack of luck at finding a place to move out. Her eyes wandered around the pub, getting bored as the seconds ticked by.

Her eyes landed on a table of four. Two women sat at one side and a happy couple sat across them. The witch with the boyfriend was explaining something animatedly to the witches seated across from her, a haughty air to her gestures was prominent. Her boyfriend couldn't keep his hands off of her as she talked. His one arm was secured in the witch's waist and the other rested where Hermione speculated was her thigh- Hermione didn't have the best vantage point to see from where she was seated at the stools next to the bar.

The man nuzzled the woman's neck, placing light kisses as he moved. Hermione thought she could hear his distinct baritone voice repeating various versions of "love you… the love of my life… haven't loved anyone but you…" as the man kept showering the woman with attention.

Hermione could tell that it wasn't healthy, the man's behavior. But, who was she to say something?

A tiny voice in the back of her mind quoted a line from the book she'd read about Imperious Curse, what was the name again, Will Against Magic?

"Even the strongest of wills would bow down against a powerful Imperious caster. Those who commit heinous crimes under such influence, might be pardoned, Azkaban leaving their concerns. Yet, the dispute on how to prove the truthfulness of Imperious claim still continues. Unlike the potion Amortentia which similarly robs the wizard off his will, there is no trace left after Imperious Curse. Blood magic, which reveal the presence of Amortentia is currently tried to be adapted to such curses however…"

Hermione shook her head, wanting to block the overflow of recollection of the book. Those quotes made her recall the last day Hermione had spent in her old bookstore; she didn't want to remember. She couldn't handle remembering her old life. Not now.

She took a sip from her drink and the voice subsided.

For the next half an hour, she kept a sporadic conversation with Bob. He had too many visitors to attend to, so he couldn't drop his work and chat with Hermione. By the end of the half an hour, Hermione was sick of how much the middle-aged man worked, and offered him her help. That won her a big earthy laughter from the innkeeper, but when she gulped down a hangover potion from her bag and got control over her wits again, Bob didn't turn down her offer.

It was nearly one in the morning when the inn became silent again. Only people who paid for rooms stayed, and even they were receding to their rooms one by one. Hermione helped with cleaning too, so she stayed up until she, Bob, and that horny couple she had seen early in the evening remained. She had learned quite quickly that they were her upstairs neighbours. It wasn't a crime to love sex, but a silencing charm wasn't an advanced piece of magic.

Not to Hermione's surprise, the couple had switched to a darker corner of the pub during the course of the evening. Getting the chance to be alone, Hermione doubted the two had ordered anything else to drink or eat, as they wanted to be left to themselves.

Hermione raised her gaze from wiping up the dishes the Muggle way -which cleared her thoughts and gave her the peace she so yearned for- and took a look at the couple. To her surprise, the man sat all alone. His raven hair was tousled, predictably from his automatic hands going to his wavy mane every few minutes. She couldn't see much in the dim light, but his strong jaw and long legs were unmistakable even from this distance.

"-Didn't you hear me?" a voice snapped, ending Hermione's focus. She dropped her gaze, then realizing the woman was still talking to her, faced the witch behind the counter. "I want a glass of water, hurry."

Hermione automatically did as she was told, not having switched back from the waitress mode. She came to her wits just when she dropped the glass on the counter. Her brows marred, she took in the witch, who she now realized was the lover of the man seated across the room.

The woman was plain, her long dark hair not having the shine to it to even to conceal her unappealing features. Her nose was big and slightly to the right side of her face, effectively diverting attention from her squint eyes. She was taller than Hermione, but her lanky figure did little to praise her woman self, not that Hermione was able to get a proper look behind the counter.

Hermione had seen her lover from up close as she had served other tables. Looking over the witch in front of her again, Hermione didn't know what the man had seen in the witch in front of her to whisper her 'the love of my life'.

There was only so much love that would blind your perception, and having heard the older woman snap at Hermione, she didn't think the woman had a golden heart to make up for her lacking in the looks department.

