#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
Given the sheer identicality of the 1940s Hogwarts to that of her time, Hermione Granger is not surprised to see the passageway to the Headmaster's Office to be the one she knows well. The gargoyle statue is as endearing, yet threatening, as ever as Hermione approaches it, faking a look of curiosity in order to hide her nostalgic feelings of Dumbledore and anger at the man who now resides here. And like everything will be on this excursion, she finds it difficult to hide her actual character.
"Grindylow," Tom Riddle's sharp voice sounds in utter confidence as the gargoyle spins upward in agreement of the password. And though it is the same movement, she finds the password less than welcoming, a far cry from the candies of Albus Dumbledore's reign.
The stride of the young Voldemort leads them upward and into the office of the ruling Headmaster, Armando Dippet. And though she is a Gryffindor, Hermione enters slowly into the room, much tidier than it would be in a few decades. Perhaps it's the memories here, or the homely presence in the room that has her haltered.
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"Tom, who do we have here?" Dippet questions, or so Hermione assumes, given his position behind the desk. And though Hermione came to the almost certain conclusion herself, she has to hide a sigh at the validation that this cold boy is Tom Marvolo Riddle, Voldemort himself.
"I found her wandering in the corridors, Professors," Tom remarks, alerting Hermione to the lingering presence in the room, familiar and warming and almost heart-stopping. There he is, aged younger: an Albus Dumbledore staring curiously at her from nearby. "She says she's not a student or a local, and she requested aid in some plight. I figured that you would know what to do, Headmaster."
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The time-traveller wants to yell at Dippet to not fall for the charm of Voldemort, and yet she is the stranger here and he has snaked his way into Dippet's heart for the past seven years. But, unlike the Headmaster, it is obvious that Dumbledore does not succumb to the charm, his red-hair not shifting as he remarks, "Yes, I think we're capable. Thank you, Tom."
It's laughable, really, that Dippet is so blind to Tom and Dumbledore's obvious hatred. And yet, the young Voldemort takes the hatred in stride, never once flickering his facade, as he turns to leave with a nod at both professors. Hermione surely wishes to be away from him, lacking the energy to play the game, but Dippet finds it unfitting to let such a charming presence like Tom go.
