Braving the Past

Chapter 2: Tom Riddle

Once the spinning stopped, Hermione fell back and looked around with wide, terrified eyes at her surroundings. She wasn't in the Room of Requirement anymore, but seemed to be just outside it.

She held a hand to her frantically beating heart as she struggled to gain back her breath. Had she escaped? What time was she in? Did Fenrir Greyback manage to be transported with her?

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and Hermione struggled to hide herself before they came around, but to no avail. A man with an auburn beard and hair, and bright flowing robes stopped midstride as he took in the cowering, bleeding girl before him.

"My goodness, what on earth has happened?" a younger Albus Dumbledore cried as he rushed to her side.

"Dumble-?" Hermione squeaked, cutting off as her mouth gaped wide open.

"My dear, we must get you to the infirmary at once." Dumbledore swooped her up in his arms with a surprising bout of strength for such an old man, and hurried her down the many flights of stairs that led to the hospital wing.

They may have passed several people along the way, but Hermione was in too much shock to process any of it. Upon arriving to the hospital wing, the young Dumbledore called for the matron.

"Madam Richter!"

A woman in her late thirties rushed out from the office so familiar to Hermione, concern etched on her face from the moment she took in the scene before her.

"Oh my goodness, Albus!" she gasped, immediately instructing him to set Hermione down on one of the beds.

Hermione reached out to grasp Dumbledore's wrist with her bloodied hand. "Dumbledore – please – help – " She didn't even catch his reaction before her eyes were closing and she was tossed into unconsciousness once again.

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"Where on earth did you find this girl, Albus?" Madam Richter insisted.

"She was on the ground at the front doors of Hogwarts," he answered.

Upon hearing those words, Hermione sat up in the firm bed with a loud gasp. Her eyes were going every which way, looking for Death Eaters, bodies, fire, anything.

"My dear, you are safe here," Dumbledore assured her with a soft voice. She focused on his kind eyes and began forcing back the tears that were spilling down her cheeks. Then she took in the time-turner secure around her neck and realized that she really had gone back in time.

This was all real. Dumbledore was alive, Death Eaters weren't able to hurt her. But if her Headmaster looked so different, how far back had she gone? Were Harry and Ron alive? Had any of them even been born?

"Can you tell me your name?" Dumbledore asked calmly, bringing Hermione from her thoughts.

"Her – Hermione...Hermione Granger," she stuttered.

She hissed in pain as something was poured onto her sliced arm. She tried to yank her hand back, but firm hands held her in place.

"Stay still, I'm trying to heal your wounds," Madam Richter said.

"Whatever you're doing, it won't work," Hermione told the woman, who looked up at her with questioning eyes. "That's...those are from a werewolf."

Madam Richter's eyes widened at that, and she paused in her dabbing.

"Fenrir Greyback," Hermione said, looking between Dumbledore and Madam Richter. "Do you know him? Have you heard of him?"

"I can't say that I have," Dumbledore replied solemnly. "But you aren't from here, are you?"