The click of a lid opening brought Hermione out of her thoughts and she stared in half shock and half horror as the older witch poured the uncorked vial into the glass of water. As the woman left with a joyful smile on her face, everything fell neatly in place in Hermione's head.

A love potion, her mind screamed. She didn't know what to do. Her fingers itched to grab her wand and hex the woman. This is wrong!

Just as she turned around, she saw Bob shaking his head in defeat. "Don't, it's none of your business."

Hermione stared at the innkeeper, her mouth agape. She quickly casted a Muffliato around them and practically yelled, "How is this not my business?! It should be! The bitch is drugging him!"

Bob was definitely stunned to hear Hermione with her voice raised and her tone angry, but she didn't care. This whole thing reminded her of how Romilda Vane had mixed chocolate with a love potion before giving it to Harry, and indirectly ending up having Ron eat it. Ron had nearly died! Hermione's mind protested as her friend's near death experience was due to Malfoy trying to poison Dumbledore, but still, love potions left bitter memories with Hermione. Not to mention, being stripped down from your will was not the most pleasant thing in the world. Whatever she thought about Voldemort, she wouldn't have wished something like that even for him. And she wished Voldemort purgatory.

"That's not how you manage an inn, girl. You better close your eyes to some things," Bob countered Hermione, making Hermione see red.

"What? You knew of this?"

"It's been going ever since they've arrived, five months I think. Once in the morning and once before they go to bed. The witch never forgets."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Bob was letting this crime continue on his watch? How could he?

Hermione turned around, tempted the hex the woman into next Tuesday, but saw that the pub was empty.

"They went to their room," Bob informed her. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Leave it. Not your business."

Hermione dragged her feet to her room. Having had time to think over the occurrence, she could easily rationalize Bob's choice. But it didn't sit right with Hermione. It was as though she should sit at the side lines while Lord Voldemort killed Muggles and Muggle-borns, because she wasn't yet dead.

That was a false example, as Hermione had experienced too many near-death occurrences because of that lunatic, and the propaganda against Muggle-borns affected her directly as she was one herself. Nevertheless, she didn't like that she was impassive to the crime.

One week passed as Hermione's mind debated on whether or not she had a right to interfere. She didn't know the couple's situation. Merlin's sweet pants, she couldn't come up with a scenario in which the woman was doing the man a favor by drugging him! However, the problem was that it really wasn't Hermione's business.

It wasn't ethical or moral, what the witch had done, but…

It was eight more days later that Hermione realized that she was reluctant to act on this because she wasn't sure whether she wanted to shoulder the consequences of her actions. She was tired of shouldering other people's problems. Wasn't that why she had bought that bookstore and shied away to her own world?

However, it was an unchanging truth that Hermione Granger was not selfish.

Deciding that she was going to help the man, Hermione dropped by that shady older witch who owned a cart close to the apothecary. This time she paid the witch for consulting her, a well-rounded antidote she gave for most of the love potions and an advice of buying a Bezoar.

Hermione waited for a chance to catch the man alone the first two days. Seeing that the woman had no intention of ever letting go over her lover -seriously, wasn't she tired of all that attention? - Hermione decided to do something else.

Remembering her first reaction to the odourless love potion, she wasn't proud of her new found method, but went with it nevertheless.

An Imperious Curse and convincing the man he needed to take a leak later, Hermione locked the men's bathroom and silenced the place. She bound the man's body as well, not wanting him to escape or consort to violence when he realised she was about to release him of his oh-so-amazing-and-sacred love.

Up close the man made Hermione's mouth water. He was absolutely dashing. He had broad shoulders and at least a head over herself in height. Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy could only compete for the second place if aristocratic features were the qualifications. His thick but long brows were furrowed as he looked to her under his eyelashes. With all due honesty, if you had such thick eyelashes who would need eyeliners? His thin but red lips were tightly closed, and as they stood soundlessly, she knew that his anger grew up a notch, but she couldn't help herself. His dark blue eyes were captivating and she couldn't form a sentence even if her life was on the line under his gaze.

