The Only Truth... | Part Three
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader
There are all sorts of hazards inside a Prisoner of War camp - guards, disease, injury, infection. One that none of you were banking on was the weather itself. Despite it all, and a severe lack of time to linger in one another's presence, you still find yourself growing ever closer to a certain Major.
Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Disease, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, Kissing, SS Officers, Depictions of Nazi Atrocities Against Russian Soldiers, Threats, Fear, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 6337
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April 21, 1945
Despite heeding your request and allowing others to bear the body of the late Freddy Simms, the boy whose name he learned only after his death, from the hospital to the corner of the camp where other bodies were also awaiting transport to the graveyard, Bucky still found himself tremendously sore the next morning. If not for roll call, he would have much preferred to remain on his makeshift sleeping palette tucked beneath the eaves of a fully occupied tent only half-protected from the elements. As it was, the resident goons needed him upright and counted, and so, with no shortage of grunting and grimacing, he had forced himself up and into line.
Considering the overwhelming population present, it was a wonder the guards did not just spend all day counting the prisoners to satisfy their twice daily checks. A few mouthfuls of broth later and Bucky had just lain back down to rest before it seemed like he was having to repeat the arduous process all over again. It had taken another day of rest to recover from his overexertion, but when he awoke this morning, things seemed a little less torturous. The warmth in the sunshine certainly helped, and he felt energized enough to accompany the delivery of the hot loaves of dense, black bread to the hospital. As his eyes scanned the rows of cots in the tent and then the clapboard building, he barely concealed his frown as you seemed nowhere to be found.
“Major, would you mind taking this pail of bandages out back for me? The Nurse seemed to miss them when she collected the laundry this morning.” There was a knowing tone to Chalmers’ request that made him swallow sheepishly, his ears heating up slightly, but he quickly nodded.
Grabbing the rather light pail with the hand of his uninjured side, he walked down the hallway to drop off a loaf of bread in your sparse quarters, brows furrowing at the lack of windows therein, before continuing out the back door. The sight of you crouched beside a basin, sleeves rolled up as you scrubbed at the sudsy rags with a large pot of bandages boiling away on a small fire nearby was so utterly domestic, Bucky could not help but let his mind wander. To imagine you in a kinder place doing something so very mundane without the fear of being shot or starved to death. That was where you ought to be – not here trying to scrub blood and other filth out of tattered cotton under the thumb of SS goons.
Bucky swallowed painfully as you paused a moment to smooth some errant strands of hair from your face and he was able to fully see the painful scars on your left arm. Scars that he had previously caught small glimpses of, despite your best efforts to hide them from him, but the full extent of them made his skin ache in sympathy. That explained why your nightmares featured fire.
Your sharp inhale, swiftly following by the sound of your boot impacting the pail behind you, pulled him from his reverie. Sent his eyes flying back up to see your horrified expression. You were frantically tugging down the rolls of your sleeve as you backed away from him, gait horribly off balance due to the obstacle you had encountered, and he was both afraid you would fall over and that he had offended you. Dropping his own pail, Bucky once again found himself chasing after you across the small, mud-filled yard behind the hospital, sliding his arms around you to haul you tight against his chest.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It just looks like it hurt a lot.” He murmured into your hair, hating the way your entire body was rigid and stiff against him.
There was an agonizing, drawn-out silence where the ambient sounds of the camp bled into the intimate moment until finally some of the tension melted from you.
Sniffing indignantly, you muttered against his chest, “it did. Well not at first, I was too busy trying to get out of the damn plane and take my surgical tech with me. But after…” He felt your head bob in a nod against him and he pressed a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades.
“He make it?” Bucky whispered, immediately feeling guilty for prying, but he could not take back the words now.
“Fitz? Yeah, he’s here – helps out at the hospital once a week…” You leaned back in his arms to look at him with dewy eyes, that wicked grin tugging at your lips and the depth of his longing to kiss you took his breath away. “Don’t see him quite as often as certain prisoners, though.” You teased, making him grin warmly in response.
“Maybe I’m still a patient in a way, angelfish. Maybe you’re still healing me.” He had meant to parry your jest with one of his own, but instead all that had come out was a vulnerable truth, and you both stood there, eyeing one another intensely before Bucky felt your arms, previously trapped against his chest, slide around him properly.
The way you pulled him closer should have felt comforting, reassuring, but instead all it resulted in was a lightning bolt of pain ripping through his back and he was barely able to smother the resulting hiss. You pulled back quickly, fairly ripping yourself from his arms as you frowned at him with your hands on your hips.
“John Egan you are still very injured.” You chided, gripping his shoulders to maneuver and guide him back to the stairs before forcing him down to sit on the edge of them.
“Like it when you say my full name, angelfish. Middle name’s Clarence if you want to really give it all you got.” He smirked up at you incorrigibly and you huffed in what he hoped was a mix of fondness with that obvious infuriation.
“Don’t think I won’t add that to my arsenal Major. Now you stay right there, that way I know you’re not off getting yourself into more trouble.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He grinned, loathe to admit it aloud, but it really did feel better to be sitting down.
Nodding sharply, you grabbed his abandoned pail of bandages to add them to the pot of water, fanning the flames of your small fire until they burned hotter to boil off anything infectious, before returning to your bucket of rags. You continued to scrub at them, casting scrutinizing glances his way every so often before transferring them to a rinse bucket.
“Did you really meet the Pope?” Bucky suddenly asked the question that had been burning at the back of his mind since he had heard you speak the words to the Simms boy.
“Yes, I did.” You nodded, wringing out the clean rags one at a time before draping them across your ersatz clothesline. “The whole squadron did.”
“You were in Italy then…” He mused quietly and you nodded with a quiet hum of agreement, the pair of you swapping information without giving too much away to anyone who might be listening in. “Well I definitely did not meet the King.”
Your sudden peal of laughter had him both grinning and bristling defensively.
“That far-fetched an idea, hmm, angelfish?” He raised an eyebrow demandingly and your hand pressed against your lips, trying to smother giggles you seemed to be unable to stop. “Alright, alright… If I wasn’t stuck on these steps on your orders.” He threatened playfully, basking in the way that only made you throw your head back and laugh harder.
God, you did not belong in this place.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You apologized as he huffed, coming over to tousle his hair fondly.
It took all his willpower not to press up into your touch like some demanding housecat. Slinging an arm around your waist, he pulled you down to sit on his broad thigh.
“Think all this hard work is making you hysterical, angelfish, take a load off.”
“Bucky…” You murmured, reluctantly holding your full weight off him until he forced your hips down fully.
“Rest dammit, isn’t that what you’re always tell me to do?”
“But you’re actually injured…”
“So were you. They let you rest when this was fresh?” He asked softly, fingertips trailing across the abnormally smooth yet ridged surface of your burned and healed flesh.
Bucky could feel you twitching slightly in his arms, obviously not entirely certain how you felt about his touch on your scar and so he shifted to lace his fingers through yours instead.
“There were too many people to help.” You sighed. “Still are, I–”
“Just sit another minute. Can’t save ‘em all if you’re too tired to stand up.”
Your fingers closed around his as you exhaled shakily, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “I do want to save them all…and it’s never enough.”
“I know.” He whispered squeezing your side, lips brushing against your forehead.
The sound of voices caught his attention then – voices growing louder, growing closer. You leapt from his lap, and he reluctantly released you, assuming a casual posture as you grabbed a long stick to pull sterilized bandages from the pot and dump them into the sudsy water for scrubbing. Two guards rounded the corner, immediately barking at him.
“What are you doing back here?!”
“Hospital staff only, get out of here now.”
“Major Chalmers asked me to assist the Nurse, you can confirm it with him.” Bucky replied with a shrug, watching your eyes widen with curiosity.
“We will go confirm with him together, up.” The first guard spoke again, and Bucky rose stiffly, nodding to you before they led him inside.
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As you awoke the next morning to the sound of rain hammering against the roof, you were filled with relief that you had managed to wash and dry all of the laundry yesterday. It was still waiting in its baskets to be folded, but it would hold until your next free moment. Forcing yourself to feel satisfied with a few slices of the loaf of that black bread that had appeared in your room – you held your suspicions that Bucky may have played a role in its arrival – you dressed and emerged as your door was unlocked, blinking in surprise as Fitzgibbons entered the hospital along with Chalmers and Menzies.
You had honestly lost track of the days, a serious risk in the camp, and the fact that it was now Sunday, his shift and your day of rest, had completely slipped your mind. As a medically trained Sergeant, it was well within Chalmers’ rights to order Fitzgibbons to work in the hospital more often, but an early clash of personalities between Menzies and your surgical technician meant that his presence was only requested on a more limited basis.
“Morning Ma’am. Brought you a book to try and keep you off your feet.” He held out a battered paperback and you shook your head with a fond sigh as you accepted the copy of The Great Gatsby.
“Thank you, Fitz…sure you boys don’t need any help today?”
“You can help us by taking the day off as intended, Nurse.” Chalmers replied in a tone that brooked no argument and you nodded, retreating to your room to sit at the small table to crack open the book curiously.
The selection of reading material in the Red Cross library in camp was limited, dated. This book had been published twenty years ago, and you had a feeling you might have read it before, but it was hopefully going to keep you relaxed and your mind off the dozens of tasks you felt like you ought to be doing instead. Despite your predilection to turn inward and get caught up in an overwhelming sea of introspection, the story proved engaging enough to lose yourself in until a knock on the door jamb startled you.
“Mail call.” One of Bucky’s friends stood there, the blond with the gold teeth, grinning. He had a box tucked beneath his arm.
Confusion bloomed unabated across your face as you had not once received a piece of mail since you had been taken prisoner in January. No one had.
“I didn’t think that we were getting mail…” You slid a piece of scrap paper into the book to save your place.
“We’re not, Hambone, stop confusing angelfish.” Bucky appeared over his friend’s shoulder and snagged the box out from under his arm. “It’s those Red Cross boxes we thought we might get.”
“Man, I just wanted to say it once, still a kind of mail.” He grumbled as he strode back down the hall.
Bucky sighed, shaking his head as he set the box down on your table. “Sorry if he got your hopes up.”
Laughing dryly, you set your book down to pry open the already portioned box – each package meant for two servicemen. “Don’t worry, I’ve learned not to expect anything here.”
Spotting the can of powdered milk you held it out to him. “You take this.”
“Angelfish, why are you giving me your rations?” Bucky eyed you suspiciously and you raised an eyebrow in response.
“You’re healing bones and I’m not?”
“At least take half, put it in one of your old cans…”
Glaring at him a moment, you relented with a sigh, unable to deny the fact that it would be nice to have some to add to the bitter coffee. Digging through the remnants of your last box, you found the empty can from the allotment of powdered milk that had arrived in February and began decanting half of the fresh supply.
“You haven’t gotten a single letter? Not even your parents?” He asked quietly, leaning against the door frame.
Swallowing tightly, you slid the metal lid back into place on the cannister, shaking your head. “Figure things must be pretty bad if they can’t get the mail through. Not that I got a lot of mail before but…” You shrugged and held out the powdered milk to him. “Pretty sure it’s got a hole so use it quick.”
Stepping forward to take it carefully, Bucky’s eyes traced over your face curiously. “No handsome fella desperate for your scented stationery, angelfish? I find that hard to believe.”
You could not help but roll your eyes with a sarcastic noise. “Fellas don’t want girls like me, Bucky. They want some pretty thing waiting back home with the time to write pages long letters in looping cursive and those saucy acronyms and pretty spritzes of perfume. Not girls who spent so much time making a living they forgot to make a life.” Your eyes dropped to study the cans of corned beef, of ham, the fresh box of crackers, and small block of American cheese in your ration box. “I’m sure you’ve got a beautiful girl waiting stateside. Sweet and kind and not a whisp of a scar on her. Doesn’t know the sound of jackboots on floorboards or how to use a parachute or what it looks like when the life leaves someone’s eyes. That’s the kind of girl a man like you deserves, Bucky. To completely forget this nightmare even happened. Not this beat up, grungy, girl who wouldn’t even remember which fork to use at the dinner table–”
You barely registered the press of his lips against yours at first, mouth fumbling against his as you continued your litany of reasons why you were utterly unsuitable for him until at last you became fully aware of his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his kiss growing firmer until you stilled against him. An exhale sighed its way through your nose as the tension seeped from your bones, melting against his tantalizingly firm and broad chest. With a noise of deep reluctance, you forced yourself back, licking your lips slightly.
