Even the Stars Can Be Moved

Tom moved down the passageways, following the trails of magic he felt running through the school, intersecting at times and then becoming distinct, four kinds in total that he could sense. Or was predisposed to sense. It gave him pleasure to identify the types. It reassured him in his feeling of possessive knowledge about the school. A feeling which had been unsettled by the sudden appearance of Mione Potter. He was privy, through a certain creative use of combined magic, to every staff room secret, all the floo conversations he could care to overhear. And here was a girl, who had bypassed all security, covered in blood, even if she did reappear perfectly in order and calm in Dippet's office afterwards. Not even a whisper that this might happen. And he listened to the news. That skirmish in Alsace had come in, later, but... an Arithmancy project? The whole thing made sense, but only technical sense. There was something vital missing. And the vital element was always the most interesting and lucrative element of a situation.

She hadn't been present at all today, from what he'd gleaned from the Ravenclaw Arithmancy students. Had she had some injury that she'd been hiding? Well, she'd seemed whole, on both the occasions he'd seen her. He came to the foot of the staircase. He looked around for Malfoy. He found him at the first landing, above him. That wouldn't do. He simply regarded Malfoy with a pleasant expression on his face, and waited for him to descend. Malfoy was well aware of what was waiting for him if he didn't, and he hadn't managed to deflect Tom's Imperius yet. And, after a moment of standing up straight and looking dignified, as if to make a point about it, Malfoy did come down the stairs. Tom clapped lazily as they came face to face. "Bravo, Malfoy, Bravo. You really showed me, there, didn't you?"

Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes. "You have my subservience before everyone else, must you demand it when we are alone?"

Tom grinned. It wasn't pleasant. "It's nice to make a point out of things, isn't it? You should be glad I don't use this opportunity to completely debase you in a way that won't come back to reflect on me, your esteemed companion." An Imperius was only as good as its user's creativity, and Tom was nothing if not creative.

Fear and a pitiful attempt to look blasé mixed in Pendrake's narrow face.

But Tom was already laughing and giving Pendrake a pat on the shoulder. He laughed loudly and Pendrake got the feeling that he was laughing at him, but he said, as he turned to go up the staircase, "But after all we know how it is between us, don't we? No need to dredge up old history, and suchlike, and so forth..." He took long strides up. Pendrake didn't find it hard to stay behind.

They met up with the old crew at the cusp of the Dungeons. Or the crew, at least, that had been started the year previously, consisting of many of the most promising Slytherins. Jean Lestrange, Judas Rosier, and Adrian Avery stood in casual conversation. They had the tousled, well-dressed look of the perpetually bored. True to form, Adrian was slouching all over the wall next to Geoffrey the Obsessed, who was chasing some unknown creature that Chester Lovegood had once insisted were nargles. He had some intricately made smoking jacket draped over his shirtsleeves. Tom smirked, and shrugged. Everyone, or most everyone, ate up practically everything any of them did. His methods of revenge and intimidation were a secret whisper on enough lips to keep the awful celebrity of his fifth year at bay. No one cared about that anymore. Not after his crew had been implicated in some of the crueler and more inexplicable pranks of last year. Hetty Brown had spent a week having toilets explode on her, courtesy of a liason Adrian had acquired in Ravenclaw. Tina Turpin had been knocked out and woke up in the the Forbidden Forest. Elrod Jeffers was sent to Borgin and Burkes via a cabinet on the fifth floor. It had blown up when Slughorn bent down to examine it, spontaneously. Tom had rigged up the explosion, but as it was en route it simply destroyed the connection the cabinet maintained between the two places.

The Dining Hall silenced a bit at their arrival, which was customary, but there was an underlying current beneath the relative silence. Everyone seemed intent on discussing something, and Tom immediately saw what it was. The elusive Mione Potter was sitting at the Staff Table, in between Dumbledore and O'Bleeke. She looked small and young next to them, but for the fact that she was ignoring them and reading a book as she ate her dinner and took a cup of coffee, in much the same manner as an old man with his morning paper. She had a serious and rather pale look to her.

"Tom, do you know her?" asked Adrian. Tom noticed there was a large green snake on the back of his smoking jacket. He was more amused by it than he thought he should be.