"Umm," she finally managed to breathe out. "I'm Hermione and I'd like to help you."

He was silent for a moment. "Interesting experience, meeting you, Hermione. Would you help me go back to my wife?"

To say that Hermione was shocked to hear that the woman was his wife, was understatement.

But she didn't back down. If he still wanted her as his wife after the potion had lost its effect, she wouldn't stand in the way.

"Of-of course. I just wanted to help you… with your freedom, let's say?" Hermione offered and she fidgeted, knowing that his eyes were sending daggers at her. Hermione reached to her Imperious Curse. When she touched his mind, she ordered with a finality to her tone and much power behind her words, "Drink this vial and go back to your table. You won't drink anything your wife gives you and you won't mention our conversation here."

The man's face softened because of his surrender to the curse and Hermione gladly gave the vial to the man after releasing his body from the bind.

"Let's hope your system will rid of the potion quicker with this," Hermione murmured under her breath as he drank the vial. She knew he still needed a few more days to be back to normal, knowing that the woman had been feeding the man the love potion for far too long, not to mention regularly.

He gave her the vial back and exited the bathroom. Hermione followed him to the inside of the pub after a few minutes.

She helped Bob with the crowded pub again that night, and it was nice to see the black haired handsome man not salivating over that witch for a change.

She became even happier when she laid down on her bed in the small room of Leaky Cauldron, and didn't even hear the sound of someone snoring- or breathing as a matter of fact- coming from her upstairs neighbours. It was peacefully quiet again.

Hermione woke up to the sound of screaming and crying. It didn't take her long to realize the noise was coming from her upstairs neighbours. Just when Hermione had three nights of sober sleep, the couple had ruined it. Great.

She rose from her bed and casted a Tempus charm. Seeing that it was only two in the morning didn't sit well with Hermione. She had had an exhausting day of searching for a nice house for sale, to only come empty handed to the pub …again. She had helped Bob with his customers and had only fallen asleep at 1:30 A.M.

Half an hour of sleep made Hermione a zombie. She was used to these kinds of short naps so she was never cranky even if she had had a short sleep, however that didn't mean she had to be cheery either.

Distinguishing a male screaming and a loud thud following, Hermione shot to her feet. There was an eerie silence. Had he hit her...? Hermione heard frantic footsteps not soon after and realized one of the occupants of the room was leaving.

She rushed to open her door and just as she did, the man whom she had released from the clutches of the love potion passed by. He made an abrupt stop when he realized Hermione's sudden motion, and he stared at her face long and hard.

That short moment felt like years and Hermione's heart squeezed with such force that she couldn't breathe to save her life.

As recognition and relief shone through the man's blue eyes behind his furious gaze, another set of steps slumbered down the stairs, a loud and desperate weep accompanying it: "TOM! Don't leave us!"

The words didn't register in Hermione's mind; not until the man- Tom she had just learned- switched his gaze to meet with his wife. Hermione's gaze fell on the woman, she noticed that she was holding her stomach protectively. Don't tell me...

"You bewitched me, you vile woman!" Tom sneered at the woman on the floor. She had dropped on her knees in front of him, desperately grasping the fabric of Tom's trousers.

"Please, my love. Don't leave! If not for your love for me- for your unborn son!" The woman was crying so hard that Hermione had to think harder at what she was saying instead of feeling sorry for her heart-wrenching sobs. Unborn son? She is pregnant! How didn't I notice..?

Hermione gasped. She is pregnant...and he is leaving her?!

"Don't touch me, freak!" Tom shoved the woman aside, taking a step back. "As if I would touch you if it weren't for your love spells! A tramp such as yourself doesn't deserve anyone, let alone me. Poisoning me for my affections… I don't want anything to do with a filthy whore, and I have no son or child! "

Before Hermione was aware of what was happening, Tom grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the corridor. Seeing her beloved with another woman, Merope Riddle neè Gaunt was blinded with rage, enough to draw her wand. Hermione Granger's war reflexes were sharp, so even before she saw the woman casting a spell, she had her shields up- yet, the blow never came.