“You could get yourself in serious trouble doing things like that John…”
“Long as it’s not in trouble with you, angelfish.” He murmured fondly, tracing his fingertips along the curves of your ears before slowly pulling them back, tracing your jaw as he went, your nerve endings shimmering in the wake of his touch. “I just couldn’t bear to hear another word of that horseshit.”
A smirk tugged lazily at your lips, the tender flesh of them still humming slightly. “So if I spout nonsense, I get kissed, is that how this arrangement works?”
He exhaled sharply through pursed lips. “You can just ask, too. No need for all the absurd self-deprecations. Because the ‘fellas’ you speak of are idiots. You are a damn treasure, angelfish. Anyone who can’t see it isn’t worth your time.”
Feeling moisture gathering at your lash line, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him in to lay a firm kiss of appreciation on his lips, briefly glimpsing his look of surprise before your mouths collided. Mindful of his ribs, you slid your other hand to his hair, holding him close as his arms encircled your waist.
“I like this ‘arrangement.’” He breathed against your mouth when the pair of you were forced to come up for air.
“Mmmm. Well you’d better get out of here before someone comes looking for you.” You muttered, not making a move to release him.
“Absolutely.” He replied, only pulling you closer into him.
“Bucky…” You sighed, tone not nearly admonishing enough.
“Thirty more seconds.” He whispered.
The unmistakable and aforementioned sound of jackboots scraping across hardwood echoed down the hall and you started to shove at him. “Goon, goon!” You hissed and he back pedaled quickly to the threshold of the room, cradling the powdered milk under his arm.
“I tried reading that book, didn’t really understand the green light business.”
Chest heaving, you furrowed your brows, watching him gesture sharply to the paperback on the table beside your ration box and you inhaled in recognition.
“I think it’s some kind of metaphor in futility?” You blurted out, a long-lost lecture on the novel suddenly flooding back to your rescue as a guard strode past him down the hall, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Yeah, got enough of that in my real life.” Bucky huffed with easy nonchalance before shrugging. “Well, see you around, Nurse.”
“Thank you again, Major.” You nodded, desperately trying to even out your shaky breaths as Bucky disappeared down the hall and the guard continued out the back door, sending you slumping into your chair in relief.
Your trembling fingers traced the tiny smile that curled at your lips, not at all certain what had just transpired, but things between yourself and Bucky had definitely changed.
What most certainly did not change was the weather. The deluge persisted through the night and into the next day, Chalmers and Menzies arriving mud-splattered and damp after being released from their combines. The humidity was of absolutely no help to Desmond Brown, an infantryman from Pennsylvania who had been battling pneumonia for nigh on a week now. Dusty, as he was affectionately known, only seemed to grow weaker, and you were quite dismayed to note a bluish tinge to his fingernails and around his lips today.
“Won’t be long now.” Menzies uttered as you made your rounds and you nodded silently. “Doubt we have anything to prop him up and make him more comfortable?”
Scouring the hospital with your gaze, you shook your head with a frown. “I’ll move his cot against the wall and try to prop him against it – not the best but better than…” You left the fact that he surely felt as though he was drowning in his own fluids unspoken.
Menzies was smart enough to understand and nodded firmly. “Try and sit with him as much as you can today.”
“Yes, sir.” You nodded and the pair of you parted ways to put your various treatment plans into action.
Pushing the cot flush against the wall, even with its occupant still in place, was not terribly difficult. Malnourishment and illness had devoured much of Dusty’s muscle mass, though you did need a moment to catch your breath and recover, given that you too were three months into your POW diet. What proved hardest was keeping the man propped upright. Any time you would leave his side to check on another patient or help one of the surgeons with a task, you would find him slumped to the side or slid down into what he deliriously claimed was a more comfortable position.
Most concerning of all, a soft rattle had taken up residence in the back of his throat, audible with each exhale. It was worryingly known as the ‘death rattle’ and usually signalled the end was not far off. Fetching a cool cloth, you settled him into the most comfortable yet still propped-up position you could manage with a combination of his pillow and blanket and the wall before laying the cloth across his fevered forehead. Dusty blinked his glassy hazel eyes at you once, then twice, before his eyelids fell shut for the last time. His labored, rattled breathing continued on for a remarkable duration, and all the while you sat at his bedside, cradling his hand in yours.
You tried to remember sweet things to talk about – spring and its flowers, family dinners, Hershey bars from his native Pennsylvania, anything at all so he would know he was not alone. The men in the adjacent beds grew quiet, the only sound the insistent rain striking the roof and the fading breaths of your patient until even those were gone too. Confirming Dusty had passed by checking his pulse, you shifted his body to lay flat on the cot and covered him with the blanket, standing with a start to find Bucky leaning against the wall, soaked to the skin, watching quietly.
“You know where his friends are bunking?” He asked in a hushed voice, and you nodded, fishing out his chart to find the number of his combine, providing it softly. “I’ll tell ‘em.”
“Thank you, Major Egan.” You nodded, looking quickly as Menzies arrived to note the time of death as you glanced back at another meaningless loss, wondering when it could all just be over.
Bucky’s knuckles brushed against yours gently and you offered him the ghost of a smile before Chalmers was calling for you. “Try and stay dry, this is perfect trench foot weather.” You gave him a meaningful look, willing him to not become another tally on the death sheet, another hole in the POW graveyard.
Bucky nodded sharply in return. “Doin’ my best, angelfish.”
“Good.” You breathed before rushing off to try and keep someone else alive.
Another night, followed by another day of incessant rain, had the yard outside resembling a sea of mud. It kept everyone trapped indoors, even the prisoners who had been sleeping outside found their fellow men making room wedged between sleeping palettes lest people get swept away in the night. There was no meeting Bucky out back whilst doing laundry, nor any excuse to sneak off to quiet corners for a moment of privacy. There was simply too much to do and so all you were able to share, when he and his compatriots delivered another allotment of black bread that day, was an intense look of yearning before duty pulled you away once more.
The state of the tent had been weighing on your mind as it sagged lower and lower beneath the three-day onslaught of water, and it was no surprise when the canvas gave way the morning of the 25th, a mighty sound of rending fabric echoing through the space. A deluge of frigid, accumulated rainwater poured down onto the three men who had the misfortune of being positioned below the gaping tear, its ragged ends flapping in the breeze. Grabbing some towels of rough cotton, you were rushing along the slickened wooden floor to try and move them, dry them off, when the entire corner of the tent lurched and collapsed with a groan and further cries of distress.
“Help!!” Was all you had the mental capacity to yell in the face of the sight before you, hoping to summon Menzies and Chalmers.
To your immense surprise and relief, a flood of men began to pour in from the yard, most likely summoned by the sight of the collapse, but also perhaps your scream. As the lot of you began to unearth men from beneath the debris, you recognized Bucky’s friend with the gold teeth – Hambone, he had called him – as well as the brunette who had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt over ‘angel face.’
“Where should we put ‘em, angelfish?” Bucky’s voice broke through the cacophony from behind you and you turned back to him quickly, wondering when he had arrived.
“In the hall, towards my room.” You thought quickly on your feet, the very last available space in the hospital coming to mind.
With over half of the tent still intact, you worked with the group of volunteers to reinforce the structure that remained standing and ensure the men resting there were all right. Mercifully, the rain slowed for the first time in days, before stopping altogether. Barricading off the collapsed portion of the tent with the sodden, unusable cots, you turned to take stock of the rest of the patients, pleased to find them resting as comfortably as possible. You were drenched and filthy, but that was a secondary concern. Squelching your way inside, you gnawed on your lip to see a total of eight patients now sheltered in the hall with no bedding to speak of.
The feel of a towel being draped over your shoulders jerked your head to the right to see Bucky roughly rubbing at his dripping curls with a towel of his own.
“I am once again in your debt, Major Egan.” You sniffed, wringing out your shirt slightly into the rough cotton.
“Don’t mention it. I’m guessing the only beds you have for them are out there in Lake Moosburg?”
A small, incredulous snort escaped you despite your ragged state and he huffed an exhausted laugh in reply. Shaking your head with a sigh, you furrowed your brows. “We’ve got nothing but a few more towels, and an abundance of dirty rags and bandages…It stopped raining though.” You tagged on the tiniest piece of good news and lifted your knuckles to rap against the wooden wall for good luck, to help it hold, grinning fondly as he practically mirrored the motion.
“Small mercies. I’ll see if I can convince some of the others to part with their blankets in the name of the unwell. I’ll be back, angelfish.”
“You’re a good man, John Clarence Egan.” You murmured tenderly.
Bucky froze, eyeing you intently, unmoving. Not even breathing for nearly a minute before he exhaled heavily. “Suppose you did warn me you’d weaponize my full name, angelfish…” He rasped, fingers wrapping around your wrist to squeeze in a subtle but emotive gesture, his thumb stroking across the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, making you shiver.
“Sorry.” You whispered, having not anticipated the heaviness of the blow it would land, but Bucky quickly shook his head.
“I look forward to you almost killing me again, soon.” He smirked and squeezed one last time before releasing his grip on you to head outside, sloshing his way around the camp to scrounge up enough bedding to keep the displaced patients comfortable.
A variety of guards and their officers came to inspect the damage throughout the day, Lieutenant Colonel Clark making his presence felt as he appeared on Bucky’s heels and immediately demanded the tent be repaired to provide appropriate care for the men.
The next morning dawned sunny for the first time since the 21st, but the cheer brought by the change of the weather was significantly dampened by the appearance of the skeletal figures of Russian labourers. You had glimpsed them from time to time through the barbed wire of the fence behind the hospital, ghoulish figures forced to work in the kitchens, on camp maintenance and repairs, and burying the dead, but you had never been this close to them before. Clearly summoned to complete the repairs on the corner of the hospital tent, they moved in a slow shuffle, clothing barely more than limp rags around their spindly frames. Rumor had it they did not even receive Red Cross ration boxes, subsisting solely on the scraps provided by the SS camp administrators.
Your heart ached at the sight, and you longed to smuggle them food or something of comfort, but they were, at all times, surrounded by a ring of guards to keep them separate. To keep them apart from the rest of the POWs. Casting sympathetic glances their way, you collected the rest of the cots and bedding they unearthed from beneath the partial collapse and shifted it all outside to dry out in the sunshine, noting the increased presence of guards kept Bucky and his compatriots from dropping by.
You assumed the same would be true throughout the 27th as well, however, shortly after the sun reached its zenith, you straightened from a patient’s bedside to see him leading in an unfamiliar face, the shorter man cradling a bloody hand to his chest.
“McLeod here sliced himself good on one of the ration tins.”
“Sorry to trouble you, Ma’am, it just won’t seem to stop bleeding.” The Scottish brogue tumbling from McLeod’s lips matched his shock of red hair impeccably, even if it was a bit difficult to decipher.
“Take a seat right here and we’ll take a look.” You smiled and gestured to one of the freshly dried cots, wedged between other patients at it awaited the completion of its normal resting place.
As you perched on the edge of the cot beside him, setting a pile of bandages in your lap, you noted Bucky eyeing the crowd of SS guards and their waif-like labourers hard at work in the corner of the tent. Gathering McLeod’s injured hand in yours, you gently dabbed at the blood pooling in his palm, nodding as the depth of his cut was revealed.
“Think you might need some stitches here, let me fetch the surgeon.” You smiled reassuringly, pressing a wad of bandages over the wound, coaxing him to apply pressure to it before approaching Chalmers who was working just a few beds away from the construction zone.
The clatter of tools striking the wooden floor caught your attention before the frail body of a workman collapsed to the ground. Acting on instinct, you surged forward to check on him, a professional hazard when on duty in a hospital. The nearest guard, not quite so tall as the others and thereby twice as mean to make up for it, barked at you sharply.
