Even the Stars Can Be Moved

Chapter 3: Three Meetings

In an instant, fifty some-odd years were gone, and so was the time machine. She landed in the Forbidden Forest of all those years ago. It seemed no different. Probably very little had changed. The centaurs were here; Hermione knew Hagrid had released Aragog into the forest, the unicorns were probably relatively unchanged. It felt as dense and ozoney and dangerous as it had moments ago, decades into the future. Only here, there was no distant sound of screaming. Hermione stood stock still, willing the tension to leave her. She knew she must look like a ghost, clad only in her nightgown and covered in blood. Blood that had been spilled, Ron's blood. She felt a distant relief that she had restrained herself from killing after all. She couldn't be responsible for a mask like the one that had settled on Ron's face, on her parent's face. On Bellatrix LeStrange's face. It was a horrible mask no matter who it sat on. Hermione had by now managed to replace most of her naturally occurring thoughts with strategy and plans and purpose. She felt hunger and pain and cold distantly. Looking down to survey herself, she knew she looked positively indecent. Well, then, time to go.

She pulled out the DD and began to move carefully through the forest. Tonight it was misty, nearly verging on rain. It was a mournful sort of night, which felt appropriate to Hermione. The tears in the skirt of her nightgown exposed her bare leg to potentially lethal varieties of plant life, but she was an old hand at identifying the various breeds by the moonlight. A sort of diffuse light seemed to be carried on the mist, making her task easier, but soaking her nightgown so that it clung to her body and chilled her to the bone. The numbness seemed to help. It helped drown out that last vacant look in Ron's face, the desperation she had left Ginny to face on her own. She swallowed, and moved on. Later. She would deal with it later. She moved around a patch of dragontitis, and could tell the forest cleared a few feet ahead. The walk to the castle was sure to be shorter than the walk to the Time Machine had been; she had been shunted nearer to the edge of the forest. The forest cleared into

the grounds, and she moved across it silently, quickly, encased in cold mist. She couldn't help but note how peaceful the grounds were.

And then she was at the door. She clasped a handle with her hand, closed her eyes, and resolutely

pulled it open. It opened slowly, and took a good deal of her strength to open it. She opened her eyes,

looking into the entrance hall, the door propped open, the night behind her, the past in front of her. How strange. It looked exactly the same. The last time she had been here, and had it been, really, only an hour ago? The last time she was here she had been carrying Ron. Had he been alive, then? Or had he died under the corporeal shield?

Hermione stood there for a long time. She was moving so slowly tonight, pausing at each intersection to listen to the afterglow of the war she was here to prevent. A figure moved in front of her. She hadn't even seen it enter the room. It paused at the sight of her, and a strange sight she must have made indeed, her hair a dark storm from the mist, pale and covered in blood. The figure stared at her, and she stared back. Her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the candles. A tall figure with dark hair and a pale face. Her heart crashed inside her. She knew even before he moved closer who he was. And she couldn't tear her eyes away. The reason she was here. The reason she had killed. The reason everyone she loved was dead or nearly there.

Tom moved closer to the thin girl standing in the doorway. He hardly knew what to say. So little surprised him these days, as his control grew stronger and more accurate. But this girl, who had simply appeared inside Hogwarts, which was said to be impenetrable since the appearance of Grindenwald. Who was covered in blood, and staring at him. No one had ever looked at him like that before, like they knew him better than he did. It wasn't until he was very close to her that he realized she was as young as him, her features small and delicate. But the eyes belied her age. The ones that wouldn't let his go of his. She was looking at him like he'd betrayed her, and he had no idea who she was.

Still silent, because after all there was nothing to say, Tom took off his cloak and offered it to her.

After a long moment, still not prying her eyes from his face, she took the cloak, but did not move to put it on. He realized that she was pointing her wand at him, and wondered if she'd had it out all this time. It had been a long time since anyone had taken him unawares.

"Go ahead, put it on," he said, and realized he could see through the bloodied material of her

nightgown to her skin. He immediately looked away, feeling a strange sensation provoked by the primal combination of blood and exposed skin. Slowly, she put on the cloak, with one hand so that her wand was not lowered. "What happened to you?"

"I need to see Dumbledore," she finally said, her voice ragged and nearly a whisper.

"Dumbledore? Surely you mean Dippet?"

"No." She looked quite close to threatening him, and he grasped for his own wand as well. "Take me to Dumbledore."