"Tom knows all, doesn't he," said Judas, with a small note of challenge.

"Why yes, of course he does," Tom replied. Adrian and Jean looked impressed. Judas looked placated. Pendrake, as usual, looked like a mannequin.

"Well..." drawled Jean. "Tell us."

"Her name is Mione Potter, and we'll see what they tell you about her tonight," said Tom.

"If you know why don't you tell us what you know? If you don't, why do we have any reason to believe you?" Judas asked.

"Are you trying to bait me again, Jude?" asked Tom. "It's annoying."

The problem with Judas is he was old friends with Avery, who was infinitely useful in his own way.

"Anyway," said Adrian, "what do you reckon she's here for? And more importantly, do you reckon she's pretty?"

"I think so," said Jean.

"I think," said Tom, quietly, "that she's important." He gave Adrian a glare, and they didn't speak of her again, instead making plans for the Felix Felicis floating gambling operation. He'd discovered a foolproof way to reap the benefits of Felix. He and the crew all took it, and all bet on Slytherin. Luckily for them, Slytherin had won every game and the Cup last year. The team members had been checked thoroughly for signs of anything untoward, but the staff hadn't thought to look further into the matter. Dumbledore's preferred reaction to him now seemed to be some kind of appeasement, which would cost him when Tom got around to exacting old debts. The upshot was, Tom had more money than he remembered ever having, and had invested it quietly with an arbitrageur out of London. Avery's Ravenclaw contact, Alicia Silversmith, collected for her house, as well as for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Tom sent Judas to make the weekend's arrangements with her. Tom, unnoticed, banished a bit of cream onto the seat, unbeknownst to everyone else. He smirked when Judas returned to sit down. Professor Dippet interrupted their collusion with a call to attention.

"Before," said Headmaster Dippet, "we adjourn to bed, I would like to introduce you to a new member of the Hogwarts staff. Mione Potter," and here he gave her a nod, as she looked resolutely over the school, "will be acting in an advisory capacity to Professor O'Bleeke. She is apprenticing, and will provide administrative support." He looked around, seemed to remember something, and then said, "Welcome, Miss Potter." It seemed that the students were glad to finally have a young staffperson. There was, after all, no one less than half a century old on staff. There was a bit more conversation as the Hall cleared than usual.

Jean walked besides Tom. "So," he drawled, "have you thought anymore for a place to start our little... practice sessions?" Jean came from an old family line of dark magic and was very invested in making a name for himself alongside his forefathers. He had been the first person Tom had allied himself to after he had dealt with Malfoy last year. He had never been unpleasant towards Tom, even during the havoc Malfoy's little stunt had caused in fifth year. He also seemed to have a better sense than the others that Tom's powers were extensive and his ambition quickly becoming ruthless. He'd smartly always remained politic with Tom.

"I have been thinking about it, Jean. In fact, I have even found a place. However, it is not yet... prepared." His lips quirked at the thought of the site. It was an enormous cave on the Western side of the Forbidden Forest. It could be enchanted to resemble a castle, if he pleased. There were also wards he had to think on.

Soon, he would be able to begin his search for the ultimate form of control over life. He had grown obsessed with protecting himself in fifth year and over sixth year, insulating him against every magical force he could think of. But there was still that inexorable natural force, death. That great unifier of wizards and muggles. Magic had given him control during his muggle years. Perhaps it would be the source of ultimate control. He knew of the Sorcerer's Stone, already, but it seemed like an impossible item to procure. And, in magic, the maxim that held truest was that there were always multiple ways of procuring something. There were several forms of Shielding Charms, after all. With that, he recalled the Potter girl's reflexive shield. Skirmish in Alsace indeed. They weren't so far gone that you needed to be shielded like that. The Resistance didn't even know about Imperius. Tom knew of it due to information he had gleaned from a conversation he had overheard in Dippet's office when he was talking to the French Minister of Magic about Grindenwald.

It might be a signal pertaining to Grindenwald. Clearly, this girl had the kind of capabilities honed by warfare. How far they went, he was unsure about. But, if she could be kept ignorant of his intentions, she might be useful to him.

