Behold, my first ever contribution to Tomione Day! For this ship that we all know and love, I have chosen to do a brief classic time-travel fic; the staple trope of this wonderfully sinister pairing.

(It's early, I know, but I will be uploading the second and third parts on the 26th and 29th respectively, because I clearly have no self control (it's actually finished too, so you don't have to worry about being left hanging omg yaaaaaayyyyyyyyy))

This story is set at the end of the Half-Blood Prince.
I repeat; nothing from the Deathly Hallows will be in this fiction.

For a little insight, I would just like to say that my biggest pet peeve with time travel fictions, is that Hermione is always so perfect. Like, she's a genius, knows exactly who everyone is, knows exactly what to say, knows exactly what's going on at all times, perfect. Personally though, I believe that if Hermione was sent back half a century by mistake, she'd be freaking the fuck out. I also am a firm believer that she is so good at her studies not because it comes naturally, but because she is obsessive and she puts in the work. So anyway, I've been wanting to expand on imperfect Hermione for a long time, so I wrote this!

I'm positive that there will be those of you who don't like what I've done here, so feel free to hit me up on tumblr - you'll get a better response from me there than here, I promise you (or y'know, if you just like tomione-inspired sick, fucked up pretty things or wanna chat, then also maybe check it out).
.com

Anyway omg, on with the show!

A worn-out Hermione Granger trudged up the snow-covered hill, taking the very same journey that once upon a time would have filled her with excitement. She didn't want to be there. She knew it was foolish and much too risky an idea, but what other choice did she have? She needed to get home. She had been here far too long already, and none of her ideas had amounted to any success thus far.

Hogwarts was the only option left.

As she reached the familiar wrought iron gates of the main entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her earlier doubts over her decision came back with full force; what if they couldn't help her? She could end up destroying life and everything as she knew it, and for what? Her own selfish reasons? She should just turn back, now, while she still could...

Before she could do so, however, a large figure stepped out from darkness of the trees on the Hogwarts side of the gates. She retreated a few steps, watching warily as the large man approached with long, slow steps. As he reached the gates, he moved his wand hand, the gates groaning eerily as they opened.

"And just what do we 'ave 'ere?" The man asked slowly as he stepped through the gates closer to Hermione.

Hermione swallowed, trying not to let the man's daunting appearance shake her nerve. The scars across his face together with his large, red beard gave him the appearance of a lion who had seen many battles in his time.

"I – I need to see Professor Dumbledore," she stated assertively, attempting to channel her inner Minerva McGonagall.

"Dumbledore?" The large man questioned at once. "What you need to see 'im for?"

"It's... it's private."

The large man frowned as he watched her. "You didn't think to owl first?"

"Please, sir. It's urgent," she said, a hint of desperation seeking through into her words.

He sighed loudly before he slowly turned to look upward. He made a resonating whistle with his lips and waited expectantly.

"Name?" He asked without looking down.

"Hermione."

"'Ermione...?"

She cleared her throat softly. "Graves."

When he didn't say anything more, Hermione followed his upward gaze until a movement far in the distance caught Hermione's eye; moving swiftly toward them, was a large black owl. It circled over the pair for a moment before swooping down to land on the man's awaiting arm.

"Archimedes," the man greeted with a distinctive look of confusion as he eyed the parchment held in the owl's beak. He pulled the parchment out and unrolled the note, pursing his lips as he read. Once he seemingly finished reading, he let out a loud sigh before giving the bird a quick pet and sending it off back toward the castle again.

"Come on then," he said suddenly, storing the parchment away in his pocket.

Hermione wasn't about to argue.

The man's legs were reasonably longer than her own, and she almost had to jog up the slippery dirt track to keep up. He didn't say anything more as they travelled, and Hermione wasn't game to try to make conversation, lest she say something to change the large man's mind about letting her in.

Once the unlikely pair finally made it up into the Entrance Hall of the Castle, Hermione couldn't help but stare in wonder. Although it had only been two weeks since she left the castle of her own time, she had truly missed the warm comfort of the school. Being there again, seeing that in nineteen forty-four it was almost exactly the same as she remembered (minus a handful of paintings), she couldn't help but feel a warm rush of comfort and happiness, even though she was so far from home.

It gave her hope.

As they passed through toward the Grand Staircase, they passed a group of students exiting the Great Hall. Their conversation ceased as they noticed them, the group stopping to stare at her and the groundsman curiously.

