Title: Dangerous Games (01-02)
Author name: Lunalelle
Author email:
Category: Horror
Sub Category: Romance
Keywords: Hermione Tom Riddle Jekyll Hyde
Rating: R
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA
Summary: An analogy between Jekyll/Hyde and Tom Riddle/Voldemort for the intellectually inclined. Hermione has an accident, the Time Turner is destroyed, and she's stuck in 1943. She meets young Tom Riddle in his seventh year, Head Boy, and in his prime. However, he takes quite an interest in Hermione. Considerably dark for me, Herm/Voldie pairing, and some blood and gore, plus extensive creativity on the HJ7 potion.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I will make a detailed bibliography at the end, where I'll explain everything.
Author notes: I have way too much time on my hands, a Jekyll and Hyde analogy...? I had fun with it though. Thanx many times to my beta, Lara. Flying penguins, floating Amidalas, and Tall Tenacious Butt-boys to everyone. Remember, 'slotted spoons don't hold much soup,' but 'the slotted spoon can catch the potato.'

Dangerous Games:

What happens to a dream deferred...

-Langston Hughes

Chapter 1: Fateful Disaster

Distinguished governors,

I have glimpsed the future,

Seen miracles that stun the mind,

And marvels only science can find

To shape tomorrow for mankind,

And I can show them to you,

If you wish me to.


"Did you ever remark that door?" he asked; and when his companion had replied in the affirmative, "It is connected in my mind," added he, "with a very odd story."

-Robert Louis Stevenson, DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE


Hermione hurried from her nightly session in the library. She had taken to haunting the library since her first day back, and being Head Girl, she was allowed certain privileges-- which made completing coursework for her NEWTs much easier. Not only could she roam the halls after hours, but the Time-Turner was once again in her possession.

Lately, she had been living in thirty-six hour days. Not just living, but reveling. Something Harry and Ron never understood about her previous experience with the Time-Turner was that, despite the strain, she had secretly enjoyed the extra hours she had used to learn more. What repulsed her friends so much was pleasantly seductive to her. When her friends groaned at their mounting piles of homework, Hermione could not get her books, quills, parchment, and ink out fast enough. Harry and Ron often teased her for her readiness to learn and do work, but then they marveled at the way Hermione could continue to surpass even Percy in her studies but still had sufficient time to participate in the New Marauders' escapades.

Hermione had slowly been feeling more and more distant from her friends since school had started. Every morning, she looked in the mirror and wondered if she could take another day with those two boys. Harry was all right by himself, but Ron's recently acquired immaturity, worse than before, seemed to rub off on those within a nine-foot radius. As much as she loved Ron, she had to acknowledge that he was a typical adolescent. Harry followed Ron more than he spent time with Hermione, and Hermione knew the reason for this alienation was simply because he was intrigued more by the prospect of remaining a child rather than growing up. He had enough of that when he was thinking of Voldemort, and it did not suit his interests. They was still close friends, but time spent with each other was becoming more scarce between their divided priorities. Ron, of course, was the person whom Harry would miss most as revealed during the second trial during fourth year, not Hermione.

Hermione mourned the slow loss of her closest friend, but she knew she could at least survive with her other less animate friends. Madam Pince had given Hermione free reign in the library, and Hermione relished her new freedom and knowledge like they were heaven's nectar.

What really bothered her, she now thought to herself as she locked the library door, was not so much that Harry and Ron were one, but that no one seemed to notice. She was just that girl over there who always put up her hand during lessons and got everything right, saving everyone else the trouble of doing any work, Io forbid that anyone should think. She was just that girl over there who, it seemed practically housed herself with books. She was just ordinary Hermione. And she longed for someone to see that and accept her like she was.

She was so lost in her miserable thoughts and she carried so many thick tomes, Hermione did not notice the staircase she was approaching. With a startled shriek, Hermione slipped her hold on her books and lost her booting. She tumbled down the long flight of marble, dislocating her right shoulders, breaking her left wrist and thumb, and twisting her left knee. The sound of breaking bones echoed down the empty corridor. Finally reaching the end of the staircase, her head crashed into the floor. She was unconscious almost immediately. Unbeknownst to her, the Time-Turner had been spinning of its own accord during her tumble many, many times, and when she hit the bottom, the Turner was caught between the back of her head and the floor, shattering into a million tiny shards of glass and sand which scattered in Hermione's bushy hair.

Filch, attracted by the racket, came rushing into that particular corridor, bellowing, "Peeves! I'll have you this time!"

But he stopped in his tracks when he saw the pile of books strewn on the staircase. He stepped onto a stair, and, with a shudder, the staircase started switching to connect to an alternate corridor. Filch cursed, but proceeded to collect the books from the stairs, swearing he would talk to Dumbledore again with yet another proposal for Peeves's expulsion.

As the staircase trembled, the shards of glass were swept into the empty space where the stairs once were.