“Get back, schwester.”
He gave you little warning before the butt of his rifle cracked against your shoulder, making you lurch back in pain and chastisement. The cramped quarters combined with the mud-slickened floorboards to send you sprawling backwards onto your hip, mortified, but as you immediately tried to scramble back up to your feet, a wall of humanity was in your way.
“She’s just tryna do her job, keep your shirt on.” You recognized Bucky’s terse growl first, followed by Chalmer’s British accent, made all the crisper in his annoyance.
“You would strike a woman who is only trying to help an unwell man?!”
Sliding backward across the slimy wood, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.
“Let’s get you on your feet, lass.” McLeod grasped your elbow with his uninjured hand and hoisted you up despite the way your boots seemed reluctant to find purchase on the ground, holding you steady until you nodded that you were, in fact, stable.
“Nein!” The guard shouted back through the men who had formed a barricade between you. “No help!”
Frowning deeply you balled your fists to see the Russian POW laying in the mud, unaided, unacknowledged by any of the guards or his fellow labourers.
“Nurse, go get cleaned up.” Chalmers’ orders snapped your eyes to his face, and you swallowed tightly before turning on your heel, making your way to the utility room to fetch some water.
You could vaguely hear the surgeon arguing for the man’s life as you transitioned from the tent into the main hospital building, but you narrowed your focus to carefully stepping over the men sheltering in the hallway. To trying not to cry at the meaninglessness of it all. Stopping at your room to grab your wash basin, you looked yourself over in the mirror, sighing as you were thankfully not as mud stained as Chalmers’ order led you to believe. Bucky’s reflection as he peered into the room made you turn sharply to face him, gulping back tears as there were patients just steps away.
“You hurt?” He asked softly, seizing your hands.
You shook your head quickly. “Just a little bruised, but I’ll live.”
Bucky tugged on your hands to pull you against him, wrapping you tightly in his arms. “You’d better.”
Burrowing your face into his neck, you could only muster a nod in reply, clinging to him, careful not to hurt him, until you felt able to take more than just the tiniest sips of air for breaths. As the crushing weight lifted from your chest, you lifted your head to look at him apologetically. “Sorry…”
“Don’t apologise, angelfish, you were just trying to help that poor man.” He sighed, pressing his lips to your forehead. You felt one of his hands leave your back and heard him huff a laugh. “You might want to change your shirt though, your back’s covered in mud.”
Tensing, you craned your neck to look over your shoulder, muttering bitterly. “So that’s what Major Chalmers meant…”
“I’ll get you some fresh water and make myself scarce, too many goons watching.”
Nodding softly, you passed him the basin, hoping the construction would be done soon and things could go back to their bleak yet relative normalcy. As if hearing your wishes for the first time in months, the universe actually conspired to have the repairs to the hospital tent completed that evening, all eight patients returned to the cots in the corner, the hallway cleared. Everyone seemed to breathe a little easier that night as you settled them down for sleep, awaking to yet another gloriously sunny day and finally the chance to catch up on the overwhelming backload of laundry.
Setting your water to boil out back and prepping your wash basins, you returned to the hospital to collect the pails of rags and used bandages, smiling warmly as you found Chalmers in conversation with Bucky about one of the American patients. He sent you a friendly nod without breaking his concentration and you bent down to grab the pail that rested between the central desk and the cot where one of the medium-term residents, Pete Thompson from Ohio, was recovering quite well.
“Nurse, you gotta be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He gushed, as he was prone to do, fluttering his long, dark eyelashes.
The young man had lain it on pretty thick since the moment he had arrived several weeks ago, before traversing a brutal course of bronchitis, which he was thankfully coming out the other side of.
“Oh come off it, Thompson.” You laughed warmly. “You boys are so desperate for female company, I’m sure you would propose to Eleanor Roosevelt if she had the misfortune of crossing your paths in this place.”
The guffaw your joke earned had you grinning brightly in return, and you made sure he was comfortable before turning to grab the last couple buckets, blinking to find them in Bucky’s hands.
“This all of ‘em?” He raised an eyebrow and you nodded, leading him out the back way to set your load down in the nearly dry yard.
You hard barely turned around when his lips were crashing into yours, hands gripping your elbows, kissing you breathless.
“Wha…” You tilted your head at him, stunned, when he finally pulled back.
“That’s for slandering our First Lady but also diminishing yourself. Couldn’t just kiss you right there in front of everyone though, angelfish. Specially not that soldier boy getting fresh with you. Had to wait ‘till we were alone.” He smirked and pressed his lips against the tip of your nose, making you giggle airily.
“John Clarence Egan, never change.” You sighed dreamily.
His chest rumbled softly before his lips surged forward, already parted, to take advantage of your surprise and slide his tongue along yours hungrily. In retrospect, his ‘attack’ may have been well warranted, give your twice use of his full name. It was also not unwelcome, making you cling to his shoulders and whimper down his throat as he seemed to taste every inch of your mouth. The way the hair dusting his upper lip brushed against your face threatened to undo your knees, your head swimming with lack of oxygen and emotion until the sharp snap of the door’s hinges had Bucky wrenching back from you.
Pressing your lips together to take greedy breaths through your nostrils, you watched Menzies moodily deliver a missed bucket of rags, eyeing the pair of you suspiciously.
“Best move along Major, we have guests inspecting the handiwork of our unfortunate neighbours.”
Bucky nodded to him firmly, sucking in a deep breath as though to muster a reply. “Thanks for the heads up, Captain. See you around, angelfish.”
He tipped his imaginary cap to you, and you nodded in return, watching him disappear around the side of the building, heart hammering beneath your sternum, before lurching back to focus on the task at hand. To say that your thoughts stayed to him often throughout the course of the day would be an understatement.
-------------------------
Read Part Four
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8
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The Hero's Mission
Request: None
Requested By: Nobody
Prompt: “You're the hero, huh? I guess that makes me the villain."
Pairing: Tom Riddle x Gryffindor!OC/reader
Summary: The death of The Boy Who Lived requires the need of the Time Turner to change Tom Riddle for the better, saving dozens in the process. A Gryffindor has a different plan in mind, however.
Warnings: mentions of death and murder
A/N: Sorry for the wordcount. Not sorry for the Tom Riddle.
Word Count: 13K+
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He really did it.
Voldemort killed Harry Potter.
The world seemed to have screeched to a halt, everyone staring in disbelief at the dead boy.
The Dark Lord cackled. “I’ve done it! I killed The Boy Who Lived!”
Red flooded my vision. I pulled out my wand, marching forward. Just as I raised it to cast a spell, my arm was grabbed and I was dragged back into the castle. I fought against it, turning to point my wand at whoever had a hold of me.
My eyes widened and I stopped. “Professor McGonagall,” I breathed out quietly.
“Albus only wanted this used if absolutely necessary, but I believe this is the only way,” she said, letting go of me and reaching into her robe.
I blinked at her in confusion. “Professor?”
She pulled out a chain, a tiny sand-timer dangling from the bottom. Looping it around my neck, she looked me in the eyes. “This is a Time Turner, allowing you to travel back in time. You’ll need to return to the year 1945,” she told me. “There is a young man there by the name of Tom Riddle.” She looked back to where the battle had taken place, the sound increasing. “He will become Lord Voldemort.” Her gaze turned back to me, holding a shine of sternness, as well as concern. “You need to go back and change him for the better. It will save many lives.”
“Professor, I can’t-”
“You must, Miss King. There are no other options.”
“But why me, Professor?”
She regarded me for a few moments. “You will know, dear.” Her eyes dropped to the time turner. “The protection charm around that has been taken off, allowing you to go back more than five hours. Take it and turn it backwards fifty times. That should take you back to the right year.”
The noise got louder.
The Headmistress turned to me. “Hurry, dear.”
I nodded, grabbing the time turner. I began to spin it, counting up to fifty. Once done, I looked up, staring at the castle wall in front of me.
It was similar to the wall I had been in front of before, though this wall was intact and clearly newer. It possessed less scratches and burn marks.
Students walked past me and I quickly realized I stood out like a sore thumb.
Muttering a quiet “multicorfors” I waved my wand over my garments, making them look appropriate to the time period. I stuffed my wand back in my robe, looking around.
Where to start?
A group of students walked by me.
I quietly slipped into step a few paces behind them, looking around casually in an attempt to not seem like I was obviously following them.
They unknowingly led me into the Great Hall, sitting down at their tables.
I stopped in the doorway, looking around for the Gryffindor table. Spotting students wearing red ties, I strode over, trying not to seem suspicious. Sitting down, my gaze raked over the room.
The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were behind me, the Slytherin table in front.
I scanned the Slytherin table for anyone that looked suspicious or evil.
Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I frowned, about to pause my search to eat, when my eyes landed on a boy seated amongst the Slytherins.
He was sitting up straight, talking with the people around him. He had a lean figure, dark hair that fell over his forehead on one side and features that looked- at least from where I was sitting- like the perfect blend of soft and hard.
I stared at the boy for a few moments, completely sucked into his demeanor and appearance.
He was talking to the people around him, looking at one of his housemates. His expression shifted slightly and he lifted his eyes, his focus landing almost instantly on me.
“-looking at?”
I whipped my head to the side to face the girl sitting next to me, grateful for the interruption. My cheeks coloured slightly, no matter how much I tried to fight it. “Me? Nothing, I was just-” my eyes, quite without me telling them to, drifted back to the Slytherin table for only a fraction of a second.
They didn’t even have enough time to focus on anything.
“I have an idea…” one of the girls, sitting across from the other, said. She smirked as she stabbed something with her fork.
“What?” I recoiled. “I was just getting used to my surroundings,” I said.
It was technically half true.
“I thought I didn’t recognize you,” the other girl said. “Are you new to Hogwarts?”
I paused. “Yeah.”
“What year are you,” she questioned.
“Seventh year.”
“It is a bit unusual for someone to join Hogwarts so late in their schooling,” the other said.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I was transferred from a different school…..” I trailed off before quickly introducing myself.
“Nice to meet you, King. My name is Margaret,” the girl sitting diagonally from me spoke. She nodded her head to the girl sitting next to me. “This is Joan.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Joan greeted.
I nodded. “The pleasure is mine.”
“Class will be starting soon…” Margaret informed. “Do you have your books?”
I faltered. “Uh…no, I-I don’t.”
“You can borrow ours,” Joan assured. She nodded her head at the brunette across from her. “Margaret and I always sit next to each other. You could sit with one of us, if you wish.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “How many students can sit at a desk?”
“Two.”
I turned my head to Margaret.
She went on. “You can sit with Joan. I will find another seat.”
“Oh! No- I can’t.” I lifted my hands. “I would hate to split you two up.” I shifted my gaze between them. “Is there an empty desk behind you?”
“There is.”
“Then I’ll sit there.” I shrugged. “No worries.”
They gave me confused looks.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“You…” Margaret trailed off.
“You say things in a most unusual way, King,” Joan said.
I pursed my lips.
Oh yeah.
“I… apologize,” I said, though it sounded more like a question.
They smiled.
“Come. Let’s head to class.”
I followed their lead, standing with them.
A lot of other students were rising to their feet as well, presumably also heading to their classes.
My gaze drifted once again to the Slytherin table, seeing the boy already standing, scanning the crowd.
His eyes met mine again.
I quickly snapped my head back towards my classmates, wincing slightly at the pain my neck had received for it. Following their lead, I stubbornly kept my gaze intentional, only allowing it to drift to the halls of the school, so familiar and yet so strange.
“Our first class is Potions,” Margaret informed.
I grimaced behind her back, quickly wiping the expression away when Joan turned around to face me.
“It is taught by Professor Slughorn,” she added.
I nodded, taking in the information.
The girls pushed the door open, stepping through.
“We usually sit here,” Margaret informed, gesturing at a desk in the middle of the room. She turned to me. “Are you certain you would not prefer to sit with one of us?”
I nodded. “Positive. I’ll just sit behind you.”
“Here.” Joan reached into her bag, pulling out a book and handing it to me. “Use this. Margaret and I will share.”