The man she was with merely grunted at them and didn't stop as he guided her up the stairs. She scurried along with her head down, happy to not have to interact with more people than absolutely necessary.

The fewer people she interacted with in this time, the better.

She very nearly questioned her escort as he turned off at the first-floor corridor, remembering at the last moment that Dumbledore wouldn't have yet been appointed Headmaster.

The large man knocked on the cracked door to the first year Transfiguration classroom, the occupant responding with a speedy, "come in."

As Hermione's eyes were drawn to the thin man behind the main desk of the classroom, she felt a strong stab of emotion seeing Albus Dumbledore once more, in the flesh. He looked painfully young.

"Thank you, Silvanus," Dumbledore said, dismissing her escort.

At his words, one of her eyebrows shot up as she deduced who her guide must have been. Silvanus Kettleburn, groundskeeper of Hogwarts, before Hagrid.

By the way that Dumbledore barely gave her a glance as Kettleburn left the office, and by the strange note passed on by the owl, Hermione was sure that he must have known she was coming.

"Now," he began, once the door fell closed. "Whatever brings you to my office this evening, Miss...?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Graves, sir. It's - well -" she stuttered, unsure of how to begin and how much to divulge. "You see, sir... I'm in a slight spot of bother."

A short hour later, Hermione Graves found herself pacing the seventh-floor corridor with a rather young and optimistic Albus Dumbledore. Thankfully, it had passed the students curfew, so the corridor was conveniently deserted. Upon her explaining her situation, the Professor had been awfully understanding - suspiciously so - and had suggested the trip back to the room that had gotten her into the mess to begin with.

I need a way to go home, she thought to herself firmly. I need a way to go home, I need a way to go home.

As the familiar old door appeared, Hermione took a deep breath before sending an unsure glance back toward the Professor.

"Best of luck," he said with a nod to the door.

She hesitantly took the doorknob in her small hand and twisted. Pulling the door open, she immediately grinned seeing what looked to be the very same stone wall behind her in front of her.

Could it possibly be so simple?

After a quick glance back at Dumbledore, Hermione stepped through the doorway and felt the same unnerving feeling she had felt weeks earlier.

"No luck?" Professor Dumbledore asked curiously, seeing the bushy-haired witch stepping out of the door once more.

"I- " Hermione spun, seeing the same corridor in which she stood, now duplicated behind her in the room of requirement.

Her shoulders slumped as she realised the loophole the room must have made.

"It would appear not."

"Ah," Dumbledore sounded, looking down the corridor thoughtfully. They stood in silence for a moment as Dumbledore pondered, while Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in attempt to prevent the building panic attack.

"Tell me again," Dumbledore started slowly. "Word for word. What exactly were you asking for, the first time you entered the room?"

"I needed a safe place," Hermione said, repeating what she had told him in his office.

"Can you remember your exact wording?"

"'I need a safe place'," she repeated insistently, feeling a wave of irritation at her old headmaster.

Really though, what did he expect? She wasn't foolish enough to go telling him the true words she had mentally spoken, and she was sure that he must have known that. Messing with time at such a scale was unthinkable; Dumbledore in this time couldn't know about Voldemort, or his horcruxes, let alone their urgent need to destroy them. The ramifications to the timeline of him having such knowledge half a decade too early were unimaginable.

"Well, then it seems, that perhaps the room has sent you here, because it is your safe place," Dumbledore suggested. "Or... it might have sent you here for a purpose, of sorts."

"A purpose..." Hermione repeated aloud, thinking on his words.

It seemed obvious enough. She had asked for a way to destroy Voldemort's horcruxes, so the room had sent her back in time, to when such a thing was still possible. But destroying the horcruxes before Voldemort had fully risen to power was much easier done in theory than in practice. They didn't know where to begin their search in her own time, yet alone in the forties! And even if she did somehow manage to find them (if they had even been made yet!), she was still left with the same problem; how was she supposed to destroy them?

"Perhaps, it would be best for you to remain in the castle, Miss Graves," Dumbledore suggested lightly. "I'm sure we can sort out an arrangement, for you to remain close to the room, should you think of any new approaches of solving your predicament."

Hermione nodded, knowing it made sense. She could come back and pace every night if she needed.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said brightly. "I'll see to it that the appropriate accommodations are set to order."