Merope Gaunt cried and swung her wand desperately, but no spark came out of it to help her prevent the escape of her loved one. She was alone again. Alone and unloved. She called after her lover many times, but in the end all she could do was cry, cry and cry.

Hermione had learned in the many days they were on the run to watch out for her steps. However, those days no one was dragging her around with so much force and anger.

"...Fuck, that bitch! Ruining my life…" Hermione heard a few words now and then shooting form Tom's mouth, but her mind still remained with the woman left behind, crying in despair. "...of course, those Gaunt freaks screwed my life. I told many times to my Father to buy their little run-down cottage and shoo them out. Father likes to say he pities those retards! If they were gone, what else was there left to talk about to those families who visited our town, witness to our wealth first hand! Father never learned those sods' new money is trash, why impress them if they are to be bankrupt the next day, become even poorer than those Gaunts! We should have kicked that freak family out of our village without second thoughts, built a horse shed in that cottage's place and found a new entertainment…"

Hermione registered his words and three words which were never meant to be used in the same sentence came to her mind: Love potion… Riddle… Son….

Oh, sweet Merlin!

The man who dragged her… Tom… Could it be possible that Hermione Jean Granger, the War Heroine, had just been the catalyst for Tom Riddle Sr. leaving Merope Gaunt?

This was eventually going to lead Tom Marvolo Riddle being raised in a Muggle orphanage, turning him into the mass-murderer Lord Voldemort when he grew up.

Hermione panicked. All the faces of those they had lost coming to the front of her mind, accusing her of the creation of Lord Voldemort. She wanted to yell at them, say that she wasn't the one giving birth to him, nor was she going to be the one to terrorize him into hating Muggles and Muggle-born alike.

The first was Merope's responsibility and the latter was Mrs. Cole's from the Wool's Orphanage.

And where was Tom Marvolo Riddle going to end up and thanks to whom?

If Hermione had minded her own business just like Bob had asked, she wouldn't have caused this mess.

She was screwing the timeline.

On the second thought, Hermione was righting the timeline- and that scared her even more.

"...Hey, do you hear me?" a voice snapped at her. She winced at the volume, but when she felt two hands gripping her shoulders, she felt somewhat secured. She wasn't going to black out and fall on the ground thanks to the person holding her… thanks to Tom Riddle Sr.

Fuck.

"Yes. Sorry, I… I didn't know she was pregnant. I shouldn't have intervened-" Hermione was going to cry, Merlin, she seriously was going to cry. She felt the tears dropping one by one, but she didn't feel the hysterics Merope had shown. Yet.

What had she done?

"Shh… You saved me from her- that freak," a soothing voice said, even though the last term was said in disgust. Hermione raised her gaze at the feeling of thumbs brushing away her tears. "And she is lying about her pregnancy…"

Hermione stopped at her thoughts. Tom Riddle's voice had turned into a hypnotic tune, his gaze was locked at something far away. "No, she is not pregnant."

Hermione realized that he was tricking himself into believingthat lie. Even though she knew that he was lying, she wanted to be sure that he was aware of his denial. She silently dipped into his mind, and scenes of the two lovers tangled in the bed, naked, came into her vision. At a few of them Tom caressed the bump on the woman's stomach, then Merope kissed Tom while resting her own hand on top of his where it lay on her stomach.

Hermione went out of his mind as gently as she had entered.

She knew that the damage was done.

Tom Riddle was going to be born and he was going to live a life deprived of love- the man in front of her was incapable of giving love to a child associated with a woman he loathed with passion.

...was there no other way?

Hermione angrily wiped her tears, hating the feeling of helplessness. She was sure to find a solution to this mess in the morning, but right now she would do what was possible. Riddle needed to go back to his house, having nothing left to do here. Hermione could do that, take him home, and perhaps convince him to take in Riddle Jr.?