*

Hermione showed up to Professor O'Bleeke's class so early that even the Professor hadn't arrived. She wasn't sure if he would mind if she unlocked the wards, but she did so anyways. He might as well know her capacity. She settled herself at the table next to his podium, pulling out her books for the course, her notebooks sorted by Logico-Mathematical Aspects, Wand Movement, Diagram Grammar, and Theoretical Applications. On her right hand side she laid out the list of equations that had been proven since 1944. Dumbledore had included it in the packet he had handed to her with the note to his younger self. Most of them seemed to have been proven from the period of 1945 to 1947. She looked calmly around, her curls pulled into a loose bun, feeling clean and tidy and in control.

The first person in the class was not Professor O'Bleeke, but Picus Smith. The resemblance to Zachariah Smith was somewhat uncanny, although the boy had brown hair instead of blond. He kept looking up from his book to her questioningly, but she ignored him. Then came the Professor, who handed her the syllabus for the day, followed by a group of Gryffindors, a group of Slytherins, and then another group of Slytherins among whom was Tom. He moved in front, and was flanked, funnily enough, by a fair-haired brute and an angelic-looking, dark-haired athletic sort. She rifled through the files in her mind and tried to sort the group. Who was Avery, and who was LeStrange? Good lord, that one looked like a Malfoy. There were three others behind the front three. She turned back to Picus Smith, and a few more Gryffindors streamed through the door. She could tell people were starting to give her curious looks, so she sorted through her papers looking for anything related to the day's topic. A last Gryffindor entered, and Professor O'Bleeke slammed the door. She looked up. Tom was looking steadily at her. He leaned over to the Malfoy to say something, and Malfoy's face grew an empty little smile. Professor O'Bleeke cleared his throat.

"Good morning, class."

The class chimed a slightly lackluster "Good morning." She couldn't help but notice that Tom's voice was conspicuously absent.

"I have a bit of an announcement to make before I begin. Owing to a... little puzzle that I have decided to devote my time to, I will occasionally be missing class. This young lady will be substituting for me on those occasions, and will also be taking care of grading and proctoring exams. You can consider her my assistant, and go to her with all your needs. Above all, as you can see, I would like you all to leave me alone," he finished, but he said it with a smile, and the class tittered. Hermione looked steadily at the class, and not a few people returned her gaze. She avoided the one Tom was giving her. Professor O'Bleeke wrote a Caern tetratic stipulation on the board and asked the class to work it out, and the class pulled out their notebooks and started scribbling. Hermione went through the steps in her head. They had covered this three weeks before she had left her Hogwarts. This Hogwarts was uncannily familiar, as if it was a duplicate, instead of the building itself. Lately, she had begun to think of the 1944 castle as an imposter.

O'Bleeke rattled through a few more stipulations with the class. Hermione noted that he had that characteristic of accomplished Arithmancers and poor teachers, of rushing through his explanations, and skipping steps he considered obvious. As this was an advanced class, it didn't seem to slow the class down or burden the professor with overmany questions. The Professor stopped somewhat early to see if the class had any questions. Tom raised his hand.

"Yes, Riddle?" said Professor O'Bleeke. There seemed to be some kind of tension between the two of them, like a subtler version of the antipathy between Harry and Snape. Riddle had mentioned that the Professor had a certain distaste for students who weren't pureblood, and she wondered if that had anything to do with it.

"I was wondering if you will be covering the whole of Occluding Angles," Tom asked, "or if Miss Potter will be able to cover in case you are absent."

"Of course, of course, why would I accept an assistant who was unable to cover the whole of the subject?" O'Bleeke answered rather briskly.

Hermione tried not to betray a reaction at this question. Well-played, she couldn't help thinking. She knew he would be curious, having been privy to her entrance to the school. She had anticipated that he might try Legilimency. But instead of revealing himself in a potential attempt, he'd found a way to see if she would be able to sense and prevent Legilimency. Of course, he had also just revealed to her that he was willing to take steps to satisfy his curiosity, and Hermione was glad for the warning.