"Right. Come on then," he said, putting an arm out so she would walk in front of him. But she

wouldn't, and after a few moments they had silently negotiated so that they walked side by side, glancing at each other in appraisal. "You should know it is my duty to inform Dippet."

"Of course you will. It doesn't matter." Her eyes were huge, her lips pale. There was a streak of

drying blood running along her jawline. They walked in silence to the northeast hall.

Dumbledore's office was on the ground floor, at the end of a long passageway. In the future, it had

been an unused classroom, and after that, the room that Firenze had used to teach his classes in. She and Ron had once spent a night there. She looked again at the boy beside her. He looked so utterly incapable of what he would come to do, to be. His face was smooth and impassive, threateningly unreadable, but the changes he had gone through to become Lord Voldemort seemed anastronomical distance away. This boy was her age. How did a person change so much? She had changed, yes, but even so she did not understand this degree of change. She reminded herself that he had already killed a girl, that he would kill his own father within a year.

They were in front of Dumbledore's door now. Tom knocked, and turned to her. "He'll answer," he told her. "I'm going to go to Headmaster Dippet while you meet with Professor Dumbledore." She didn't reply, and he turned to leave, then paused. "I'm Tom, by the way." He extended his hand, and with a feeling of unreality, she took it. "Your hand," he said. "It's absolutely chilled."

"It doesn't matter," she said, in the same raw, whispered voice.

"Calisperos," he incanted, pointing at her.

Thumph.

The shield charm came back to life unconsciously, and the warming charm was blocked. Again, they locked eyes, and he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. Then the door knob was turning, and Tom stiffened and turned suddenly to leave. He looked over his shoulder at her, once, and she watched him disappear down the hall. Then she turned to face Dumbledore. His hair was auburn and his face a good deal less lined, but he was eminently and comfortingly recognizable. He seemed completely undisturbed at the sight of her.

"Come in, child, come in."

"Were you expecting me?"

"No, certainly not, but you are here, so here we are." Hermione followed him into his chambers. He was wearing blue night robes spangled with stars and moons. Hermione pulled Tom's robes around her closerto hide her own wild appearance. "What is your name, child?"

"Hermione Granger."

"And you are a witch, I am assuming from the wand in your hand?"

"Yes."

"It seems strange that I have not seen you in all my years at Hogwarts."

"No, you wouldn't have." She sighed, the exhaustion that had been distant suddenly very close

at hand. "I come from fifty years in the future. I just came from... a war. They burned Hogsmeade, and came to Hogwarts. They killed my parents, and my boyfriend, and my friends, and the only person who could have stopped it-- well, he's prophesized to be the only one who can kill Voldemort--" She saw him stiffen slightly at the name-- "--is tied to a stake waiting for The greatest Dark Lord of the age to kill him. I've come back because it's the last chance we have. That Dark Lord--he just walked me to your door. His name is Tom Riddle. I have to bring him to the future so Harry can kill him. There's no other way." She looked up, expecting some kind of expression at this condensed and unbelievable story, but there was only amusement in Dumbledore's eyes. She reached into her bag and pulled out the roll of parchment his elder self had written. "Here," she said, proferring the roll. "It's all here. You wrote this, or will write this, in about fifty years."

Professor Dumbledore took the parchment and unrolled it, placing a pair of spectacles from his

desk on the tip of his long nose. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "Would you care for a lemon drop?" He extended a bowl of candy to her, and she took one. He turned back to the letter, and she unwrapped the candy and put it in her mouth, letting it sit until it had dissolved. Some time after that, Dumbledore rolled the parchment back up again and looked over his spectacles at her. "Extraordinary."

Hermione merely shrugged.

"We will, of course, have to go to Headmaster Dippet's office to explain something about this to

him. Did Tom already go to inform him?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

"Well, first, let us do something about your appearance."

Hermione drew Tom's cloak tighter around her in response. But she was already clothed in a clean and freshly pressed school uniform. Her hair was also dry. She brought up her hands, which no longer had a speck of blood on them. "Thank you," she said.

"Forgive me for not doing you the favor earlier."

Hermione shrugged off Tom's cloak with relief. It smelled pleasant, and that bothered her.

"Now there is the matter of the identity which we shall have to present to Headmaster Dippet, in order to prevent anyone from recognizing you in the future."

"What? You aren't going to change my appearance, are you?" That would be entirely too much. She needed to be able to recognize herself in the mirror.

