Reckless ~ Tomione

Croissants and Conversation

Dang, I'm good at updates.

The cold air froze her nose, and the sun was barely peaking over the horizon, but Hermione was determined to not return to the castle that morning. She sat by a rock at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, not far from where Hagrid's hut would have been in her time. From what she knew, he had been expelled the previous year, but Dumbledore was fighting to keep him at the school as Groundskeeper. Lying by her side was her beaded bag, which contained every book she owned from fifty years in the future. None of them belonged in this time, so she had to be careful to not let anyone else learn of their existence. With nowhere else to turn for help on the Second Task, she had desperately pulled out her old things, and was now re-reading every book for a clue on how to proceed. As she expected, however, there was very little on the Triwizard Tournament of 1945. It was as if it had never happened, aside from the brief mention on page 114 of Hogwarts: A History.

Hermione sighed. It was not a start to her day, and there were only four days left until the Task. Abraxas had tried to help where he could, but Hermione knew that his loyalties demanded he remain silent on his and Tom Riddle's findings.

A figure appeared in the distance, as if conjured up by Hermione's thoughts. With billowing robes and the confident strut of a model, Tom Riddle Jr. approached the woods. Hermione watched from behind the rock, shrinking her body to be hidden in the shadows.

"Good day to you, Youngling," she heard a distinctly male voice say, though it didn't sound like Tom. Of course, he was meeting someone here.

"-allow me a clue as to the outcome..."

Hermione piqued with interest.

"-stars align as such. The answers you seek do not lie in our skies, if they did exist. I implore you to look within yourself to find what it is you're looking for, and perhaps learn to adapt to your environment instead of forcing an outcome."

A centaur. Tom Riddle has a centaur going to him at his beck and call.

After several minutes of existential advice from the centaur, Hermione spied an agitated-looking Riddle leave alone. He suppressed much of his anger, which Hermione was surprised by, seeing as he was seemingly alone and there wouldn't be consequences if he were to take his anger out through aggression. She did, however, see a murderous look on his face and a hand gripping his wand so tight that his knuckles had turned white.

~

"We hopes you come again, Miss Greystone!" a very cheery elf called after her. Hermione waved and opened the door to the kitchens to leave, running into a very miffed, blonde-haired Fourth Year Hufflepuff, followed by Euphemia and Fleamont.

"Whoops, sorry," Hermione said as she nearly crashed into the kid. He blinked at her, then gave a crooked smile before turning to the kitchens. "Hi, guys!"

"Is that a croissant? I didn't know they made those!" Monty exclaimed happily before racing into the kitchens.

"Hermione, how have you been?" Euphemia inquired. "I know you've been busy with the Tournament and all, so we understand if you don't have time to talk, but we're all right, yes? We haven't done anything to make you angry? If we have, I sincerely-"

"No, no," Hermione corrected her quickly. "Nothing of the sort. Yes, you were right, the Second Task is incredibly difficult to work out, so I've spent more time than I intended on it. I do apologise, I meant to find you after class, but every time there has been some complication with that."

Hermione covered her statement with a small laugh. Inside, though, she felt her heart drop to her stomach. Staying busy had helped with the pain, but seeing Monty brought back memories of Harry, who resembled him too much to ignore. Euphemia, on the other hand, reminded Hermione that she had not been very close with any girls in her year. She was somewhat similar to Ginny, and yet so very different. Hermione had always walked on eggshells around the other witches when it came to topics like boys, or home life, and having someone who seemed to care about her made her realise that the life she remembered was tainted by rose-coloured lenses, and the parts she hated were blissfully ignored.