"You want me to be a student? Again?" She asked incredulously. She stared down at the auburn-haired professor behind his desk, her fists perched firmly on her hips.

"It seems the only feasible option."

Harry had been completely right. The man was bonkers.

"But... couldn't I be your aide? Or... or, a tutor? I could teach!"

"Headmaster Dippet unfortunately would not allow it. Not for a seventeen year-old."

Her stomach tightened at his unsaid words. They'd never allow a young, unmarried woman to teach.

"But I could help in the hospital wing, as a nurse! Or... or-"

"I think it would be best this way," Dumbledore continued. "You did say that you haven't yet completed your NEWTs."

"Oh yes, because that makes perfect sense," Hermione snapped, her irritation with the whole situation escaping her in full force at last. "I'll just go fifty years into the future and hand in my parchments, shall I? I'm sure the Ministry will have absolutely no problem with them being dated nineteen forty-four. Honestly..."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"We'll have to get you sorted again, of course."

"I - are you not listening to a word I'm saying?!"

"I heard you very well, Miss Graves. But it is the only way for you to remain within these walls indefinitely. If the room is the only way for you to get home, then it makes the most sense for you to remain close by."

She rolled her eyes blatantly, no longer having the patience to care what the man thought of her manners.

And so, the next evening, for the second time in her life, Hermione sat upon the old wobbly stool in front of the whole student cohort of Hogwarts. She found the whole experience to be far more embarrassing than it had been the first time, and if she were honest, a little undignifying.

Bloody Dumbledore. Surely, he could have arranged for it to be done privately. She was supposed to be keeping a low profile!

The strange sensation of the hat's voice in her head drew her away from mentally berating her old headmaster.

My, my, what a wonderful mind.

She turned her eyes upward in attempt to look up at the hat - it was only polite, after all - but saw only brim.

But where to put you, where to put you...

I hear Gryffindor is nice, she thought back at the hat.

Gryffindor has already had its chance with you, has it not?

Well then, I suppose I would enjoy the daily riddles of Ravenclaw, she suggested.

Yes... but you are far too cunning for Ravenclaw, I think.

Well, in that case, I suppose Hufflepuff it is!

Ambitious, too. So very ambitious...

Yes, perfect for Hufflepuff.

And extremely resourceful... yes. I can see it now; a strong desire for praise. A desire for knowledge. A desire to be the best, to prove yourself, and to lead.

What?

Oh, there is only one house that will nurture you as you so deeply desire.

No-

Slytherin will nourish you... groom you... prepare you for greatness...

I think you are mistaken.

Then...

No.

...I do believe...

But I'm a muggleborn!

...it must be...

Please.

"Slytherin!"

Had the whole school not been sitting in front of her, Hermione would have protested. Instead, she sat unmoving upon the stool out of shock as she processed the hat's decision, until Dumbledore gave her a forceful prod in the back. Sending a short glare in his direction, Hermione reluctantly stepped down from the raised platform and over to the far side of the Great Hall where the Slytherin table ran, cursing the old hat with each step she took.

Why the bloody hell would it put her in Slytherin? There was just no logical reason! She was not cunning! She did not value self-preservation over all else!

She was a muggleborn for Merlin's sake!

Seeing more glares and questioning glances from the students dressed in green than welcoming smiles, she kept her head down and bee-lined to the end of the table where the seventh years had sat in her time. Seeing a small patch of space between a tall blonde girl and a short red-haired boy, Hermione claimed it without question.

It was best not to ask for permission in Slytherin, she supposed.

"Wonderful!" Dippet's booming voice echoed through the hall, although Hermione was still far too put out with Dumbledore and his blasted hat to notice. While she pondered her situation and if there were any way to demand a re-sorting, she again failed to notice as Dippet announced the beginning of dinner and the large platters running down the centre of the tables filled with food.

It wasn't until the girl sitting across the table spoke to her, that she was brought back to her surroundings.

"'Graves', was it?" The dark-haired witch asked with an unhidden sneer.

Hermione almost gasped seeing the girl - she looked so familiar. Yet... not familiar at the same time. The combination of her long dark hair and dark eyes painfully reminded her of Sirius.

"Yes."

"Funny," she commented sourly. "I haven't come across the name 'Graves' before."

"My father was a muggle," Hermione said bravely as she held the girls eye contact.