I accepted the thick book, making a mental note of the fact that Potions textbooks seemed to stay about the same size, even decades apart. “Thank you.” Sitting down behind them, I placed the book on the desk before leaning forward. “What page are we on?”
“Three-hundred forty seven,” Margaret whispered back.
I thanked her, turning to the correct page, guessing that the book was probably close to seven hundred pages. Looking up, I noted that this class period was shared with the Slytherin house.
Once everyone was seated, Slughorn started speaking.
“We are picking up from where we left off last time.” His gaze raked across the classroom. “Chapter-” he paused, his eyes landing on me. A confused expression formed on his face.
I did my best to keep sitting tall, my leg bouncing anxiously.
“Do we have a new student?”
All eyes in the classroom turned to face me.
I held my head high, determined to not cower under the weight. I kept my eyes locked onto the man at the front of the class. “Yes, Professor.”
He hummed. “Curious. I was not informed we would be getting a new student.”
“A mere mistake I’m sure, Professor.”
“Most likely. What is your name, then?”
I introduced myself, eyes unintentionally shifting downwards slightly towards the dark haired boy seated at the front of the class.
He, like everyone else, was already looking at me.
I quickly raised my eyes to Professor Slughorn again.
“-sit with Miss King for her first lesson? In case she needs any help?”
The boy turned to his teacher. “Of course, Professor.”
With abject horror, I watched as the boy collected his things, walked towards the back of the classroom, and sat next to me.
I looked back to the front of the class. “Professor, this really isn’t necessary-”
“The Head Boy will willingly assist you if needed, Miss King,” Slughorn said. “If you get along well on your own, should he so choose, he may return to his own seat.”
I held in a sigh. “Yes, Professor.”
“Good.” He turned his back to the class to look at the chalkboard behind him. “As we were talking about in the last class…”
I ran a hand through my hair, reaching for my quill to start to take notes. My hand closed around nothing and I lifted my eyes to look at where my quill was supposed to be, only to get a foul reminder.
I wasn’t where- or rather when- I was supposed to be.
I had no supplies.
Deciding I would rather try to memorize what Slughorn was saying instead of asking the boy next to me for anything, I folded my right arm on the desk in front of me, staring towards the front of the class.
“You might want these, Miss King.”
I turned to the soft noise on my right.
Merlin, even his voice was lovely.
At closer proximity, I could better make out his features, greedily noting that everything- his eyebrows, lips, nose- were perfect.
His dark green eyes were staring down at me, shifting between my own.
Before I stared too long I- with some effort- pulled my gaze away from him to look at the parchment and quill he had slid towards me.
My eyes widened slightly.
“It seems, Miss King…” he trailed off and I could hear the smirk in his voice, “it was good luck that I was sent to sit next to you.”
I lifted my head to look at him.
He was, indeed, smirking. His green eyes shone with kindness and just a hint of mischief.
“Thank you,” I said, grasping the quill and beginning to write as I tried to focus on what Slughorn was saying.
Merlin, that didn’t stop my leg from bouncing, though.
~~~~~~~~~
Class ended and I stood, handing the quill back to the Head Boy.
He looked up at me, still sitting, his gaze dropping to the object.
“Thank you for allowing me to use your quill,” I said, holding my notes at my side.
The boy lifted his gaze to meet my eyes. “You may keep it,” he said as he stood, forcing me to now look up at his tall frame in order to meet his eyes. He slung his bag around his shoulder. “I have more.”
I nodded once. “Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth pulled upwards. “You are welcome, Miss King.”
“Come on, King,” Joan said, grabbing my arm. “Our next class is this way.”
I gave one last look at the Head Boy, nodding my head again to signal a ‘farewell’ and a ‘thank you’ before allowing myself to be led out of the classroom.
~~~~~~~~~~
“This is Transfiguration, taught by Professor Dumbledore.”
I faltered in my steps, stopping in the hallway.
Professor Dumbledore.
It had been so long-
“...you alright, King?”
I blinked back into reality, looking over at Margaret and Joan’s concerned faces. “Uh, sorry.” I offered them a crooked grin. “Go on; what were you saying?”
They talked, but I didn’t listen. As we strode into Transfiguration class, my eyes instantly made their way to the front of the room.
A man was sitting behind a desk. He had long white hair and a very welcome face.
“Professor Dumbledore,” I breathed out, relieved to see someone familiar.
To see the man that had been killed.
“Yes, that’s him,” Joan said.
“Here is the book for this class.” Margaret handed me a textbook, which I accepted, though not really paying attention.
“Thanks,” I managed to get out before sitting in the only open seat; next to a Ravenclaw. My eyes stayed locked onto the Professor as he began teaching.
~~~~~~~~~~
“And this is the Common Room,” Margaret said, leading me through the portrait of the Fat Lady.
I smiled slightly at the familiar face before being pulled in.
The room, though possessing some similarities to the Common Room in my own time, had notable differences.
The arrangements of the furniture were different, the furniture having a far older style than what I was used to.
“It’s very nice,” I said, observing the room.
“Our rooms are up these stairs,” Joan said, gesturing. “Do not attempt to go up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. They are charmed.”
I nodded. “It was the same way at…” I paused, “my other school.”
Margaret turned to face me. “Where were you before you transferred?”
“Uhh…it was very similar to this, but it was a small school,” I bluffed. “You probably wouldn’t have even heard of it.”
They nodded, satisfied.
I let out a small breath of relief as they began to move around the room, introducing me to my other housemates. I greeted them all, smiling.
“Follow us,” Joan said, walking towards the stairs. “We will see if we can find your room.”
“Did Headmaster Dippet say which dormitory was yours,” Margaret asked.
I froze, eyes wide. “No…no, he didn’t.”
“Oh dear. This may be a problem.”
“I can go ask him,” I said, realizing that I had yet to officially announce my…transference, anyway.
“We will go with you.”
“No!” I shot my hand out before quickly retracting it and lowering my voice. “No, it’s okay. It’s getting late, and I don’t want you out past curfew.”
“But do you know the way,” Margaret questioned.
Assuming Dippet’s office was in the same location Dumbledore’s was, I nodded. “I’m sure I’ll find it.” I began backing up towards the door. “If I’m not back before you girls go to bed, have a goodnight!”
“You as well,” they said, waving.
I turned, exiting the Common Room.
Alright. Time to find Dippet’s office.
I began walking through the castle, making mental notes of the differences and similarities between this Hogwarts and mine. As the duration of my walk lengthened, I began to wonder why I was even doing this.
I didn’t need to sign in to Hogwarts. I didn’t need to take notes in class. And I certainly didn’t need to start forming attachments to young men.
I didn’t have time to be distracted, no matter how gorgeous that distraction happened to be.
I had one job to do.
I had to find Tom Riddle.
I had to kill him.
“Miss King.”
I jumped at the sound of the voice, whipping around. I couldn’t make out who was approaching me, since the castle was getting dark as evening came upon it. Pulling out my wand, I held it out in front of me. “Lumos.”
A light shone at the end of my wand, illuminating the boy that stopped in front of me.
My eyes widened. “Merlin,” I breathed out.
It would be him.
The Head Boy raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “Curfew has begun, Miss King. I do not wish to take points away from you on your first day, but-”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted.
He closed his mouth, looking over at me.
I could see a flicker of surprise, and possibly annoyance, in his eyes at being cut off. “I was just on my way to see Headmaster Dippet,” I explained.
The Head Boy’s expression shifted, becoming more curious. “Oh?”
“I realized he never told me which dorm was mine,” I said.
The boy didn’t need to know that I hadn’t actually been accepted into Hogwarts yet.
That would have been very suspicious.
“I see.”
A beat of silence passed between us.
“Then let me escort you. If any other Prefects find you alone, you likely will lose points.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
The Head Boy pulled out his wand and flicked his wrist slightly, a light appearing on the end of it.
My eyes widened. I hadn’t heard him cast ‘lumos’.
The boy gestured and began walking.
I fell into place beside him, increasing the speed of my steps to keep up with his longer strides.
We walked in silence for a few minutes before the boy broke it.
“Why have you transferred to Hogwarts so late in your wizarding career,” he questioned.
“I have a job to do,” I replied without thinking. My eyes widened as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
He turned to look down at me, regarding me curiously. “What is the nature of your job?”
I floundered for a realistic response. “My parents just thought that the school I was previously at wasn’t preparing me well enough for a career.”
“A career?” The boy was silent for a moment. “Most witches your age hope for marriage out of school. There are few who wish to work.”
“Well…” I pursed my lips. “I guess I’m one of the few.”
The boy hummed. “We’re here,” he said. He turned to look at the gargoyle. “Strawberries.”
The gargoyle spun, revealing the staircase.
I looked over at the Slytherin. “Thank you.”
“I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“That’s really not necessary-”
He smirked. “So you keep saying. But as I said, if you want to avoid losing points, I will need to accompany you.”
I looked at him for a few moments before nodding, heading up the stairs. Once at the top I looked around, noting that the office was very similar to Dumbledore’s. “Headmaster Dippet,” I called out.
A man with long white hair and a short white beard and mustache emerged from behind a pile of books. His eyebrows furrowed. “Yes?”
“My name is King, sir,” I said. “I was transferred to Hogwarts today.”
The Headmaster sat down at his desk. “It is very late in the day to be transferring, Miss King.”
I swallowed nervously. “It was a late decision, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Very well.” Pulling out a quill and parchment, he asked “what are your parents’ names, dear?”
I froze, trying to remember the names of my great grandparents. “Edward and Dorothy King, sir.”
He nodded, writing the names down. “What school did you transfer from?”
I listed the first school that came to mind. “Beauxbatons, sir.”
He nodded again, writing some more. “That’s a good school. Why did you transfer?”
I fisted my robe sleeves as my leg began to bounce. “My parents thought I would be more suited here.”
He looked up at me, saying nothing.
I pursed my lips. “Professor?”
Reaching into his desk, he pulled out more papers. “I see you have already been sorted into Gryffindor…”
“Professor Dumbledore, sir,” I said. “He saw me earlier…”
The headmaster hummed. “He made no mention of it to me.”
“Probably just an oversight, sir,” I said quickly, beginning to sweat.
Merlin, who knew trying not to be caught in time travel would be so difficult?
“Probably. Very well, Miss King.” He reached over his desk, handing me a piece of paper. “This is your dormitory room.” He stepped around the desk, leading me back down the stairs. “I will show you to the Common Room-”
“There’s no need for that, Headmaster.”
We both turned to the voice, seeing the Head Boy standing right where I had left him: in the middle of the hallway.
“I already volunteered to take Miss King back.”
“Ah, Mister Riddle,” Dippet said, clearly pleased. “Excellent.”
My eyes widened and I nearly choked on my own saliva. All the blood drained from my face and my heart began to beat erratically in my chest.
Dippet placed his hand on my back and shoved me gently towards the tall boy.
I simply stared up at him, at a complete loss for words.
There was no way-
“Hurry along, Mister Riddle,” Dippet encouraged. “I’m sure Miss King would like to go to bed at a reasonable hour,” he said, smiling before turning back towards his office.
“Goodnight, Headmaster,” the boy- Riddle- said.
“Goodnight, children.”
Once the gargoyle closed, the boy looked down to meet my gaze.
I didn’t think I had moved in the last two minutes.
Let alone breathed.
“Are you ready, Miss King?”
I finally blinked. “Riddle?”
He stared at me, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Yes.”
I opened my mouth again, my voice wavering. “Tom Riddle?”
His eyebrows furrowed further. “Yes.” He looked at me curiously. “Why?”
“I…” I trailed off.
What was there to say?
The silence stretched on and he narrowed his eyes at me.
I blinked at him.
His eyes widened and he leaned back slightly, standing up taller than he had been before. “You’re the hero, huh? I guess that makes me the villain.” He lowered his head, stepping further into my space.
I took an instinctive step backwards. “You should already know you’re the villain,” I muttered, amazed that I was able to speak, let alone say something so bold in my current state.
“You’ve come to kill me,” he whispered. “Tell me…where…exactly…are you from?”
