Chapter Text
I don’t know what to do. I’m just…I don’t understand what’s happening right now or why any of this is happening to me in particular. I’ve never been in so much trouble before, never seemed so utterly hopeless. This year has been…unique. Eventful. Ever since I met Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express, my life has changed irreparably, even more so, I think, than it did when I found out I was a witch. I’ve faced down things no one should have to, like a huge three-headed dog, basically a senile version of Gandalf, and prejudices I’ve never even heard of before. But all of that pales in comparison to what I’m facing right now.
Let me start from the beginning. Organize my thoughts, so I’m not panicking so much. I’ve spent the last few days feeling pretty darn good about myself. The Tempest was…not especially successful, but Ron did a good job and Dumbledore was finally brought down, so I considered it to be a success in all the ways that mattered to me. More importantly, I won our final Quidditch game, giving Slytherin the Quidditch Cup! I’m the first Muggleborn to ever win a Quidditch Cup for Slytherin! Alas, we lost the House Cup to Ravenclaw – turns out being able to answer the most questions in class is a boring but practical way to gain house points. But whatever. I don’t care who gets the house cup, as long as it isn’t Gryffindor. (I’m still annoyed at the Weasley twins for turning my hair purple.)
And so the end of the year dawned. Harry was going to be going world traveling with Remus all summer, starting with going straight to Heathrow from King’s Cross as soon as he got off the Express. His first step on his tour is Seattle, whose magical neighborhood is located underneath the city proper in a network of tunnels and basements known as the Seattle Underground. I wish him good luck there. At least all the rain means he’ll feel at home. And someone should have fun this summer after the mess I’ve landed myself in.
I got a text from my parents saying they were stuck in traffic and were going to be a little late. I’m going to hope that means what they say it was and that they didn’t run into complications disposing of a body. Am I happy my parents are professional assassins? Definitely not, but it’s better they work for hire than for Russia. Anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to adhere to a policy of don’t ask don’t tell when it comes to their killing. I’ve got way, way, way more important things to worry about right now.
Once we got to the platform, I prepared to walk through the portal alone, but Harry wasn’t about to let me go just yet. “Hermione, before you leave, I just wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to me,” Harry said. Behind him, Remus smirked. (Should I call him Professor Lupin? Well, he’s not a professor now…or later, technically. No, it’s fine to call him Remus over the summer, especially since he told me to.)
“I know I act like I’ve got my shit together all the time,” Harry said awkwardly. Remus seemed unsure whether to laugh or act stern over what he just said, and seemed to compromise by pulling an expression that made him look vaguely constipated. “But I’m not as cool as I act. A lot of the time I just act like I know what’s going on until something starts to make sense.”
“It’s okay, Harry,” I told him. “I’m kind of like that too.”
“What I’m trying to say is I know I can be a lot,” Harry said. “I know I say Dudley scared off everyone who wanted to be my friend, but I wonder if I did that too. I’m guess I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”
I nodded. “Yeah, honestly, I’m not even sure how you pulled that off. I guess I just got used to the chaos. Now there’s a scary thought! Please tell me next year won’t be as eventful.”
“It won’t be if I have anything to say about it,” Remus vowed. “Of course I suspect I won’t…”
Harry held out his hand. “So see you next year, Hermione Granger. It’s been a blast.”
I should have taken his hand. It was the polite, friendly thing to do. The sort of things that friends do to one another. And, indeed, were friendship the only thing on my mind at the time, that was precisely what I would have done. But it’s not. I refuse to admit this to anyone. It’s bad enough my parents figured it out. Harry certainly shouldn’t know and definitely not Ron either. But I…well, I have a crush on Harry. There! I said it. I finally put it in writing. I have a stupid crush on my wonderfully chaotic, incomprehensible, and amazingly kind, brilliant, and charismatic best friend.
And so instead of taking his hand I leaned forward and I kissed him on the cheek.
I let out a strangled scream, horrified at what I’d just done. Months of friendship down the drain! All because I couldn’t control my impulses! I made a run for the exit in a blind panic, ignoring Harry shouting my name, probably to berate me for my wanton carnality or something like that. I don’t know. I wasn’t really good at stringing together coherent thoughts at that moment, much less logical ones.
All this would have been bad enough, even calamitous, on its own. But then things got 21,777,864 times worse, give or take 8.5. Yes, I have calculated that number precisely. I have had a lot of time on my hands.
