The Dark Lord's Playbook of Nefarious Misdeeds

Back In Time?

A/N: the next chapter and the aftermath of being sucked into the time turner. This story is sort of the case where the readers know a little more about what is going on than the characters. I did my best to describe historical London, so I hope I set the scene ok (but really just try to imagine the Sherlock Holmes movie with Robert Downy Jr). The painting series I referenced by William Hogarth is real and really depressing. I left the chapter where I thought it should end. Not much Tom in this one, mostly about Hermione dealing with the situation and getting caught up in something. Keep in mind there are mature themes in this chapter.

BACK IN TIME?

Hermione POV

Inside the time turner

I could feel myself get sucked into the portkey well at least that is what it felt like. One minute I am standing behind Voldemort clutching at his robe like a frightened schoolgirl and the next I am deposited...where exactly? How did this happen? I felt stupid for not paying attention in the Forbidden Forest completely. Dumbledore caught us all completely off guard and something was definitely wrong. He was supposed to be dead and so I found myself clinging to the back of Voldemort's robes, even more surprising was that he had let me. Even gently nudging me behind him...it was an odd gesture for someone so cruel and ruthless. I couldn't process this. It.... just.... I need time and space to think. I was so overwhelmed.

I looked around at where we are, everything was so foreign but strangely familiar at the same time. There were no skyscrapers cutting into the skyline or motor cars honking at the traffic congestion. No there was still plenty of buildings and the bridge being built across the river, there were sailboats and coal powered boats that chugged on the water emitting thick black smoke. The roads were semi paved, what wasn't paved was covered in a thick layer of horse manure. Horses neighed, their hooves clopping rhythmically, men shouting and bells ringing. We looked down at the city scene before us. I knew where we were and roughly the time period.

London, England

Possibly late 1700s early 1800s.

I sucked in a deep breath to try to prevent the panic that was rushing through me, to get a full grip on myself before I had a full-blown panic attack. This was disastrous, how were we going to get back? How the fuck did we end up in here in the first place? What were we going to do for food? For shelter? We had no money and no possessions on us. I slumped back on the ground. I really wanted to be repulsed by sitting on the filth and grime, but I just couldn't summon the feeling to care.

Anger simmered underneath. It was his fault, if he didn't start this/that stupid war then we wouldn't be here, and I would be back at Hogwarts. I knew it was completely irrational, but I needed to direct my anger somewhere and he was the only person around for it.

I turned my head ready to spit fire at him, rip him to shreds with my words; cut him down. At first, I blinked, my anger on hold as I took him in. He didn't resemble the snake faced man Voldemort was back in the forest. No...this was a man in his late thirties, with dark curly hair, steel blue grey eyes, soft pink lips, chiselled jaw and high cheek bones. He was devastatingly gorgeous. So, this is what Voldemort would have looked like if he didn't make all those horcruxes. Still...he is the one to blame. I narrowed my eyes and he glared back at me; jaw clenched.

"You villainous arsehole, this is all your fault. With your war mongering and pitiful attempts at trying to take over the wizarding world. You got us into this mess and so you better be working on a way to get us out of it!", I was so worked up and overwrought, that I didn't care that I looked like a petulant child chucking a tantrum on the ground. I looked weak, the one thing he absolutely despised.