"No, no. Mr. Riddle has already seen you as you currently appear, to say the least. In this letter, it

says that you speak French proficiently?"

"Yes. My family and I used to vacation in France."

"Good, good. We will say you have gone to Beauxbatons."

"And the reason for my transfer?"

"My dear, it seems you will be far too busy to attend class with the rest of the students. And it

seems entirely inadvisable for you to associate with the student population. This letter informs me that you are here in order to build a time machine, and in fifty years, I will come to the conclusion that the best way to expedite the process is to apprentice you to our Arithmancy professor. Arithmancy and Transfiguration will be the two most vital components of your project."

"Oh," she said with mixed relief and frustration. She was already very far ahead in her studies, and had been looking forward to taking her NEWTs. However, it was nice to know that she would have assistance in her project.

"And as for your name-"

"My name? I couldn't respond to anything but Hermione."

"Will Mione do?"

"Oh. Yes, I don't suppose that's too bad."

"And it would be better if you were to be a member of a pureblooded family."

"But I'm not pureblooded," she said, knowing full well that she was being difficult.

"I am informed that you will quite like being a member of this particular family. They have been

friends to Muggles for a long time, and they would be honored to help your cause. Or they are sure to be, since they already have been, my future self explains here."

"The Weasleys? But I don't have red hair," Hermione said wonderingly.

"Oh, not Weasley, Miss Granger. From now on, you will be known as Mione Potter."

They departed to Headmaster Dippet's office after a hurried discussion over ways, means, and priorities. There was a story Dumbledore had already thought of, or would already have thought have, and included it in the letter. Grindenwald had been known to be operating largely in France, involving himself in the war there, snuffing out members of the Resistance magically. The few magical members of the Resistance had been countering his efforts. They were to explain Hermione's appearance by intimating she had been involved in one of their confrontations. They would ask that Dippet, and Tom, who was surely in his office, never say a word of it to anyone, including the Arithmancy professor Hermione was to be assigned to. It turned out to be a good thing Tom had seen her. He'd be naturally curious at her sudden appearance, although it was towards the beginning of the semester. They'd have a lot more success making him privy to a secret, albeit a false one, than by being reticent.

Dippet's office was in the same place Dumbledore's had been, although the stone-made Griffin had been replaced by an Eagle.

"Sophia," said Dumbledore. The stairs turned round with a clank, and they stepped into the staircase, going into Dippet's office when prompted. Dippet's desk was exactly where Dumbledore's had been, and Dippet, who was chubby and with a beard as long and grey as Dumbledore's had been long and white, was sitting at the desk. Across from him, Tom Riddle was sitting with his hands folded, a cool and appraising look on his face. Hermione avoided meeting his gaze, which he noticed. Instead she noted the walls covered in pictures, which was where the resemblances between the future and past rooms ended. Where Dumbledore had gadgets, Dippet had a geometrical stack of crystal boxes which contained various forms of magical energy held suspended in the boxes. Making such boxes to contain magical energies was an advanced working in itself; the study was another question. And the room was slightly bigger, which was because the walls had been enlarged to accommadate eight doorways. One of the doors was open, a potions room inside. Hermione broke off studying it when Dumbledore guided her into a chair. She sat down and faced Dippet, who smiled at her kindly.

"I understand you have come to this school... to seek out Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"And what is your name, Miss?"

"Potter. Mione Potter."

"I see. Mr. Riddle has told me that you seemed to have been rather more... distressed-looking than you appear now."

"Yes, I suppose I was."

"May I ask how you came to be... as you were?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the others turned to him. "Miss Potter has been in France until now. She has just come from a skirmish in Alsace."

"Do you go to school in France? At Beauxbatons?" Dippet asked.

"Yes."

"I see. How did you make it to the front door?"

"I contacted Monsieur Dumbledore in Hogsmeade, and he took down enough wards for me to get through."

"Excuse me for asking, Miss Potter, but why did you go to Beauxbatons? You sound English."

"My family lives here, but my mother wanted me to have a French education."

"I see, I see. I am sorry for all the questions at such a time, child, but I do like to keep abreast of such important happenings. Are you quite alright? Would you like to see the school's Mediwitch?"

"No," said Hermione.

"Was anyone greatly hurt?"

It made sense to tell the truth, however indirect it was. "Yes," she said. She sensed a movement from beside her, where Tom was sitting.