I took another step back.
“If you don’t tell me, I can still get the information,” he insisted darkly.
“Stay out of my head,” I warned, with more strength than I felt.
“Everything alright here?”
Tom and I turned towards the voice, seeing two Prefects standing in the hallway.
Tom turned his body mostly towards them, moving away from my space and returning to his full height. “I was escorting Miss King back to her Common Room. She just got her dormitory direction from Headmaster Dippet,” he explained casually.
My eyes widened in horror at the speed in which he effortlessly swapped personalities.
“Very well,” one of the Prefects said.
“Enjoy your trip,” the other said with a wave as they walked away to continue their routes.
When they were out of sight I broke into a full sprint down the hallway.
I had no plan. My body was moving purely on instinct.
Where could I go that would be safe?
I didn’t have time to think.
He could easily catch up.
Running through the halls, I turned a corner and was promptly whipped backwards. I fell into a chest, trying to rip my arm free of the hand that held it.
Tom’s long fingers and firm hold were making it difficult to break his grip.
“Let go of me!”
Tom lowered his head. “Be quiet.”
“No!” I went to reach for my wand, but Tom’s other hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around my wrist and keeping both of my arms in his hold. I struggled against him, but it was no use.
“Why are you here to kill me,” Tom demanded.
I continued pulling against him.
“Answer me, witch!” His eyes flashed red, his face contorting into one of anger.
I froze, chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. My wrists hurt and my body was tired from fighting against his hold. “Because you’re a monster,” I spat. “Because in my time you’ve killed countless people,” I panted, glaring up at him. “Because I have to stop you.”
Tom said nothing for several moments, studying me closely.
I defiantly met his eyes, knowing he could use Legilimency if he wished. He already knew half of it, anyway.
“Am I the most powerful wizard in your time?”
I glared. “No.”
“Who is,” he demanded, his hold on my wrists tightening.
I lifted my chin, looking at him proudly. “Dumbledore.”
Rage flashed across Tom’s face. “Impossible.”
“It isn’t.” I stared at him, unwavering, even though I felt like my heart was being squeezed. “You’re going to lose…Voldemort.”
He stared at me, his chest rising and falling harder and faster than it had been.
Then he smirked, an aura of confidence washing over him.
“If I am truly going to lose, why did you come back in time to stop me?”
“To try to reduce the number of deaths,” I half-bluffed. “Just because you get defeated in my time doesn’t mean we should let you get away with all those murders.” I glared at him. “I know I’m too late to prevent the deaths of Myrtle, some of the other students around here, and even others, but what I can try to stop, I will.”
“So you’ve come to kill me.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think you would be able to?”
“That wasn’t my mission.” My eyes narrowed at him. “It was just the one I chose.” Reeling my leg back, I swung it forward, kicking him in the shin.
He doubled over.
I kneed him in the nose.
He let out a yell as blood began to run down to his chin, his hands loosening enough in surprise that I managed to wiggle one of mine free.
Grabbing my wand as fast as possible, I aimed it at him. “Stupefy!”
He shot backwards, back colliding with the castle wall before he hit the ground.
Walking over and rolling him onto his back, I held my wand at his throat. I looked at him, his unconscious body laying on the floor.
Kill him. Do it.
My grip on my wand tightened. Foolishly, my eyes raked across his softened features.
Even as blood trickled from his nose, I couldn’t help but think the annoying thought that he was breathtaking.
The two sides of my brain fought each other.
Now’s your chance! It would be such a pity to destroy something so beautiful. Avenge all he’s done!
I ground my teeth together, hand shaking as I pointed my wand at him.
Save the world! Save your friends!
Don’t destroy him! Do what you were told to do!
End it!
Do the right thing!
Ending him is the right thing! Stop him from causing harm to others!
Murder is never right! Change him to become a better person!
You can’t change him! He’s too far gone!
You don’t know that!
I let out a yell, jerking my arm towards the wall alongside Riddle.
A flash of light emerged from my wand and struck the stone.
Parts of it crumbled, falling alongside the unconscious boy.
I stared down at him for a few moments, heaving breaths.
I had to go.
He could wake up at any moment.
Giving him one final glance I ran towards the Common Room and didn’t look back.
Announcing the password I rushed in, sprinting up to my dorm. Opening the door as quietly as I could, I sped in, hurrying onto my bed. I sat on it, hugging my knees to my chest as I stared at the door.
I couldn’t afford to sleep.
He might come for me.
~~~~~~~~
I shakily made my way to breakfast the next morning, creeping around every corner to make sure Tom wasn’t there. I sat down at the Gryffindor table, only a few students in the Great Hall this early. Having had no sleep, I decided I would at least get something to eat and try to work through my thoughts.
Now that I hadn’t killed Riddle, what was my next plan?
Should I try again to kill him? He would definitely be watching me, now. He knew that I knew.
Should I try to convert him? Easier said than done. He’s already committed crimes, and I already attacked him.
Merlin, what did I get myself into? Why didn’t I just kill him when I had the chance?
No, I scolded myself. You did the right thing.
Even if it was for selfish, and admittedly, stupid reasons.
Alright. Tom Riddle was alive. I allowed Voldemort to live.
I could only hope I wouldn’t come to regret it.
In my time, the situation couldn’t get much worse anyway, so what the heck? Might as well see where this takes me.
I pushed the eggs on my plate around with my fork, being hungry and yet not possessing an appetite.
“Miss King.”
My head shot up, gaze locking onto a pair of green eyes.
“Riddle,” I greeted coldly, my throat tight. “How’s your nose?”
He glared as he sat down across from me. Ignoring my question, a smirk formed on his face as his gaze scanned me. “Did you sleep in your uniform, King?”
I frowned, mentally cursing myself for forgetting to cast a glamor charm. My clothes were quite wrinkled. “I didn’t sleep, actually.”
“Is that so?” A crooked grin formed on his face. “And why is that?”
I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. “You’ve killed for less.” I left it at that, knowing he understood the subtext.
He hummed.
I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”
“For information.”
I let go of my fork, letting it clatter slightly as it connected with my plate, and crossed my arms. “About what?”
“My future.” He inclined his head towards me slightly. “You.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, I think there is.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “If you came to kill me, why did you not do so last night? I was unconscious…” he trailed off, sitting more upright. “You had the opportunity.”
I regarded him silently.
What was the best way to respond?
I was never very good at figuring out what to say in delicate matters like this.
It was made even worse by the fact that what I said could drastically impact the lives of countless people, myself included.
“I couldn’t,” I finally said.
Tom raised an inquisitive eyebrow and sat up even straighter.
He clearly had not been expecting that.
“And why not?”
I looked towards the doors of the Great Hall to avoid him using Legilimency on me again.
I did not want him using anything to his advantage.
“I somehow managed to convince myself that you were capable of saving.” I allowed myself to look back at him. “That you were worth saving.”
He stared at me silently, keeping his expression very guarded.
“You’re a very bright wizard, Tom,” I said. “Powerful, too. In the right place, you could do great things.”
“I will do great things,” he insisted.
“You will do impressive things,” I corrected. “But they will be evil.” I sat up straighter. “For your own selfish end.”
His eyes briefly flashed red and I saw his face twitch as he tried to control his expression. “It’s natural for me to look out for my own interest,” he said, voice slightly tense.
“At the cost of everyone else?” I rolled my eyes. “How typically Slytherin.”
His eyes narrowed. “And I suppose it’s very Gryffindor to run headfirst into something without actually planning it out.” He scoffed. “Is it also a Gryffindor trait to retreat out of their task so foolishly when their opponent was helpless before them?”
I felt my anger boiling up. “I spared your life!” I whisper-yelled, conscious enough of the few other students in the room. “The noble thing to do.”
“Because you are so focused on being noble, aren’t you?”
“I don’t send giant snakes to do my killing for me, you miserable boy,” I hissed.
“They weren’t worth my time.”
I slammed my hands on the table, pushing myself to my feet in a hurry as I glared daggers down at him. “I should have done the job!”
Riddle stood as well, towering over me as he snarled back. “If you had any brains, you would have!”
The room fell completely silent.
My chest took in air at an irregular rate, and I noticed Riddle’s breathing was also unusual.
We refused to look away from each other.
“Your ‘perfect boy’ image is slipping, Riddle,” I whispered, raising my eyebrow challengingly. “Tread lightly.”
“I was about to give you the same warning.” His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. “You do not want to make an enemy of me, King.”
I met his eyes, a determination and fury flowing through me. “You were my enemy before I got here.”
Tom’s jaw clenched.
The doors to the Great Hall opened, students beginning to flood in.
Riddle cast me one last glance before turning and making his way over to the Slytherin table.
I let out a relieved breath, plopping back down on the bench. I watched Tom as he sat down, being joined by his housemates.
They all talked animatedly around him, but Tom seemed…distracted.
“Hello, King.”
I turned, seeing Margaret and Joan. “Good morning.” The words sounded tense, bordering on rude, to my own ears.
Margaret followed my previous line of sight. “Looking at the Head Boy again?” A teasing smile formed on her face.
I crossed my arms, scowling. “I resent that.”
“Hopefully she’s studying the enemy.” Joan turned to me. “You had better be coming up with ways to win the House Cup this year,” she remarked. “Slytherin’s won the past several years because of that boy,” she said, nodding towards Tom. “Everyone loves him.”
I looked back over towards the dark haired boy. “How... lovely,” I sneered.
The girls shared a look.
“Did you manage to find your dormitory alright,” Margaret asked. “We never saw you.”
The blood began draining from my face as the memories from last night came back. “Yeah. It’s not with you two, though. By the time I got back from Headmaster Dippet’s office, everyone was already in bed, and I got up early.”
At the sound of a few claps I turned my head to the right to see the Headmaster trying to get everyone’s attention.
I thanked Merlin for the distraction.
“Good morning, students,” he greeted. “Normally I don’t want to interrupt your breakfast, but I believe some point adjustments need to be made.”
My eyebrows furrowed.
“Last night one of the Prefects found Tom Riddle with some injuries,” he began.
All of the color drained from my face and my blood ran cold.
“Our Head Boy was walking back our newest student,” he gestured at me, announcing my name.
I felt faint as all eyes turned to me.
“Riddle has brought it to my attention that when he was walking Miss King back to her Common Room, a troll attacked them, injuring Tom and breaking the wall.”
I was certain the astonishment on my face was evident. Eyes wide and eyebrows to my hairline, I stared at the Headmaster in bewilderment.
“The Head Boy is certain that Miss King chased the troll out of the school while he was indisposed, saving everyone.” Dippet smiled. “For her bravery on her first evening at Hogwarts, saving the Head Boy and the rest of the school, I award Miss King with fifty points.” He began clapping, everyone else following his lead.
I whipped my head around to look at Riddle, the only one besides myself not clapping, meeting his eyes in confusion.
“I needed to give them some reason for my state you so rudely put me in,” a voice in my head said.
The voice was proper, smooth, yet stern, and so clearly Riddle’s.
I ignored the clapping, keeping my focus on the Slytherin. Why didn’t you tell them the truth?
“If I had told them the truth, I would have had to tell them why you attacked me, wouldn’t I? I could have lied, saying you simply lost your temper or felt that I threatened you, but questions about me would arise, wondering what I would have done to warrant such a response from you.” Tom sat up straighter in his seat, arching an eyebrow as he kept his eyes locked onto mine. “You pose no threat to me. You can’t tell anyone what you know without sounding like a deranged lunatic, especially after being here for only a day.”
I struggled to think of an appropriate response.
A hand on my back and a voice right by my ear had my head turning to my left, seeing Joan and Margaret smiling at me.
The connection between Riddle was broken, a sharp twinge in my head causing me to wince slightly.
“Why did you not tell us?” Margaret asked excitedly.
“I…” I trailed off. Looking down at my plate I hesitantly lifted a forkful of eggs into my mouth to buy me some time while I thought. I forced down a gag at the unwanted food. “I didn’t think it was important information,” I offered weakly with a shrug.
“It’s most definitely important,” Margaret insisted. “You saved the Head Boy.”