The girl drew in a quick breath. "You're -"

"Half-blood, yes, do keep up," she said, hoping she was channelling Draco Malfoy accurately. As soon as the hat announced her as a Slytherin, she decided that she couldn't let it be known that she was a muggleborn. Muggleborns sorted into Slytherin were extraordinarily rare, and Hermione desperately needed to ensure she was average. She couldn't be remembered. Not if she wanted to preserve the timeline.

The girl sneered. "We don't get many of your kind here."

"Walburga," one of the boys said warningly from Hermione's right.

Walburga glanced over at the boy with the 'Head Boy' badge and quickly glanced back to Hermione. Her scowl still remained firmly in place, but at least she didn't say anything more.

"Allow me to apologise for my dear cousin," the tall girl to Walburga's left said quickly, as she leaned across the table and extended a hand toward her, while Walburga rolled her eyes. "Lucretia Black."

Hermione quickly grasped her hand in greeting. "Hermione Graves."

"We haven't had a newcomer in years," Lucretia began. "You're quite the commodity, you understand. The last one was in 1936 if I remember correctly, before any of our time."

Hermione smiled but didn't comment.

"You've had a stroke of luck being sorted into Slytherin, you know. We are by far the superior house," she continued matter-of-factly.

"I don't suppose you'd be biased at all," she said, almost teasingly.

"Not in the slightest," Lucretia said with an amused smile.

In that moment, her questionable family aside, Hermione decided that she didn't mind Lucretia Black.

"This is Celeste," Lucretia went on, gesturing to the blonde girl seated next to Hermione. "And to your right is Owen, although he prefers to go by Avery. Next, you have Priscilla and Sebastian, and next to him is Evander. And down the end, Abraxas, Rolan, Lawrence, and our Head boy, Tom."

She didn't have any trouble recognising Abraxas as a Malfoy. It seemed that the pale blond hair and the overall air of superiority must have been dominant family traits. The dark-haired boy next to him who she assumed was Rolan was stocky - Hermione would have been willing to put money on him being the Quidditch Captain. The next boy Tom was easy enough to determine, the shiny badge marking him clearly. He was awfully... pretty. That left the stumpy looking boy next to Abraxas, who must have been Lawrence.

"That's all who's worth knowing, anyway," she finished as she primly crossed her hands on the table top.

"I'm sure I'll need reminding."

Lucretia smiled and pushed the jug of pumpkin juice toward her. She accepted it, grateful for the opportunity to eat at last.

By the end of dinner, Hermione felt as if she had suffered through enough small talk to last her a lifetime. Still, she was grateful for Lucretia and Celeste's friendliness, even if they were only temporarily interested in the newcomer.

They didn't manage to make it far as they exited the Great Hall, however, before they were quickly stopped by the Head Boy, who's curious dark eyes were focused on Hermione.

"May I interrupt? I hope you don't mind, Miss Black."

"Of course," Lucretia answered, her eyes lighting up.

"Tom," he greeted, offering Hermione a pale hand. "Head Boy."

She shook his hand, noting how cool his skin was.

"Hermione."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. May I show you to the common rooms?" He asked politely, extending an elbow toward her. "That is, if Lucretia does not already have the honour?"

"Um," she started awkwardly, feeling slightly stunned as she watched Lucretia wave them on before slipping off to catch up with Celeste. "I don't see why not," she decided quickly as she wound her hand around his elbow, deciding that having an escort was for the best. She wasn't supposed to yet know her way around the castle, after all.

She tried not to focus too hard on how beautiful her escort was, she really did. But it proved to be an impossible task as they began on their way and he gently pulled her arm further around his such that their shoulders were brushing. She wasn't normally the type to be attracted to others based purely on looks; to her, the mind was always the most alluring quality one could have. But she would have been lying if she said she wasn't immediately drawn to the Head Boy.

"Headmaster Dippet said you were homeschooled?" He asked politely as they turned down the hall that held the entrance to the dungeons.

"Yes," she managed, still trying quite hard not to focus on his perfect jawline. "But with the war getting worse and worse, mother thought it best that I was sent to school this year, albeit, a week late."

Her cover story was, admittedly, weak. But she and Dumbledore had both agreed that it would be best not to over-complicate it; less chance of her getting her own story wrong that way. She hopefully wouldn't be staying permanently, after all.

