Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

An Unfortunate Collision

It was as she feared. The pen had not put her in a mental prison; instead, it had sent her to a different time.

Hermione stood on the sidewalk in front of the lot where her parent's home should be, but alas, a dilapidated old factory sat there instead.

At some point, this factory would be torn down and her parent's home would be built.

Hermione shivered in the icy bite of the wind. Her nose was numb and red, but the shock she was experiencing chilled her deeper than the cold. Passersby gave her strange looks, but she took no notice.

Her parents didn't exist in this world.

With a choked sob, she apparated away.

She chose to go to the place she felt safest.

She would have simply gotten a room at a muggle hotel so that she could try to get her bearings, but she realized her parent's bank cards wouldn't work in this time period. Bank cards didn't even exist.

Diagon Alley was much the same. There were a few scattered witches and wizards lining the streets, but not nearly as many as there usually were in August before the start of school at Hogwarts. That was perhaps due to the frigid weather, and she thanked her lucky stars for that. The fewer people who saw her in her current state, the better.

She'd already garnered several gawking looks from a few bystanders, and she did realize how utterly ridiculous she looked, freezing her tits and toes off in a sleeveless a-line dress and strappy red heels, which were entirely inappropriate for this time, not to mention for this time of year.

Well, she thought rationally. I'm here now. So, first things first. She bit back her rising nausea as she ducked into an alleyway and unhooked her beaded bag from her wrist. She engorged it to its proper size with a wave of her wand and reached inside, searching for the bag of galleons she'd withdrawn from Gringotts for her school shopping. She also searched her bag for her warm crimson cloak, but discovered with quite some dismay that it still hung on the hook in her parent's foyer.

Ratsl I'd better purchase some proper clothing, she thought. The goal is to fit in, not stand out. I don't need to draw any more attention to myself than necessary.

With one particular goal in mind, Hermione steeled herself and made her way to Madam Malkins.

The fashion of wizarding robes in this time was quite different. She did have some extra sets of her own in her beaded bag, but the robes themselves and the clothing underneath were so different, that she realized she would stick out like a sore thumb were she to wear her old ones.

The shopkeeper eyed her with curiosity and astonishment as she shopped in her little red dress; still, she kept her remarks to herself and Hermione thanked her lucky stars again for small mercies.

The items cost her quite a few galleons, but she was pleased to find that her money stretched much farther in this time than it had in the future. She walked out of the shop with a pair of charmed chameleon skin gloves, stylish heeled and laced dragonhide boots, and three sets of fashionable dress robes in rose red, deep evergreen, and powder blue. She'd come across a magnificent cloak - silver with elaborate cream embroidery and trimmed with cruelty-free (transfigured) jackalope fur. It was quite an indulgent purchase but Hermione was feeling rather stressed and not at all immune to the stereotypical "retail therapy." She felt much better when she walked out of the shop wearing the powder blue robes and her warm fur cloak.

She wandered up and down the street, observing the changes that had taken place in Diagon Alley throughout the years. She passed a newspaper stand and purchased a copy of The Daily Prophet, which solidly confirmed her suspicions. The date of the issue read February 3, 1948.