Tempus | Tom Riddle

ONE

When Tom's eyes opened, he felt as if his body had been swallowed by Fiendfyre. 

Sweat-matted hair plastered itself against his damp forehead, and as he shifted slightly he felt soft earth give way from under him. 

Sluggishly, he pulled himself up into a seated position. The black sky was smattered with stars, and trees groaned not too far off, leaves rustling in the nighttime summer breeze. 

Hogwarts and its many candle-lit windows leered down at him, unchanged by time. Tom wondered if his attempt had been successful, and for a moment his eyes widened and he frantically grasped at his chest, relief flooding over him when his hand clasped around the cool metal of the time turner. 

 He stood, sighing with disgust as he observed the thick mud caked onto his clothes. With one final look at the castle, he turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction, toward Hogsmeade.

The small village was practically deserted. The barkeep at The Hog's Head Inn observed the newcomer suspiciously, but that sentiment faded as soon as Tom slapped three galleons down onto the bar, which was no small sum, especially in this time. 

"Do you have today's Prophet?" Tom questioned, sitting on a wobbly stool. 

"I have Tuesday's."

"...And what day is it today? I've been travelling a lot - time zones and whatnot."

"Friday."

"You're three days behind on the paper?"

"What do you think we are, the Gilded Goblet? What you see is what you get. Feel free to leave."

Tom sighed in defeat. "Fine. I'll take Tuesday's paper ... and a firewhisky."

The man nodded, and with a flick of his wand a tattered newspaper appeared. Tom glanced down at it curiously, choosing to ignore the fact that it smelled faintly of piss.

August 28th, 1923

If Tuesday had been the 28th, then tonight was the 31st. Tom was surprised that he had been so successful, for his desired arrival had been the 29th, thus putting him a mere two days behind schedule. Part of him expected to end up in a completely different century altogether, trapped in the Bronze Age or some similar nightmare.

LORCAN MCLAIRD NAMED NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC

Tom read the article with interest, not sparing the barkeep a second glance when a glass was set in front of him. 

CASE SOLVED : LONDON EXPLOSION TRACED BACK TO GRINDELWALD REGIME 

ARRESTS MADE FOR MOLEHOUSE MURDERS

CONFIRMED: PHINEAS BLACK STEPPING DOWN FROM HOGWARTS HEADMASTER POSITION IN 1926

Soon enough, the entire paper had been read and Tom's whisky glass was dry as parchment. He mumbled a goodnight as he retreated to his small, dank room, and sleep found him far easier than he had expected. 

The next day, after sleeping for a long ten hours, Tom was relieved to walk outside and see that shops were open. He made his rounds, purchasing the proper clothing and asking innocent questions about recent events, trying to eek out any information he could before he set out to find the man who had forced him into this mess in the first place: Albus Dumbledore.

His walk back to Hogwarts was reluctant and slow, his new trunk levitating behind him like an unwieldy shadow. More than once he wondered what would happen if he turned back to Hogsmeade and flooed to anywhere else, but Tom had a life to return to: a very important life full of unfinished business and endless opportunities. The sooner he completed Dumbledore's task, the better.