He nodded. "I can understand. I'm from London, myself. The war has been horrendous, even with it being muggle technology."

From his sombre expression, the reality of the situation that the muggles of London were facing suddenly hit quite hard. Although it had been her cover story, she knew nothing compares with those who were truly experiencing the brutality.

"I'm sorry," she said without a thought.

He cracked a smile. "I suppose that makes us quite the sorry pair."

She admired the way his smile truly lit up his features, and it was contagious.

"Do you know what subjects you're taking yet?" He asked suddenly, changing the topic to something lighter.

"Yes," she answered a little bit too enthusiastically, grateful for both the shift and the distraction from his smile. "Charms, Defence, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions," she announced proudly, having already memorised her class schedule Dumbledore had given her that morning. She supposed if she was being forced into being a student again, she may as well take his advice and make the most of it.

"You're taking seven NEWT classes? With Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?" He commented, his tone skeptical. "I am forced to wonder why the hat didn't choose to sort you into Ravenclaw."

"You're not the only one," she said, almost bitterly. "Though it did consider it, however briefly."

"I'm not at all surprised with a schedule like that," he said as he glanced down at her. Seeing her sad smile, he continued, "don't worry. We Slytherins can be just as bright as the Ravenclaws, regardless of what they might have you believe."

As she glanced up and he gave her a kind smile, she felt comforted, more so than she had even with Dumbledore. He just had that sort of air about him; comforting, easy-going, like he was someone to be trusted.

"Thank you."

"That's quite alright. We look after own in Slytherin."

Positive that a blush was seeping in, Hermione changed the subject back to classes, "and you? Which subjects are you taking?"

"All of yours, bar Ancient Runes. I have Divination in that period instead."

Hermione's nose crinkled in distaste for the subject out of reflex.

Tom laughed, a soft, musical sound. "It's not for everyone, I'll admit."

"Though, you're taking seven NEWTs too - maybe I'll have some competition," she teased, starting to feel a bit excited at the prospect of having a friend taking her classes with her, as opposed to the few she shared with Harry and Ron.

"Maybe," he agreed, flashing his teeth once more.

She actually felt a little disappointed as they slowed upon reaching the patch of wall she knew housed the Slytherin common room.

"The entrance to the common room is hidden, and requires a password," he explained, and she gave him her best expression of polite interest. "Sopophorus."

She eyed him questioningly.

"A very rare plant, but also a very useful ingredient in potion-making."

"No, I just mean..."

He nodded understandingly. "Professor Slughorn usually chooses a password from his classes. I would hazard a guess that he chose this years after planning his sixth-year lessons. The Draught of Living Death is one I suppose he found somewhat fitting for Slytherin house."

"I see..." she said, trailing off as she took in the green and silver room ahead of her.

"The common room will be free for you to use whenever you wish. The books over there and all of the furniture are for communal use. We have a curfew at nine pm, if you're not back in the common room by then, you'll risk losing house points or being awarded a detention."

Although she was focused on his musical voice, she had a hard time listening to what he was saying.

"The girls' dormitory is down that hall to the left, the boys is to the right," he continued. "If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to find me, although I'm sure Miss Black will be more than happy to help you."

"Thank you," she said after a pause as she realised he had finished, feeling enormously grateful for his kindness.

"This is where I leave you. I unfortunately have been appointed to do the prefect rounds this evening," he said, unravelling his arm from hers to take her smaller hand in his. He brought the back of her hand up to his lips, holding her eye contact as he pressed a light kiss to her skin. "Have a good first night, Hermione."

"Thank you," she repeated dumbly, her voice coming out as a whisper.

As she left him and stepped down to the girl's dormitory, Hermione felt a little overwhelmed. It was little wonder he had been chosen for Head Boy. If he was as charming with the Professors as he was currently being with her, then she was certain that he must have had them eating out of the palm of his hand.

She tried not to let herself get too excited at the prospect of making a friend, especially one who shared almost all of her classes. He was Head Boy, after all. It was quite literally his job description to show her around. Not to mention, making friends here was a bad idea; she couldn't be remembered.

Still, she'd never had an easy time making friends... maybe this time, in a house with more similar minded people, she'd have better luck... and if she truly ended up stuck here, then perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea...