Making a decision, Hermione took a hold of Tom's arm. His eyes turned to her questioningly at the touch, but before he could utter a word to her, they Disapparated.

Hermione shivered when the wind licked every inch of her exposed flesh- she definitely should have changed out of her pajama shorts and camisole.

Tom Riddle Sr. must not be agreeing with her if the way he devoured her appearance was any indication.

Hermione took a few steps back and averted her gaze. She was uncomfortable how he showed no indication of discomfort due to Disapparating. She cleared her throat but Tom Riddle Sr. was quicker.

"It's not my first time doing this-this teleporting," he said. There was a content smile on his face, Hermione wondered whether it was due to guessing her thoughts. She furrowed her brows, and to her great surprise, Tom Riddle Sr. snickered, then continued. "Nothing is my first time. There is so little money can't buy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She couldn't help but wonder whether Sirius Black was the only male she knew of who was not this much of a pompous git regardless of his money status being 'shitting gold'.

"You will be a father for the first time- to your first son," Hermione retorted and saw a flash of anger in his gaze, but she didn't back down.

He took a step closer to her. He was so close that she could feel warmth of his body easing the goose bumps on her skin due to the cold wind.

"You will not be the first woman in my bed-" he said warningly, seeming content with his comeback. Hermione wanted to laugh that he thought that that was a comeback, let alone a threat.

"I think we covered that when I mentioned a child you helped to create-"

"-and not the last," he finished and a smirk graced his lips. His fingers moved to play with her curls but Hermione quickly slapped his hand away.

"Be creative with your threats, and realistic please. More after me? Not the best joke I've heard," Hermione snarled, feeling the sting of Ron's affairs flare at Riddle's bold statement. How vulgar was this man? His intentions sick and sense of humour even worse! This conversation was over. "This is your back garden, if you've noticed. Little Hangleton."

Hermione turned around and put a safe distance between herself and Riddle Sr.

"Are you sure of not claiming your son?" Hermione asked one last time, and when she turned back to Riddle, she saw his gaze was locked with the dark figure of his own house.

"The bitch tricked me…" he spat.

"That is not the child's fault," Hermione insisted. She wished to change Riddle Sr.'s mind because she knew the alternative if she wasn't able to do it.

"I'm not going to be disowned just because of a whore's kid-"

"-your kid!" Hermione yelled this time. She couldn't stand the man insulting an unborn child.

He still didn't turn around to face her.

"You are like her, aren't you?" Riddle Sr. asked, ever slightly angling his head in her direction.

"Yes, I'm a witch and your son will be a wizard," she said. "You wouldn't want to leave him by himself."

Because if you do, he'll turn out to be Voldemort, Hermione ended her thought.

"Your pretty body wouldn't be enough to convince me," Riddle Sr. finally said and laughed before adding, "Even if you were to offer, angel."

What did he call her? Angel? Hermione was furious, not to mention she felt the bile rising from her stomach. She shouldn't have hoped this disgusting man to own up his mistakes.

Was it his mistake that he was too handsome for Merope Gaunt to skip the chance to get in his trousers by a love potion? a treacherous voice in her mind played the devil's advocate.

Knowing that Riddle Sr. wouldn't be disclosing the existence of the magical world, Hermione didn't bother to tamper with his memories.

Hermione Granger Disapparated with only one question remaining in her overthinking mind: Was she going to visit Merope Gaunt now or the day Tom Riddle's birth?

She didn't hear when the words tumbled out of Riddle Sr.'s mouth.

"You are my angel, saving me from…Thank you. I was disgusted…thank you…You saved me, angel."

Hello there!

It feels amazing to present you a new work! And tell you what, it is already finished!

This story will be three chapters, each chapter is as long as this one so you'd understand why I didn't post it as a one-shot. I'll post them a week apart on Wednesdays. I hope you'll enjoy it! Please be sure to let me know what you think ;)

Also, I want to thank my amazing beta, Bunnyhops. We polished this work together and without those corrections and suggestions, you wouldn't be reading this story at its best. Thank you so much! :D

-Ydream08