I grimaced at the thought, looking back down at my plate.
“The entire school,” Joan corrected, eyeing her friend.
Margaret looked over to the dark haired girl. “Well, obviously, but the Head Boy was more immediate.”
I lifted my gaze, keeping my head down, to look at the Slytherin table.
Tom was staring in silence at his own plate. Unlike my shuffling of the food on mine, he simply looked down at his, his arms crossed and resting on the table.
What was he thinking about?
Was he thinking of killing me? Would he decide to kill Dumbledore, since I told him that he was the most powerful wizard in my time? Was he plotting a murder of someone else? Was he actually thinking of changing?
I put my elbow on the table, holding my forehead in my hand.
Merlin, this was too much.
“Are you well, King?”
I turned to the girls. “Just a headache,” I excused.
Technically, one was beginning to form at the number of questions and stress of it all.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Margaret said.
“Hopefully it goes away soon,” Joan remarked. “Potions will be starting in only a little while.”
I groaned. Here I was, supposed to save the Wizarding World, needing to attend class.
As if I needed more problems in my life right now.
Rubbing my forehead, I sat back up and ate a little more.
Did I want it? No.
Was I going to regret not eating? Yes.
Managing to get through half of my breakfast, I stood with everyone, making our way to Potions. As I took my seat, accepting Joan’s book, I made a mental note to buy some textbooks since, apparently, I would be here for a while. Flipping to the page we left on last time, I went to pull out some paper to take notes on, but paused.
I mentally added parchment to my shopping list.
The noise in the room got louder as more students filed in, taking their seats.
At the sense of someone sitting beside me, I turned, eyes widening at the figure there.
Oh, yeah.
I had been so concerned about avoiding Tom Riddle’s possibly murderous intentions I had forgotten that he sat next to me in Potions.
Though, I did recall that he didn’t have to.
“Miss King,” he greeted, passing me more parchment as he kept his eyes toward the front of the class. His gaze remained there, even as he asked “do you still have the quill I gave you?” He finally turned to look at me.
I nodded.
He turned his attention to Professor Slughorn as the man began writing on the board.
My eyebrows furrowed. I leaned towards him slightly. “What are you doing?”
He glanced at me. “Preparing for class.”
I rolled my eyes. “I meant sitting here.”
He smirked. “Only to keep up pretenses, Miss King,” he insisted quietly. “It casts a good image for the Head Boy to assist the newest student.”
I scoffed, sitting upright again and turning back to my own book. My eyes roamed the page, pretending to be interested in the words. “Everything’s all about pretenses with you,” I mumbled.
I didn’t bother looking at his reaction.
~~~~~~~~~
I made my way into Hogsmeade, treading the streets slowly.
Merlin, I really had no idea where I was.
The shops all looked so different from my time.
My heart tugged slightly and I frowned.
My time.
How long was I going to be in this cursed place?
However long it takes to do something about Voldemort, I reasoned with myself.
Letting out a huff, I kept walking, peeking my head into shops to see what they were.
“Looking for something, hero?”
I turned at the sound of the voice, seeing a blond standing on the sidewalk.
Tom Riddle stood slightly in front of him, towering above the boy.
The blond smirked at me.
My eyebrows furrowed, my questioning gaze unintentionally shifting towards Riddle.
Tom nodded his head towards the boy. “This is Avery. He’s one of my friends.”
I gave him a disbelieving look, cocking an eyebrow.
Tom lifted his head slightly, tilting his chin up a little in defiance.
I turned to look at Avery. “I’m not a hero.” I crossed my arms. “Whatever Riddle said, it’s not true.”
Avery raised an eyebrow at the accusation.
Tom’s expression remained stoic, but I could see his features harden slightly.
I sighed. “Look, could you just tell me where to purchase some parchment and textbooks?”
“You don’t know,” Avery asked incredulously.
“I’m not exactly from around here.” My eyes drifted to Tom before turning back to the blond.
Avery chuckled darkly. “You could just look around and find out for yourself. Get more acquainted, you know.”
“That’s what I was doing before you interrupted,” I retorted.
Tom nodded his head towards a store, clasping his hands behind his back. “I believe you’ll find your desired things in there, Miss King.”
“My desired things, huh?” I scoffed, beginning to walk towards the building. “I doubt it.”
~~~~~~~~~
I sat in the library, scratching my head as I stared down at my Transfiguration textbook. I wasn’t focusing on the words, though.
I was trying to figure out how to get through to Riddle.
I didn’t want to seek him out, but I had to do something. I couldn’t just wait around for things to happen on their own.
But how does one get through to a psychopathic murderer?
“You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”
It took a few moments for me to realize that I was the one being spoken to. Looking up, I locked eyes with my guest. My stomach caught in my throat. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Riddle,” I muttered, looking back down at my book.
He sat down across from me. “I understand; Professor Dumbledore is such a dull teacher.”
I lifted my head to look at him, a glare crossing my features. “Professor Dumbledore is an excellent teacher. He’s an excellent mentor and an excellent man.”
Tom sneered. “I would have sooner compared him to a vulture. He’s always watching me.”
“Gee,” I deadpanned at him, “I wonder why that is.”
His eyebrow twitched upwards; in challenge or annoyance, I couldn’t tell. “There’s no evidence of anything I’ve done.”
“Maybe you just seem evil to him.” I crossed my arms. “He’s a good judge of character.”
Tom smirked at me. “Unlike yourself.”
I looked at him in silence for a few moments. “I can judge someone’s character.”
“Perhaps, but you must not be very good at it.” He pulled out a book, flipping to a random page to feign studying. “You left the Dark Lord alive, remember?”
A pang of guilt and rage rushed through me. “I told you why.”
“But I don’t believe it.” He lifted his head to look at me. “Gryffindors are noble, but they’re also headstrong. If they make up their mind to do something, it takes a lot to get them to change their mind. And what could be more noble than avenging the deaths of so many?” He leaned forward. “So. What made you change your mind?”
“You’re so smart.” I leaned forward in my own seat, narrowing my eyes at him. “Figure it out.”
Tom stared at me for a few moments before letting out an incredulous chuckle and sitting upright. “Surely you wouldn’t let something as mundane as physical attraction sway you.”
My face broke into a harsh heat and I leaned back in my seat. Having no response, I simply scoffed and averted my attention to another student searching the shelves for a book.
Tom continued to stare at me in silence.
I could feel my face getting warmer at the attention.
The awkward prolonged quiet wasn’t helping, either.
I took a deep breath, trying to fight off the sweat that had formed a thin layer over my skin. I practically willed my cheeks to lose some of their red color.
Merlin, they rivaled a Weasley’s hair.
Turning my glare towards the Slytherin sitting across from me, I crossed my arms. “You didn’t kill me, either.” I nodded my chin towards him. “I know your secret. I’m a threat to your cause. I could expose you for what you really are.”
“You can’t expose me, remember? No one would believe you.”
“Dumbledore would.”
His confident smirk was replaced by a frown, his eyebrows pulling together. His form tensed, sitting more rigid than before. He looked to the side. “Dumbledore is a fool.” He met my eyes again. “He can’t do anything to me.”
“So you keep saying. But I’m not convinced.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed at me. “Are you trying to get me to kill you?”
“No.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Just trying to figure you out. You said you were keeping me alive for information.”
“A true statement.”
I leaned forward. “Then use Legilimency. Read my mind and find out all you want to know. Then you would have no reason to keep me alive,” I challenged.
Tom’s eyes shifted between my own. “It’s too easy.”
I rolled my eyes, sitting upright again. “Sorry, I didn’t know that taking over the world was a sport to you.”
He regarded me silently.
When the silence stretched on, I looked back down at my textbook. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are you following me or something?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
I glanced up at him before returning my attention to the page in front of me. After rereading the same sentence eight times I huffed, closing the book and staring in annoyance at the cover.
Transfiguration: Third edition.
I chewed on my lip before stuffing the book in my bag and standing, marching out of the library.
~~~~~~~~~
I steeled myself, knocking on the door.
“Come in,” a voice from inside called.
Pushing open the wooden door, I stepped into the office. “Professor Dumbledore?”
“Ah, Miss King.” A small smile appeared on the man’s face.
Merlin, I almost cried at the sight of it.
“Please,” he gestured, “have a seat.”
“Thank you, Professor.” I sat down in the chair facing his desk.
“What can I do for you?”
“Professor, I was wondering…” My leg began to bounce. “I was wondering what you could tell me about… about Tom Riddle.”
Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “What would you like to know about Tom?”
“Anything useful.”
Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at me.
My leg bouncing increased speed. Surely, I could tell Dumbledore what was going on? In my time he was dead anyway, so it wouldn’t have an impact later?
It was flimsy logic, but it was all I had.
I huffed. “Professor, I’m from the future. I was sent back from the year 1998.” Reaching into my robe, I pulled out the time turner to show him.
His expression remained mostly impassive as he simply looked at the object before lifting his gaze to me. “All but two time turners in the world only take the wearer back at a maximum of five hours.”
“This one was altered by the person who sent me back,” I explained, trying to be as vague as possible.
He didn’t need to know everything.
I fisted my altered uniform roughly, twisting the fabric in my hands. “Professor, I was sent here to change the past. To save everyone that Riddle kills. But I’m not a hero.” I let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m even a Gryffindor.”
“Why would you not belong in Gryffindor?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his. “I had the opportunity to kill Tom Riddle, before his acts got too carried away…but I didn’t. I cowered out of it.”
Dumbledore hummed. “Oftentimes, killing is the easy solution. Especially if Tom becomes as bad as you say. It is simple to end someone that would cause so much harm.” He looked at me meaningfully, with a warm smile and a kind look in his eyes. “Sometimes it takes more bravery to spare a life.”
I bit back tears and nodded. I cleared my throat. “What should I do, Professor? How do I change a killer?” I moved in my seat, sitting on the edge of the chair. “How can I get through to him?”
“I do not know everything about Mister Riddle,” Dumbledore informed. “He grew up in an orphanage. His mother died when he was very young. His father abandoned him.” Dumbledore clasped his hands, resting them on the desk. “There must be a reason that you specifically were sent here, Miss King. Use your judgment. Find your own way.”
I sighed, looking down and nodded. “Thank you, Professor.” I stood and exited the office.
My own way, huh?
~~~~~~~~~
What the frick was my way?
I briefly considered the option of holding my wand to his throat, demanding he fix his mistakes or I’d kill him, but I quickly reasoned that wouldn’t work.
No matter how much I wished it did.
I had been in 1945 for a few weeks, but it felt like I had been here for a number of months.
And I was making no progress.
My grades weren’t even very good, since I had other things on my mind. I had never been a good multitasker.
Merlin, I was seriously doubting Professor McGonagall’s choice in sending me back.
I had no idea what I was doing.
Alright, then. I’d wing it.
I stood from the chair in the Common Room, making my way to the door.
“Curfew starts soon, King,” Joan warned, looking up from her book.
“I know.” Without looking back, I pushed the portrait open and closed it behind me, making my way to the dungeon.
I never liked the dark, and this part of the castle seemed to soak it all up. Thankfully, I could still see. Reaching the door to the Slytherin Common Room I paused.
I didn’t know the password.
And with curfew starting soon, Riddle might not have even been in the Common Room.
I chewed my lip.
Thankfully, the door swung open on its own.
I froze as a figure walked out, not sure if I should be relieved or not. “Avery,” I greeted.
The blond looked up at me, his steps halting. “Hero?” He raised a judgmental eyebrow. “What are you doing at the Slytherin Common Room?”
“Looking for Riddle.”
Avery watched me for a few moments. “He’s inside. He’ll be starting to patrol soon.”
“Can you get him? I need to talk to him.”
Avery thought for a few moments before retreating into his Common Room. He emerged shortly after, Riddle in tow.
Avery walked down the hallway, doing whatever it was he was going to do before he saw me.
Tom closed the door behind him, looking down at me in a manner similar to Avery’s.
It was different, though.
Tom was studying me. Trying to figure me out.
He raised a silent, questioning eyebrow at me.
I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in my own skin.