Her first night sleeping in the dormitories of Slytherin house was not nearly as bad as she had anticipated. She had imagined that being in the dungeons, the dormitories would be frosty at night. But she was pleasantly surprised by the effectiveness of the warming charms. Their shared dorm, being positioned partially under the lake, was dark and eerily quiet, unlike the gusty Gryffindor tower she was used to. The soft sounds of the water flow were soothing, and together with the warmth, she was able to slip into a deep sleep, leaving her awakening the next morning feeling the most well-rested she'd been during her time in the forties.

The chatter of the Slytherin girls was a stark contrast to the Gryffindor girls of her time, even though they were just as loud. Instead of talk of quidditch, classes, and job prospects, the pureblooded young women of this time liked to discuss dresses, and marriage, and children, and their families at home. The uniform was slightly more conservative, too, with longer skirt lengths and a slightly scratchier material. But other than that, she was relieved that it was still mostly the same; though it would take a while for her to get used to green and silver around her neck as opposed to scarlet and gold.

Following closely behind Lucretia and Celeste (who she learned was a Greengrass) the next morning, Hermione lost focus in their discussion of their upcoming Charms class as they entered the common room and her attention was drawn to the group of boys on the far side. The seventh years were circled close to the fireplace, some seated and some standing.

Her eyes were drawn to Tom like magnets, who had turned to look in their direction. As Head Boy, she knew full well he would have his own private dormitory and no need to venture into the common room unless he specifically wanted to. In her own time, she'd barely seen the few Gryffindor heads step foot in their common room. She was reminded of his words the previous night; 'We look after our own.' Perhaps Slytherin house of this time wasn't at all like the one she knew. Perhaps house unity was far more important in this decade.

He sent her a small smile before turning back to the group of boys around him.

Hermione swallowed. If it weren't for her urgent need to return to the nineties, she could very easily see herself crushing on this boy.

This tall, dark-haired, handsome, surely intelligent boy...

"Dreamy, isn't he?"

"Hmm?" Hermione sounded, drawing her attention from the tall boy back to Lucretia whose presence she had completely forgotten about.

"Tom."

"Oh. Oh, no, I was just-"

"It's okay, there's no need to fib," Lucretia said with a soft laugh. "He's the most appealing of our lot by far, and that's even with Abraxas in the equation."

She could feel all of the blood in her body pooling to her cheeks.

"He's not spoken for, either," Lucretia added with a nudge. "Unlike most in our house, he doesn't have the family pressure of marrying at a young age. Surely if he did, he wouldn't have let Celeste slip through into Nott's fingers."

"Umm," Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly, unsure of how to get herself out of the situation.

"I can put a good word in, if you like."

"No, no, thank you," she urged quickly at the same time the group of boys barked in laughter at something Abraxas was saying. "I'm not... I just... there's someone else. At home."

"Oh," Lucretia said, sounding genuinely surprised. "But you don't have a ring?"

"We're not engaged," Hermione said as if it were blatantly obvious.

"Oh, well then, all is fair! The men must know that they need to move swiftly," she said. "Don't you worry. I'll put a good word in."

"No, Lucretia-"

"It's quite alright, you don't need to thank me," she said excitedly, moving to flounce off to the other group of girls on the far side of the common room.

She barely had a moment to herself before she saw him move. Almost as if he had been waiting for Lucretia to leave her, Tom excused himself from his circle of companions and approached Hermione, warm smile firmly in place.

"Miss Graves," he greeted with a slight nod of his head. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes," she said, positive that she must have still been blushing from her interaction with Lucretia. "Very."

"May I walk you to breakfast?" He asked. "I know it's still a bit early, but I thought we could go by the Charms classroom? I daresay Professor Slughorn wouldn't be too happy with me if I didn't ensure that you know your way to your first class."

"Oh," she replied, unable to withhold her surprise. "Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Both his words and the way that he spoke them triggered an increase in her heart rate, and Hermione was quickly overwhelmed with the same feeling she had suffered in her second year when Lockheart had been their Defence Professor. She took his extended arm robotically as she tried to recover once more from the impact of his smile - a smile that surely could have move mountains if he wished it.

As he led her through the dungeons and pointed out the few features that he must have missed the night before, Hermione nodded and made sounds of interest where appropriate while she internally tried to calm herself.

