Don't Repeat History

Don't Repeat History

By Clairvoyant Snake

Chapter 2~1^st of September, 1942

...The train's cogs started up and the trio got comfortable on the highly cushioned seats. The train lurched forward suddenly, sending Ron and Harry colliding into each other, and Hermione flew onto the seat in front of her, hard. Her time-turner flipped over and over again, as she tumbled off the seat and onto the floor of the compartment. The last thing she heard before she blacked out was a faint voice speaking to her; a voice that sounded nothing like Ron, nor Harry.

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Hermione stirred awake grudgingly. She faintly remembered hearing an unfamiliar voice that somehow sent shivers down her spine. Good shivers? She had yet to find out. But that would mean waking up! she forcefully reminded herself.

Bleary eyed and slightly confused, Hermione was expecting to hear the chatter of her two best friends talking about Quidditch or just about anything 'guyish' in general. What she wasn't expecting was a cool wash cloth, wiping away sweat from her tanned forehead. An unfamiliar smell reached her nose too. A scent of strong black coffee, mixed with chocolate. Hmm... she thought vaguely, silently wishing for some of that smell to enter her taste buds. Her eyes were fluttering shut and open a few times, but finally after a few attempts, she fully awoke to a strong assumption and an innate sense -that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.

Shooting up from a laying down position -that she was sure of not being in the last time she was conscious- she grabbed the hand that was silently washing away at her forehead. Upon grasping the hand, she felt an odd comfort from the contours and grooves of a male hand. Her grip was powerful upon this male's slender hand, and she quickly turned around to face what was causing such a commotion of feelings and emotions inside her.

The boy, more of a man, looked at her with shock evident upon his pale face. He seemed like a shy, withdrawn creature -yet very handsome all the same.

His hair was black and shiny. Quite like her friend Harry's. But more full, more controlled, and more manageable. Hermione wondered who this boy/man was, and what he was doing inside Harry, Ron, and her compartment. Why if anything, didn't Harry or Ron wake her up? Were they at the school already? So many questions flitted through her overactive mind and granted her with a tremendous amount of anticipation for the worst. Why in god's name was the boy wearing such ridiculous grandpa-style clothing?

The tan trousers, button down shirt, and suspenders gave an image of someone from a museum; the wax figurines that Hermione had once seen in London Historical Museum.

Frankly, Hermione was freaked out; her eyes wide and her fingers shaking, she couldn't help but be scared that somehow this 'muggle' or very muggle-educated Wizard was in the wrong place. Or that maybe she was in the wrong place.

***

The boy-man's eyes bore into Hermione's own with a vividness that shocked her. He seemed to be a nice bloke, so Hermione extended a shivering hand (once she had retracted her other hand from its vice-like grip on his) to his own shivering one.

She gulped down her nervousness, a feeble attempt at that, and he too seemed a tad bit uncomfortable in her presence now that she was conscious.

She attempted to start the conversation, however un-familiar her surroundings seemed for some unfathomable reason.

"Um, may I ask who you are? And just what you're doing in my train compartment? And whatever happened to Ron and Harry?" she said nervously. She never did enjoy talking to complete strangers.

The boy-man raised an eyebrow at her strained face. Apparently deciding that she was worth talking to, he answered in a cold, clear, suave voice, "Sugar, I am your savior," for which he smirked lightly and continued, "But you just popped into my life. I was sitting here by myself when all of a sudden -*you* just appeared on the floor of my compartment. And who is Ron or Harry? I know no one who goes by those names."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. This guy seemingly had *no* clue who Harry Potter was! Ron, she knew he might not have heard of...but the famous Potter? Now this intrigued her strongly. Never in her life had no one not known Harry personally or by reading/hearing of him in History texts. It was like a sin -not to know about Harry Potter.

It was now her turn to raise an eyebrow credulously.

"What? Not know about Harry? Well then...Um, so what's your name? And why did you call me 'Sugar'? It's not the Fifties ya' know".

"Fifties?" the dark-haired stranger laughed. "It's not even '49 yet! How could the Fifties come before the end of the Forties? And no, this Harry you speak of - is he famous? And I could definitely ask you the same; where did you come from?"

She bit her lip nervously.

"Well...I...Uh...don't know actually. And it's 1994, why are you saying it's 40-something?"

"'42, to be exact. I don't know where you came from...but wherever it is, didn't they ever tell you the dates?"