I cleared my throat. “Can we talk?”
His other eyebrow rose in surprise. “I’m going to begin my rounds soon-”
“I know; Avery told me.” I looked up at him. “But I need to either sort this out or go home.”
Tom’s expression shifted ever so slightly. “You would go home? Even if your goal was unaccomplished?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “If I can’t do what I was sent to do, there’s no point in hanging around a time that isn’t mine, is there?”
Tom regarded me silently for a few moments. “No. No, I suppose not.”
I gestured at him. “Especially with you graduating soon, I’m going to lose a lot of contact with you.” I cracked a small smile. “Unless I apply for a job at the same place.” I tilted my head, my smile growing. “But I kind of doubt I’d get it, since I would only have about two months of proof of my existence, so…”
The corners of Tom’s mouth raised slightly. He nodded, looking down the hallway. His gaze drifted back to meet my eyes. “Walk with me.”
I fell into step beside him, needing to jog a little initially to catch up to his long paces. Once I settled into a rhythm that would keep me next to him, I relaxed, turning to look up at his side profile. “Do you like being the Head Boy?”
He turned his head to look at me, a confused expression overtaking his features. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking forward again as he turned corners without much thought.
I figured he must have memorized his paths at this point.
“It gives me power, but also responsibility.”
“So, yes and no?”
He looked down at me. “Did you come to talk to me about something as dull as this?”
I shrugged, turning my attention forward as we rounded another corner. “I just wanted to talk to you about anything.”
He kept his expression guarded. “Trying to discover my weaknesses?”
I frowned as I thought for a moment. “Not really.” I looked up at him. “I don’t think your feelings on your Head Boy duties are particularly useful insights into the darkest parts of your mind,” I admitted.
His eyes flickered down to me very briefly before looking ahead again. “Was there anything else?”
I pursed my lips. “I didn’t really have anything in mind.” I looked back towards him. “Just…tell me about yourself.”
A skeptical look overtook Tom’s features as he continued to stare ahead, resolutely not looking at me. “You’re trying to get me to reveal something.”
I could see it behind his eyes, though.
Vulnerability.
“Tom…” I sighed, looking up at him.
He finally looked down at me.
I frowned. “You’re far too cynical. Is it so hard to believe I just want to get to know you?”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “You did try to kill me.”
“And I haven’t for almost a month now,” I reminded.
Tom’s eyes shifted to the floor for a few beats before he looked forward again. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Nor I, you.”
~~~~~~~~~
I tugged at my hair, looking down at my Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook.
“Is something wrong, King?”
I looked up, seeing Tom sit across from me. “My grades are slipping because I’ve been a little…preoccupied.” Pursing my lips, I let out a small huff. “And Defense Against the Dark Arts was never one of my strong suits,” I remarked, gaze returning to my book.
“Well, fortunately it’s my best subject.” Tom stood, moving around the table to sit next to me.
I felt heat creep up my neck at the proximity.
He placed his hands on the table, his robe sleeve brushing mine, looking over at the pages I had flipped open. “What have you been struggling with?”
Merlin, how was anyone supposed to think with Tom that close, let alone focus.
“Uhhh.”
Tom looked down at me, his green eyes peering into mine.
My breathing picked up, chest rising and falling at a faster rate. I studied his face for a few moments, gaze dropping briefly to his lips before quickly averting my eyes to stare down at the textbook.
King, what do you think you’re doing!? Pull yourself together!
I forcibly cleared my throat. “Uhhh,” I repeated, my voice even weaker than it had been. I let out a strained chuckle, holding my head in my hand. “Merlin, Tom.”
“Are you alright, King?”
I looked over at him, only to turn even redder at seeing the smirk on his face.
“Should I take you to the healer?” His eyebrows quirked upward almost mockingly. His features shifted, feigning concern. “I don’t believe that shade of red is normal. Or healthy.”
I glared, the expression holding no actual anger, and swatted him in the arm, looking back to my book. “I hate you.”
He let out a breathy chuckle before pulling the textbook closer to him so he could see it better. Gesturing at it, he looked back at me. “What’s confusing you?”
An affectionate smile graced my features.
I didn’t even have the thought to gasp in horror at the action.
~~~~~~~~
“No, that’s purely a defensive spell.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, scratching down a note as I took a bite of toast.
Tom sat next to me, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.
“I think some of these spells should be more versatile,” I muttered, finishing writing and sitting upright.
“Unfortunately, we cannot decide.”
I looked up at Tom. “Bummer, really.” I huffed out a sigh. “I guess we just have to focus on what we can control.”
Tom’s gaze dropped slightly.
I could practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Indeed,” he said.
I blinked at him for a few moments before pointing at a sentence in my book. “But, does-”
The sound of the doors in the Great Hall opening brought my attention to them.
I sighed as students flowed in. Looking back to Tom, I frowned. “I wish there was somewhere private we could meet. We aren’t in the same house, so we can’t even both be in the same Common Room.”
Tom hummed. “The library is only available for certain hours, as well.”
I nodded, pursing my lips. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Closing my book, I looked back at Tom as I put the textbook back in my bag. “Thanks for all your help.”
Tom chuckled briefly. “It’s a wonder you made it to seventh year in your time.” He stood from the Gryffindor table, looking down at me. “I can only assume that magic has gotten even more complex in future decades.”
“The style of writing is different.” I sent him a crooked grin. “Less pompous, if you ask me.”
He scoffed. “Less professional, you mean.” He turned around, returning to the Slytherin table.
I smiled at his back for a few moments before returning to my breakfast.
“How are you, King?”
I looked up, seeing Margaret sit across from me. “I’m doing well, how about you?”
She smiled. “I’m ready for the day. Our finals are in only a few weeks, but I feel prepared.”
Groaning, I put my head in my hand. “Don’t remind me. This Defense Against the Dark Arts stuff is killing me.”
“You seem to be doing better in class,” she remarked, pouring herself a cup of pumpkin juice.
I smiled softly, the image of Tom Riddle appearing in my head. Clearing my throat, I looked up at the Gryffindor. “It’s a miracle, Margaret.”
~~~~~~~~~
“I’m ready to go to sleep,” Joan remarked, heading back to the Common Room for the evening.
“It has been a long day,” Margaret agreed, readjusting her grip on the books she held to her chest.
“I’ll probably be up for a little bit,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair with a huff. “I need to do more studying.”
“Miss King.”
The three of us turned to the voice.
I involuntarily smiled at the sight of the Slytherin. Nodding in greeting, I managed to wipe most of the smile away. “Mister Riddle.”
My housemates were looking between us suspiciously.
Tom turned to the two girls. “May I borrow her?”
They exchanged glances before nodding at the Head Boy.
Tom smiled. “Wonderful.”
I looked at the girls and waved. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
They waved back before continuing to head towards the Common Room.
I turned back to Tom, raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly. “Borrow me?”
He smirked back. “It worked, didn’t it?”
I shook my head, chuckling. “What did you need?”
“I wanted to show you something.” He gestured for me to follow him, which I swiftly did.
I didn’t even realize I no longer had trouble trying to match his pace.
“I found somewhere I think we could meet,” he said just quietly enough so that no one but me could hear. “I had read something about it and began to research.” He turned a corner, stopping in front of a wall. He stared up at it. “It’s called ‘The Room of Requirement’.”
My eyes widened.
Of course!
“Brilliant, Tom.” I turned, seeing the familiar door begin forming on the once-blank wall.
Once the door had fully appeared, I walked forward, opening the door and stepping inside.
I paused, looking around.
“Is something wrong?”
My gaze raked the room. “It’s just different from my time.” I chuckled, observing the couch and two chairs surrounding a small table.
A fireplace sat a few paces away, filling the room with warmth. A red rug covered the floor, a bookshelf in the corner of the room.
I chewed on my lip. “I suppose it’s for a different use, though.”
“What do you use the room for in your time?”
The voice was so close I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I looked over my shoulder, seeing Tom standing behind me. My gaze raked his features. I forced my voice to remain steady. “Practicing spells.” I drew my gaze from him to look around the room again. “It’s usually much more open than this.”
Tom hummed before moving from behind me to stand by the small table. “I thought this would be a good place for us to study,” he remarked casually, running his hand along the back of a chair.
I watched the action before lifting my gaze to meet his eyes.
He met mine at the same time.
“It’s very cozy in here.” I walked towards him, sitting down on the couch. “I might do more sleeping in here than studying.”
Tom sat down next to me. “I will not let you sleep.” He looked over at me. “Not with the end of the semester so close.”
I huffed. “Right.” Sighing, I pulled my school bag off my shoulder, dropping it on the floor next to me as I pulled out my DADA book and set it on the table, turning to the right page. “Now… where were we?”
~~~~~~~~
“Correct.”
I sighed out in relief, leaning back against the familiar couch, running my hands along my face.
“You really are doing quite well,” Tom said from beside me.
I let out a short chuckle. “Only thanks to you.” I dropped my hands to my lap, looking over at the Slytherin. “There’s only one week left until exams.” I scooched forward on the couch so I could better reach the table, looking down at my textbook. “With all of this new information, my brain may explode.”
“I think that is unlikely.”
I chuckled as I turned to look at Tom, only to freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
He was looking down at me, a warm glint in his eyes. A beautiful glow was being cast on part of his face from the fire, contrasting the dim lighting of the rest of the room.
The sounds of the crackling embers filled my ears. The smell of wood flooded my nose.
A warmth overtook me as I looked between Tom’s green eyes.
My heart twinged.
I gasped slightly, looking away. My eyes wide, I held my head in my hands as I tried to calm my breathing.
This can’t be happening.
“King?”
I felt the couch shift as Tom leaned closer to me.
“Are you alright?”
I looked over at him, meeting his concerned eyes. I let out a tiny quiet, albeit strained, laugh. “I’m alright, Tom.” My gaze dropped to his lips, lingering there for far longer than I had intended, getting caught up in mentally tracing their shape.
I briefly wondered how they’d feel.
I groaned, falling sideways on the couch, my hair splayed out on the cushion. I hid my face in my hands.
What in Merlin’s name was wrong with me?
Sighing, I turned, lying on my back as I stared up at the ceiling.
He’s the Dark Lord, he’s the Dark Lord, he’s the Dark Lord, he-
I closed my eyes.
The Dark Lord would never help the woman sent back to kill him with her homework.
My eyes opened, seeing Tom looking down at me.
His face was contorted into one of confusion as his gaze raked my form before meeting my eyes again. He quirked an eyebrow.
I chuckled, sitting up again.
“Is everything okay?”
I smiled at the Slytherin. “Yeah.” My gaze drifted between his curious eyes. “It is.” Slowly, I reached my right hand up.
His gaze went to it, watching for a few moments, before his eyes returned to mine.
I carefully placed my hand on the side of his face.
He took in a sharp inhale, eyebrows pulling together and eyelids fluttering.
I gently rubbed my thumb over his cheek, reaching my left hand up and placing it on his shoulder.
He stared into my eyes with so much emotion I could barely stand it.
I leaned forward slowly, watching him intently for any indication of rejection.
He swallowed hard as I got closer.
When I was just a few inches from him, I met his eyes.
They were large, looking alarmed, but I didn’t find any dislike.
I slowly closed the gap, my eyes fluttering closed unintentionally the moment our lips met.
Merlin, his lips felt so perfect against mine.
My hand on his shoulder shifted, dragging across his back to cradle the back of his head. My fingers threaded through the hair, loving the softness.
A tug on my waist brought my attention to the weight of his hands on my hips.
I broke the kiss slowly, desperately needing air, and rested my forehead against his. I continued to play with his hair as I panted for breath, my eyes still closed, afraid that if I opened them the moment would be gone.
For the first time in a long while I could finally hear Tom’s breathing, nearly as ragged as mine.
I felt a gentle nudge against my lips and kissed back, my right hand taking place at the back of Tom’s head to replace my left hand, which had traveled down to Tom’s left shoulder. My arm laid completely across the back of his neck and shoulders, pulling him towards me with such force I fell backwards onto the couch, Tom following.
I opened my eyes as I pulled away, looking up at him.