*

Hermione returned to her room with far too little in mind to do. She had finished grading papers while speaking to O'Bleeke about the more interesting implications of the list of equations proven after 1944, of the equations themselves and the nature of the equations as artifacts from the future. He'd so far betrayed no prejudices towards bloodlines, but she'd noticed in his grade books that Tom Riddle's grades did not reflect that he was by far the best student in the class. Only Alicia Silversmith had made an above average impression, including theoretical notes alongside the scientific ones. Tom had attached an addendum which linked up to points that he had done research in. It seemed like he did his homework in order to use it later, for quick research purposes. Much like she had done her homework, and still did her research.

Her current research on how to go about making a time machine was proving difficult at best. She fell into a blue and gold couch in her foyer. There was no more progress to be made today, but she wished she had something more she could do, instead of coming up against walls in her thoughts.

Dumbledore, the older one, had given her one of the few remaining time-turners and all the research that had been done on it. She had Sternbick and Hobblestein's notes from the experimental period of the time turner, as well as its rigorous testing period, in which Sternbick had shielded the Jurassic period after a mishap with an imported and rapidly exported triceratops. She had a list of use diaries from all Ministry'condoned usages. But a time turner had very little to do with the Time Machine.

The equations had this property, too. They had never been properly

proved in the first place. Hermione realized that the explosion of proofs was due to the fact that she herself had given the proofs to Professor O'Bleeke, and he would show the results to his colleagues, who'd merely work out the proofs backwards and glean what they could from that.

Similarly, she'd need to work out the Time Machine backwards. She had a feeling that the equations would be important in some way, would play a strong role in the workings of the Time machine. And if that turned out to be true, Hermione would like to know who originally wrote them on that sheet of parchment Dumbledore had handed to her. It couldn't have been Dumbledore. Surely he would have told her if he'd played a part in proving them.

As for the rest of the workings of the Time Machine, Hermione had no footing to stand on. The Time Machine was thoroughly different than the Time Turner. First, the periods of time it shunted. Also, a time turner would follow you to whatever time you turned, but the Time Machine had sort of thrown her across time without following her there. It remained tethered to its own time. That had to mean something. Perhaps it had different consequences for time than a time turner. There was also the fact that Time Turners were so obviously manufactured for multiple uses. The preservation charms were interwoven too deeply not to be able to spot it. There was no reason not to think that the Time Machine had been built for a discrete number of operations.

So she hadn't any idea, really, what was necessary for the Time Machine's basic composition. There were no parameters to work within. Sighing, she stood up quickly and began to pace around the room. Then, setting her shoulders, she marched into her room and into a pocket on the bag in which she'd brought everything. She drew out the picture she'd taken of the battlefield. She could just make out Harry, a distant figure on a wooden stake. And that was where Ginny was fighting, she was sure, even though she couldn't find her. Still, bat bogey hexes abounded. She smiled despite herself. And Ron wasn't there.

You couldn't change the past. But what had Dumbledore said, about everything seeming so sure, in the afterglow of perception? Harry had to kill Tom. The prophecy deemed that he was the only one who could do it. And there was finally a way. And Dumbledore had said this was the only opportunity to do it, the time during which her picture had been taken. How many were dead in it? The multitude prevented her from picking anyone out, although Michael Corner looked like he was in a lot of pain. But Hermione had time on her hands. Who was to say she couldn't bring Tom to Harry before this? But she didn't. Hadn't. And how would she find out where he was? And what did she know about the future and the past, and how much of it was unchangeable? Humans rarely had an insight into that. Harry had told her that's what Firenze said.

Don't get involved with the centaurs, Dumbledore had said to her. Why had he said that? The negative imperative form made no sense, given that maxim, that you couldn't change the past. Had Dumbledore been trying to prevent her from doing what she had already done? But that didn't make sense. Or was he trying to get something through to her? Had she already gotten involved with the centaurs? It would, she thought, looking at the picture, make sense to. After all, who was she to leave such a pertinent resource unplumbed?

Well, she thought, getting up abruptly. At least she'd found something to do. Sleep seemed like an awfully expensive luxury now. She could at least spend this time fruitfully, researching centaurs. And with that she went, as she had so many times before, to the library.