"To tell you the truth, I think I'm in the wrong place," Hermione told him vaguely. She wished to exit that room as fast as she could without raising any suspicions. She hoped McGonagall or Dumbledore would help her.

She raised herself off the seat next to the boy/man and made to leave. He grabbed her hand and quickly asked, "What's your name doll?"

Hermione wasn't sure why she felt safer by lying to the boy/man, than telling him her real name. She had to think quickly, and come up with a name that she knew no one owned. At least she hoped not.

"Victoria Valasen; Please call me Tori. How about you?"

"Tom Riddle, nice to meet you. Hope you have a boss time at Hogwarts this year."

She prevented a gasp of shock just in time, for Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle himself had his very hypnotic eyes upon her. Under the circumstances, Hermione had to give herself a shot of self-bravado; no way in hell could anyone else withhold their true and real reaction to actually meeting the boy-man who would later be called Voldemort.

She did gulp though, and as a response to his comment for her to have a, What did he say? Oh...yes, 'boss'! Hermione nodded her head and managed a slight nod of her head and gave a small "Thank you" to him. She giggled to herself that Tom used such a classic slang term. But that was to be expected given the time period.

She knew there were pressing issues to deal with, and one of them was who she could confide in about her situation. It was a given to her that Dumbledore would be the best candidate. So she continued her stroll through the compartments, and as a way of habit she reached up to her neck where she knew the Time-Turner to always be.

It was not, and a few shards of broken glass were its only pieces left to assuage Hermione's fear of it being stolen. At least *that* hadn't happened, but now...She wondered if in this time period they had Time-Turners that went back years. Time for some research in the Library. She smiled a bit at the knowledge that she would be returning to her 'haven' in a few short hours.

***

Time flew and the train finally came to a halt. Hermione had situated herself in an empty compartment; the one farthest away from Tom. She told herself in her most rational manner, that getting to know Tom Riddle would indeed be testy to say the least. What if he started discussing his infatuation with power? About how his role-models were Hitler, Stalin, and Grindelwald? Not that she personally thought an anti-Muggle such as Tom could ever look up to mere Muggle overlords, as frighteningly obsessed as they were with the same interests as him.

But she knew there would be no way at all that could prevent her from speaking her mind about those issues, and if she said something that would change Vold- no, Tom Riddle's views -she might go back to her time, but with totally new and different outcomes.

The future was complex, and a tangled maze of one billion possibilities. One that Hermione wanted yet feared to mention was the safety of the Wizarding World when Tom emerged out of the shadows completely unrecognizable and as a demon in human form. But she told herself repeatedly throughout the remainder of the journey not to make her thoughts into words for the world she was in to hear.

First and foremost on her mind was the matter of how she would get back; if at all. And she feared the worst, yet Hermione was also looking forward to the twinkling, knowing gaze of her time's Headmaster. She also knew he was only a Transfiguration teacher at this time, and the fact that he spotted quite a few of Tom's suspiciousness was reassuring in that she would not be the only one slightly fearful of the shy, over-looked Tom.

Hermione also reminded herself not to reveal too much information to Dumbledore, for she knew he would certainly not appreciate knowing what would happen; the knowledge, both innocent and dangerous would be a burden, one that he could never do anything about. And if she for one second slipped up, the world as she and everyone else knew it would be zip, zilch, nada.

She sighed deeply, brushed her hand over her clothes, removing invisible lint and continued to dwell in her thoughts. Hermione realized her apparel would do nothing to discourage questioning glances and make her inconspicuous; swishing and flicking her wand upon herself, she now sat in a straight A-line light green skirt and a tan colored blouse that had a trim of white lace on the sleeves. I look like my grandmum, thought Hermione with self-amusement.

Not a minute had even passed when the door to her compartment emitted a knocking noise from outside. She frowned slightly, wondering who would be up and walking about at this time when the train was only about half hour away from its destination.

The knocks came a bit louder, not rudely, but more noticeable. She grudgingly got up off her seat where she had sat down with one leg tucked under her body and grimaced at the realization that her foot had fallen asleep. She tried to stand up on her own but failed miserably, as she was soon to find out.

Reaching for the compartment door with her left hand, she risked putting all her weight on her right hand to the door in front of her. Not smart, and an error.

As she opened the door, she forgot all about her right hand, and all the weight she had pushed into it forced her momentum to go forward. Straight into the very person she dreaded talking to the most.

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TBC...