She absolutely could not allow herself to become infatuated with a boy from the nineteen forties. Really, he'd be fifty years her senior! She had to stay focused on returning home and keep herself as free of ties to this time as she could manage. To do anything different would be... irresponsible. Not to mention reckless…

And daft…

And foolish…

...But he was just so tall. She had always liked tall boys, and Tom, at a touch taller than Ron, was almost a whole head taller than her.

"Through here is the Potions store room; if you ever need anything too dangerous for the classroom, you'll find it through there. You'll need Slughorn's permission though, it's been warded..."

And his teeth were so white, and so perfect that her parents would have most definitely approved. His canines were pointed perfectly sharp, and she imagined that if he bit his lip with them, it would be quite painful. But she wasn't so sure if it would hurt so much if it was her lip being bitten...

"...down this corridor. Professor Beery is down there too, I think he prefers the dungeons having been a Slytherin himself..."

His baritone was so smooth, his Adam's apple moving down his pale throat with each word he spoke. Though she was sure they would sound better in her ear, low and quiet, for her only...

"Oho! Tom m'boy! I trust you're taking good care of our newest arrival?"

Hermione cleared her throat as she was brought back out of her daze by the distinctive, booming voice of Professor Slughorn, sounding just as enthusiastic as she remembered.

"Of course, sir," Tom replied without hesitation.

Like Dumbledore, Slughorn was strikingly younger than she remembered, his thick strawberry blond hair a stark contrast to the bald professor of her time.

"Wonderful! You are in very capable hands, Harmony."

"Hermione," she immediately corrected with thinning lips.

"Oh, yes, of course," he conceded with a laugh. "I trust I'll be seeing you in Potions class...?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful! Wonderful indeed! The more the merrier!" He exclaimed loudly, drawing more attention to them than Hermione would have liked. "Well, I shouldn't be holding you up on your first day. Enjoy your breakfast, Harmony."

Her brows furrowed as she turned her head to watch the old man scurry off down into the dungeons.

"He can... take some getting used to," Tom said as he watched her with an amused smirk.

"Yes, I'm sure he will," she said as they began in the direction of the Great Hall once more.

"Oh, and Mr. Riddle?" The loud voice of Slughorn called back to them.

Hermione stiffened as Tom turned on his heel back to face the professor. "Yes, sir?"

Her brain stalled.

Riddle.

"Don't forget this evening, m'boy!"

Hermione's heart stilled as the blood drained from her cheeks.

Mr. Riddle.

Tom.

Tom Riddle.

She suddenly felt sick.

"You know I wouldn't miss it."

Her mouth slowly opened, a hesitant breath escaping her lips.

In her state of shock, she didn't notice as Slughorn left them once more, didn't notice as Tom's attention was brought back to her.

"We have monthly meetings, a club I suppose you could call-" he broke off, seeing Hermione's blanched expression. "Are you alright?"

"I -" she started, pulling her arm back, needing to put some space between them. "I have to - I forgot, I - I have to go..."

She left in a hurry, not looking back as she all but ran up the stairs toward the Entrance Hall, not noticing the tightening of Tom's jaw as he watched her go.

Tom Riddle. He was Tom Riddle.

But of course he was! How hadn't she realised it? Tall, dark-haired, charming and handsome, Head Boy, 1944, of bloody course he was Tom Riddle!

How could she be so fucking stupid?!

She had considered Grindelwald. She had thought of Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and Hagrid, and the Malfoy's, and her grandparents, and even Harry's grandparents for fuck's sake - how had she not even considered Voldemort himself?!

Her breathing sped up to a pant as she raced up the Grand Staircase like a mad woman.

Dumbledore. She needed Dumbledore.

Harry had described him, Ginny had described him, but neither of those came anywhere close. She had always wondered why no one had known, why Dumbledore had never done acted sooner. But now, it was all so clear. She always assumed he would have been cold, calculating, off. But no, that was the danger; he was warm, friendly, beautiful, perfect. He was a true wolf in sheep's clothing, a demon behind the face of an angel, with words as smooth as silk. Those who were shown his mask had absolutely no hope of seeing him for what he was, what he truly was.

"Professor?" She called, panicked, as she skidded to a halt in front of the Transfiguration classroom and knocked on the door. After no response, she tried the handle to find it unlocked. "Professor?" She tried again, once she had let herself in.

"Miss Graves," he greeted from behind his desk.

"I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this, sir," she said, her voice coming out breathless, "but I - I think I have an inkling as to what I'm doing here now."