He panted from above me, eyes drifting between my own.
Shifting my right hand, I brushed some of his fallen hair out of his eyes. “I think I love you,” I whispered.
His eyes widened and he froze, his breathing seeming to stop altogether.
But perhaps it did.
As much as my head screamed at me that this was Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the killer of dozens, it didn’t feel true.
I could never feel this way about Voldemort.
Tom Riddle was a different person. He shared the same anger issues, hurts, wishes for something better for himself, but he wasn’t so malicious.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, cradling his jaw again. “You don’t need to say it back if you don’t want to.”
Tom’s wide eyes searched my own, as if in disbelief of what he’d heard.
I chuckled, reaching both arms around his back and pulled him down, laying him on top of me.
He tried to use his forearms to support his weight, but I forced his entire body onto me, enjoying the fullness of his presence.
Letting out a content sigh, I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his back. I turned my head, placing a kiss on his temple before we stilled, just listening to the sounds of our own breathing and the fire, feeling nothing but each other.
~~~~~~~~
Tom hadn’t spoken to me since yesterday.
While he normally would spend some time eating breakfast at my table before most of the students came in, he marched straight to the Slytherin table, an expression on his face that I had never seen on him before.
He didn’t look quite confused or angry, but he didn’t look happy or sad either.
The best guess I had was that he was trying to figure out what to do after our last…interaction.
To be fair, hearing those three dangerous words from someone not from your own time sent to kill you would probably send me for a loop.
I slowly ate supper, doing some thinking of my own.
I had caught him looking at me multiple times today, but that was hardly surprising, or even helpful in finding out what was going through his brain.
It was doing little to calm the anxiety that had seemed to settle in my stomach and reside there all day.
“King?”
I looked up, seeing Margaret and Joan looking at me expectantly. “Sorry, what?”
“What are your plans after you graduate?”
I let out a small chuckle at the irony, looking back down at the food on my plate. “I’m not sure.” My gaze lifted to find the Head Boy. “I guess that depends.”
Margaret caught it and she gasped, clasping her hands together. “Are you going to marry Tom Riddle!?”
My fork slipped out of my hand, clattering against the plate as my eyes widened. “Shhh!” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Merlin, Margaret, people can hear you.”
She grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”
After a beat of silence, Joan looked over at me. “Well? Are you?”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know.” My leg began to bounce and I brought my hand down, placing it on top of my knee in an effort to stop its movements. “I don’t know what we are.” I looked over at him. “I don’t know if we can.”
Can you marry someone from the past?
“We didn’t think you and Tom were that close,” Joan admitted carefully. “I know that you would often disappear, but we didn’t know why.”
“He’s helping me study for the upcoming exams,” I said, gaze dropping back to my plate.
“Is that all?”
I glanced over at Margaret. “I don’t know.” Putting my hands on the table, I stood. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you both later.” Stepping away from the table, I marched out of the Great Hall, not once looking back.
~~~~~~~~
I simply had to ask him.
Two days had gone by without anything from the famous Slytherin.
I sat at breakfast, trying to figure out when the best time to approach him was.
He didn’t even come into the Great Hall early like he usually did, instead coming in surrounded by his followers amongst the flood of other students.
“Attention, students,” Headmaster Dippet spoke. “Your final exams begin today and last throughout the week. To avoid cheating, only one house at a time will take their exams so that everyone can have their own desk.” His gaze raked across the tables. “Your schedules are posted on the classroom doors. Now,” he gestured, “enjoy your breakfast. And good luck.”
I ran a hand through my hair as he sat back down.
Alright. Approaching Tom before our exams was out of the question.
Maybe I could catch him in the hallway.
I then had the thought that talking to the most famous boy in school about our love life in the middle of a likely-busy hallway was not my best idea.
After class, perhaps?
He might have Head Boy duties, or something. He’d probably run off to his Common Room as soon as he could, anyway.
Merlin, this was giving me a headache.
Sighing in temporary defeat, I pulled out my textbook to begin studying for my first test.
Maybe focusing on something else would clear my head.
~~~~~~~~
By Friday I was determined to track this man down, even if it meant breaking into the Slytherin Common Room.
It had been a whole week since we had spent that evening in the Room of Requirement.
Merlin, it just was my luck that the first person I broke down walls for, confessed my feelings to and was intimate with would be from fifty years ago, and it just would be Lord Voldemort- the man that I had been sent to kill- and of course he would avoid me at any possible cost afterwards.
You couldn’t write this stuff.
As soon as I handed in my test for grading- briefly noting that there was no way I did as well as I would have liked given my mental state- I sprinted out of the classroom as quickly as I could, making a beeline for the Slytherin Common Room.
If I had to wait there for hours, I would see Tom Riddle.
He couldn’t run forever.
And so, I waited.
Because it was Friday, the last day before graduation, there was only one exam today in order to give the teachers enough time to grade everything.
Tom wouldn’t be long.
I waited outside their door for two hours, at some point sitting down because my feet were beginning to hurt from standing on the stone floor. At the sound of voices, I looked up, rising to stand.
Tom, naturally, led the pack; taking up the front.
He looked away from one of his followers, eyes landing on their door before his gaze drifted to me.
I don’t think I had ever seen Tom Riddle look nervous before.
“King,” he addressed in a false sense of calm.
I could hear the slight waver in his voice.
Cocking an eyebrow, I resisted the urge to cross my arms. “Riddle,” I replied in a cold tone.
He let out a harsh, silent breath, glancing away briefly before meeting my eyes again. “What are you doing here?”
“Hunting for snakes.” I allowed my arms to cross. “They tend to hide when they get scared.” I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “You haven’t seen any, have you?”
Whispers broke out amongst the Slytherins behind Tom.
He looked over his shoulder, wordlessly silencing them with only an expression. Turning back to me, he faltered for a moment.
I had clearly caught him off guard.
He was getting sloppy.
I mentally patted myself on the back.
Surely if Tom was going to end up as Voldemort he would have kept alert, right?
At his prolonged silence I raised an expectant eyebrow.
“What’s the wait for?!” Someone from the back yelled.
I looked towards the back of the group before meeting Tom’s gaze again.
He huffed, rolling his eyes slightly. Looking back to me, he finally found his voice. “We were going to celebrate the end of the year…” he trailed off, hoping I would get the message.
If he thought I was going to succumb to his not-so-subtle hint to leave, he had another thing coming.
I scoffed. “You’re not.”
“We’re not?”
“You’re not.” I nodded my head towards the group behind the Head Boy. “They can do what they please.” I looked back to Tom. “But you owe me a conversation and some time.”
He watched me for a few moments.
I refused to back down.
Tom sighed, nodding. He gestured for the rest of his housemates to go in, quietly announcing the password.
When we were finally alone I remained silent, wanting him to crumble a little under the dread of what would come out of my mouth.
Frankly, I didn’t even know what I was going to say.
After a few moments he cleared his throat, drawing his shoulders back and holding his head high to stand to his full height. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow, but I could see the flicker of fear behind his eyes.
I waited a few beats before asking the first question. “Do you realize how horrible this week has been for me?” I scoffed. “Merlin, Tom, we graduate tomorrow- I worried I would never see you again.”
His gaze dropped to the floor.
I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. “Look, if you regret it- if you regret me- then you should have just come out and say it.” I looked to the wall, terrified of meeting his eyes.
Silence stretched between us, feeling so suffocating I considered leaving to get some fresh air.
But I couldn’t. Not now. Not when I finally had him.
“I don’t.”
It was so quiet I barely heard him. I finally turned my head to face him, meeting his gaze. I eyed him, trying to find any indication of a lie. Finding none, I continued. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I needed some time to think.”
I tried to swallow the lump that formed in my throat, but was unsuccessful. “And?” I managed to croak out.
He grew silent again.
If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was toying with me intentionally.
My eyebrows pulled together as I searched his eyes. “Tom?”
He took a deep breath. “I want you to stay.” He straightened his posture again. “I want you to stay with me.”
I swore my heart stopped.
Time seemed to halt around me.
I opened my mouth, trying to respond, but I found I had no idea what to say.
Did I want to stay with him? Could I stay in a time that wasn’t my own? Was he completely cured of his evil endeavors?
I blinked away my thoughts, squaring my shoulders. “And your…plans for the future?”
He went silent, though he held my gaze. “I never had anyone love me before,” he finally settled on saying. “I didn’t think I was capable of the feeling, myself.” He took in a large, shaky breath, but kept his eyes on mine. “I’m willing to give up my aspirations for you.” His eyebrows quirked up in vulnerability. “If you’ll have me.”
I was rendered completely and utterly speechless. All thoughts of an appropriate response fled my brain. I looked down, trying to think, when I caught sight of his hands at his sides. I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “And the Horcruxes?”
He grimaced. “I haven’t destroyed them, yet.” He lifted his hand to look at the ring that hugged his finger. “I’m not looking forward to it.”
“It’s going to hurt,” I confirmed, walking towards him to look at the ring. Reaching my hand out, I stroked the gem, making a mental note that he let me. I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. “That’s what happens when you split your soul apart.”
He sighed, nodding.
I clapped my hand on his chest good-naturedly. “Be glad I caught you when you’ve only made two. I imagine it hurts worse with each split.”
Having nothing to say, he simply nodded again.
I chuckled, holding his large hand between both of mine. “So…” I grinned up at him, “you’ll get a good job because you’re so smart, I’ll get the best job I can, being in a different time and everything, and we’ll go from there.” I gently patted the top of his hand. “How does that sound?”
He smiled. “It’s a start.”
I chuckled, stepping completely into him and wrapping my arms around him.
His arms came around me, settling on my low back.
I let out a small laugh. “How on earth did I do this?”
Tom pulled away slightly to look down at me. “Do what?”
“Tame the Dark Lord.” I chuckled. “I still don’t know what Professor McGonagall was thinking. I have no idea how this worked.”
Tom thought for a moment. “By being yourself, I suppose.”
I hummed. “Sounds flimsy.”
Tom huffed a chuckle and I grinned, looking up at him.
Reaching my right hand up, I once again cradled the side of his face.
He closed his eyes, leaning into it, before he opened them to look down at me.
We both leaned forward, meeting in the middle, and our lips connected, slotting into place.
My heart danced in my chest as I ran my hand through his hair before pulling away to look up at him. “I love you.”
He smiled down at me. “I love you, too.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/n: Holy moly, this is so long. 54 pages.
This was actually really hard to write. Trying to make Tom Riddle redeemable is easier said than done. I got stuck multiple times when writing this, trying to figure out how to best progress in a way that was realistic and moved the story and their relationship forward in a believable way. He's also so nuanced that I reworked a fair number of his lines to try to sound as much like him as possible.
I went back and edited some things multiple times because I noticed that I was writing King coming at the problem from a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff way, so I had to try to adjust it to make her more firmly Gryffindor. She still has moments of traits from other houses, but that's normal, so.
There's a couple things in the story that I didn't outright say, but wanted to share anyway:
-Tom WAS following King (in Hogsmeade, the library, etc.) to keep an eye on her, because she DID defeat him and could have killed him if she wanted. While he never admitted it, he did view her as a threat.
-Dippet's password being "strawberries" I made up/guessed, because Dumbledore had started a rumor that Dippet had planted strawberries on the castle grounds, likely meaning the Headmaster was fond of them.
-Doing some research, I found that Abraxas didn't actually go to school with Tom, but Avery was one of the few Death Eaters that were confirmed to.
-Tom reacting so strongly to physical affection just made sense to me. Especially growing up in an orphanage, that boy is definitely touch-starved.
-Tom avoiding King to think also seemed fitting, since he was new to love and he had to battle between a woman and all of the plans he had been crafting for years. I think it's realistic that he would have tried to give himself space and time to weigh his options, and even not wanting to seek her out to tell her.
-Tom didn't see an issue announcing the password to the Slytherin Common Room in front of King because it was the last school day, so she couldn't use it after they graduated, anyway.
Anywho. That was a lot. Hope you enjoyed. Make sure to let me know what you thought! I'm curious if you thought I did our dear Tom Riddle justice.
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