"I'm terribly sorry, young lady." He looked now at Dumbledore, an unspoken question lifting his eyebrows. Dumbledore knew which one it must be.

"As it turns out, Miss Potter had been working on an... interdisciplinary sort of project at her school, which she has been keeping me informed of. Her family and I are close friends, you see, and I have always been her emergency contact. It seems she will be safest here, and if she is in need of a distraction, she can continue this project as she wishes. It is an interesting problem, and I believe I can interest Professor O'Bleeke in it."

"Oh?"

"Yes. And I believe lodgings within Ravenclaw would be best. It seems the right sort of atmosphere for her."

Dippet smiled at the mention of Ravenclaw. "Yes, it does beget calm and cool-headedness, Miss Potter. I couldn't recommend it more myself." She managed a thin smile at him. She chanced a glance towards Tom. He was looking intently at the corner of the Headmaster's ceiling. "But what year are you in, my dear? You look very young."

"I'm seventeen."

"Oh? Shouldn't you continue in your studies?"

"May I make a recommendation?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, of course."

"I suggest we administer the NEWT-level tests to Miss Granger. I am confident that she is currently able to pass all of them, and if that is the case, then there is no reason to give her more work than necessary."

Hermione stared. Fat lot of warning that was. And Dumbledore was just twinkling at her. Well, it wasn't as if she couldn't take them again when she returned. She let a sigh escape her.

"I think our guest is growing tired. She has been through enough exertion tonight," said Dumbledore. Well, a bed did sound nice, however much he had misconstrued her feelings. And it would, she thought, seeing Riddle shift out of the corner of her eye, be a relief to leave this room. She stood.

"Shall I show Miss Potter to the Ravenclaw dormitories?" came a quiet voice from beside her. Tom was still sitting, his hands motionless in his lap. She and Dumbledore exchanged a look.

"That is very kind of you, Tom. Please introduce her to Professor O'Bleeke when you arrive," the Headmaster volunteered. Another glance between herself and Dumbledore. It wouldn't do to protest, she was sure, and Dumbledore seemed to share her thoughts.

Tom stood, and nodded to the Headmaster. "Goodnight, Headmaster Dippet."

"Goodnight."

He nodded at Dumbledore. "Professor Dumbledore."

"Tom." And Dumbledore grasped Hermione's arm briefly. "Mione. I will speak to you tomorrow."

Hermione nodded vaguely in both of the older men's directions. Tom was already standing by the door. She sighed again, resigning herself to his company. She hadn't quite returned to the events of a few hours ago, and she restrained herself from doing so now. Luckily, Tom didn't spare her a glance as they walked down the corridor towards the stairs. Hermione remembered that she had his cloak in her hands, and she extended it to him wordlessly.

"Oh, these," he said as he took them. He spared her a glance. "Are you quite alright?"

"Why?" she asked, descending the staircase.

"Well, it can't be expected that you are alright. Are you sure you wouldn't like to go to Madame Merriman's?"

"Yes," she answered, and Tom was quiet after that, for a while. After a while Hermione was disturbed by his silence, at the hiddenness of his thoughts. She wondered if he would try Legilimency to satisfy his curiosity.

Instead he turned to her and said, "Are you close to Dumbledore, then?"

"What? Yes, I suppose so." And, after a quiet length, she added, "He's a friend of the family."

"Yes, the family. The Potters are pureblooded, aren't they?"

"Why does it matter?" she asked, a bit more sharply than she'd intended.

"It matters here," he returned simply. "I should know."

"Yes, I know all about the Slytherins."

He smiled. "Prejudiced already, hmmm? Well, I won't try to persuade you. It's not just us, though, who care. Even in Ravenclaw. O'Bleeke is notorious about bloodlines."

"Oh really?" she said. She didn't fancy spending any time listening to anyone say anything about Mudbloods.

"Yes. Not that you need to worry." She thought she could detect a jealous undertone in his quiet voice. But maybe she was reading his history into it. They were nearing the entrance to Ravenclaw. Strangely enough, she'd barely been here, although she knew of it. Not many of the Ravenclaws had been good friends. "And with that introduction, I leave you. The password is 'Lux'."

"Are head boys privy to all the passwords, then?" said Hermione incredulously.

"Oh yes," he replied. "In case of emergency."

Her eyes narrowed and wondered if that was a policy that had been changed. Then she went to the door and said the password.

"Goodnight," he said.

Hermione looked back and nodded, and the door closed behind her.