I ran into the nearest restroom, desperate to find the one place that Harry wouldn’t find me. Even as adverse to following the rules as he was, not even he would dare follow me there. It turned out I wasn’t alone there. A very, very old woman who looked old enough to have lived through the Blitz and another nondescript woman carrying a briefcase were there waiting for a toilet.
“You look like a pack of wolves was chasing you, dearie,” the old woman said. “Having trouble with the law?”
“Trouble with the heart, more like it,” I said, unsure why I was telling my story to a complete stranger. Probably because I wanted to get her away from the whole trouble with the law idea, since I wasn’t entirely certain MI6 doesn’t still want me dead. “I just kissed my friend on the cheek and now I’m freaking out! What if he doesn’t like me like that?”
The old woman gave me a fond grin. “Ah, the problems of youth. Enjoy them while they last, love. At least all your joints function properly. Seems to me like you just need to hash things out with that boy. And then maybe snog things out with him?”
I blushed as the old woman winked at me and then the nondescript woman placed her briefcase on the counter, pulled out a gun, and shot the old woman in the back.
I was just frozen in place for a few seconds. It was like something out of a nightmare or maybe some cliched Hollywood tale. It seemed so out of place. I’ve spent around a year surrounded by mythological creatures, dark mages, and a very chilly castle, and now someone had just shot someone in front of me like it was nothing.
But my inaction only lasted a few seconds. Heedless to the fact I was technically breaking the law, I pulled out my wand and cast the severing charm on the gun just as the shooter pointed it at me, causing it to fall into two presumably harmless pieces. I expected the shooter to look surprised, but she didn’t. She must have been MI6, clued into magic by Hagrid. For a few seconds, we stared at each other and then she ran for it.
I wanted to follow her, track her down and find out what she knew, but I couldn’t, because the old woman was dying. I remembered the coagulation spell Madam Pomfrey had taught me and I quickly started casting it on the old woman. I pulled out my mobile but decided not to dial 999, because the gunshot had been loud and the cops must have been ready to arrive any moment. I was in an impossible position. Did I leave and let this woman die or did I stay and face the possibility that the cops imminently about to arrive might kill me?
In the end, I chose the latter course, because I decided I didn’t want to be the sort of person who would make the former course. I didn’t want to be like my parents, prepared to sacrifice innocent lives. Harry’s stubborn heroism must be rubbing off on me. But in the end, it didn’t make any difference.
The restroom door opened and a middle aged woman wearing a pink cardigan who looked like she was some bizarre toad-kindergarten teacher hybrid stepped into the room, flanked by two people in trench coats identical to Jones’s – Aurors. “Hermione Jean Granger,” the toad woman said with a triumphant, sadistic grin, “you are under arrest for breaking the Statute of Secrecy.”
“W – what?” I stammered. “No, that’s…look, there were extenuating circumstances! Someone tried to kill me!” I pointed at the ruined gun. “See?”
“The law is the law, Miss Granger,” the woman said piously. I didn’t buy her commitment to the law one iota. She was probably salivating to bring in some Muggleborn for violating the statute. “Now we’ll just have to reverse whatever spells you cast and we’ll be on our way!”
My eyes widened. The old woman was unconscious now and without my coagulation spell, she’d die. How incredibly ironic it would be if she survived bombing by a hostile foreign power only to die of injuries inflicted by her own government some eighty years later. “No, no, you can’t. She’ll die.”
“She’s just a Muggle,” one of the Aurors said dismissively. “It’s not like she’s important.”
“No, please!” I shouted and someone must have stunned me, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in this cell, feeling like someone had run over me with a truck. There were bruises all over me. Someone must have beaten me up while I was still unconscious. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone since I was put in this cell which is quite reminiscent of the ones at the tower of London. I presume I’m in Ministry headquarters and I’m definitely sure I’m up a creek without a paddle.
My only hope is that Harry will launch a rescue mission when my parents figure out what happened to me. But with the Ministry the way it is, they may just decide to wipe my parents’ memory of me and call it a day, and Harry may not even realize I’m gone until the summer is over. And that’s if he doesn’t hate me forever for kissing him.
What I can’t understand, and what, of course, you can’t explain to me, because you’re an inanimate object, is why there was someone’s battered old diary in this cell in the first place, complete with a very conveniently included pen.
I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.
Were those…words that just appeared in the diary? Oh, God, it’s finally happening. I’ve gone completely round the twist. This is a terrible turn of events. It was hard enough figuring out a way of my circumstances when I was sane. But now I’ve gone crazy!
Let me tell you something: all the best people are. But you’re just as sane as I, Hermione.
And just who exactly are you?
My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. And I think we’re going to be of great help to one another.