Tempus Viatorum

Chapter 5

Three weeks had gone by of their 6th year in the 1940's, and Hermione had already found herself a routine she enjoyed.

She'd wake up, take a shower and dry her hair magically before going to breakfast with Kathleen and Aurora. She'd attend her classes, pay her best attention to be able to crush both Malfoy's and Riddle's spirits, and afterwards she'd spend her afternoon and evening in the library; either studying or reading up on other materials she thought could be beneficial for her. There had been a few times when Kathleen and Aurora had joined her, but it didn't happen all too often.

Sometimes (or rather most of the time) she'd fall asleep far too late reading something extremely interesting, making her late to breakfast and having to rush her way through the castle to get a piece of toast.

Someone she did not enjoy, however, was one very persistent Tom Riddle.

Hermione hadn't known exactly what to expect from mini-Voldemort, but it sure as hell wasn't a sexist piece of shit. Sure, she knew she was stuck in the 40's, and she knew they had rather backwards thinking back in the day; but honestly?

Her skirt had scrambled up a bit over her hips when she sat in that armchair, making it appear above knee length: and he practically called her a slut for it. What the fuck was that?

And to make things even better, he had continued on after that like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't slutshamed her or cornered her. It was repulsing.

It was not the only inconvenience she had to live with, being sorted into Slytherin. The Gryffindors, where her heart was, wanted nothing to do with her. She tried to make some friends during classes, to no avail.

Once she even tried seating herself where a bunch of Gryffindors were sitting in the library; and they had just got up and left. It was humiliating to say the least. They hadn't even exchanged a hello, but simply narrowed their eyes as if she had cursed them, before immediately gathering their things and leaving her there.

And of course Malfoy had to see that exchange, taking a seat right in front of her just to laugh at her. He was the most infuriating little shit she knew of, honestly.

And then there were the girls... Well, Kathleen Parkinson and Aurora Greengrass had gone out of their way to include her, so she couldn't say anything bad about them more than that they might not share that many interests.

They were both very attuned with presenting themselves in the best possible light, much like all the other girls were in the 40's. That included having nicely pressed robes, pristine makeup and expensive smelling perfumes. They were in the process of attaining husbands. Because that was the thing to do here. Girls were nothing without their husbands' names. So whoever got the best one, would also rise in their little society bubble. Truthfully, she found it disgusting. But then again, they were two very nice and bubbly girls who clearly made an effort to include Hermione in everything, so she let it be.

Sharing a room with Walburga Black, however, was... challenging, to say the least. Whenever she got too close for Walburga's liking, she'd scream about filthy half-bloods and disgusting scum that tainted the precious house of Slytherin himself. It reminded Hermione very much of the painting that hung in Grimmauld Place number 12, and now she knew just how much of Walburga's personality was in the painting. At first, she had almost begun laughing at the resemblance, but she quickly realised that this Walburga meant her threats and would curse her if provoked. She had to learn that the hard way.

Druella Rosier, however, was different. She stuck to Walburga's side and opted to ignore Hermione altogether. But whenever Walburga wasn't around, she'd smile when meeting Hermione. Regardless if it was in the hallways among others, or in their dormitory. She hadn't talked to her yet, but Hermione could sense she was intrigued. By what, she had no idea. It was safe to say her pureblood upbringing was the thing that held her back, if not the leash Walburga held around her neck.