Look at me and tell me who I am,

Why I am- What I am

Call me a fool and it's true I am

I don't know who I am.

It's such a shame I'm such a sham

No one knows who I am.

Once there were sweet possibilities,

I could see, just for me.

Now all my dreams are just memories,

Faded never to be.

Time's not a friend, hurrying by,

I wonder... "Who am I?"

Am I the face of the future?

Am I the face of the past?

Am I the one who must finish... last?

Look at me and tell me who I am

Why I am- What I am

Will I survive- Who will give a damn

If no one knows who I am.

Nobody knows, not even you.

No one knows who I am.



Hermione stirred on the marble floor. She was achy and pain shot through her body like white-hot lightning. She could not focus her eyes and agony screamed in her mind. She groaned, then fell back to the floor wishing more than anything to sink back into the blissful oblivion.

Footsteps, quick and sure, clicked against the floor. Hermione had only a blurred sight of the edge of black robes and grey trousers... and fine black shoes the size of baby dolphins.

"Hagrid," she tried to say, but it would only come out as, "Ha-ha-ha-ha..."

The boy gasped, dropping a sack of something that squelched.

"Perfessor Dumbledore, sir!" Hagrid called, about two octaves higher than Hermione was accustomed to. "Dumbledore!" Hagrid began running away, leaving the bag in front of Hermione's eyes.

She groaned again. Whatever was in the bag wiggled slightly. Hermione slipped into a sort of pain-induced daze.

After a few minutes, Hermione heard footsteps again. Hagrid's recognizable bumbling voice was mingling with yet another familiar tenor.

Hermione felt long, thin hands gently turning her so she lay on her back. Two fingers pressed against her temple where she had hit her head. Hermione gasped.

"Hagrid, when did you find her?" asked a concerned Professor Dumbledore.

"Just a minute ago, Perfessor. She looks hurt bad."

"From what I can assess of her injuries, yes, she is." His fingers fumbled with her robes, then froze. Hermione sensed the pressure of one fingernail against her Gryffindor badge as well as her Head Girl pin.

"I've never seen her before," Dumbledore muttered slowly, "and yet... this..."

Dumbledore hesitated, then commanded, "Take her to the infirmary, Hagrid. Tell Madam Pomfrey not to ask questions, just heal her and keep her until I can speak with the Headmaster. And don't tell anyone of this."

"Yes, sir, Perfessor," Hagrid said. And with surprisingly gentle hands, he lifted Hermione into his arms and began to run. The movement sent such shocks of pain through her veins again that she blacked out.


"Wake up, dear. Come back to us. Wake up."

Someone was slapping Hermione's cheeks with a cold wet rag. Hermione flinched away.

"That's right, I know it hurts, but don't go back to sleep. That would be disastrous." It was Madam Pomfrey, Hermione could tell. She sat up gingerly, wincing on her still-tender wrist and arms. She opened her eyes.

And saw nothing but darkness.

Hermione gasped, reaching up to her eyes, and her hand collided with thick bandages. She sighed in relief.

"Madam Pomfrey?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Yes, that's my name, dear," Madam Pomfrey replied, "and you seemed to have taken quite a fall. You sustained some minor injuries, easy to cure, but you also received a major concussion. It affected your eyesight, so we had to rejuvenate that part of your brain. You'll find you see things a little differently than you used to see them, but you'll manage. You're a fighter."

"Why are my eyes bandaged?"

"Well, dear, rejuvenation is tricky business, and you could have gone blind from the bright light damaging your regrown retina. In a few hours, you'll be able to remove them. Until then, you need bed rest. Now, here's a sleeping potion" -a goblet was thrust into her hands- "and, in time, you'll be able to remove the bandages. Then Professor Dippet will want to see you. Go on, drink up."

Hermione brought the potion to her lips, and almost immediately fell back into the pillows, dead asleep.


Yet again, Hermione woke up in the hospital bed with bandages over her eyes, but this time she was feeling Galleons better and her limbs no longer ached.

She eagerly pulled at the bandages and smiled at the first ray of light. She squinted, and her eyes feel on a kindly, frail old wizard in crimson robes.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I am Professor Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where you are residing now."

Hermione gaped at Dippet, then stammered, "But th-that's impossible! Professor Dumbledore..."

"Oh, you've met our Transfiguration teacher," Dippet said, delighted, gesturing to the side.

There was Dumbledore, Hermione could see that; his bright blue eyes were still behind half-moon spectacles and his hair and beard still reached past his waist, but his hair, instead of silver, was a handsome auburn. And his eyes were a slightly darker shade of blue (though this was most likely due to her new eyes). Many of his wrinkles were smooth skin, and, if possible, he seemed to emit an aura of even greater energy and power.

"P-p-professor Dumbledore?" Hermione said incredulously.

"Yes, miss," the younger Dumbledore said, mildly curious, "but how does it happen that you know me?"

"B-but y-you-you're the H-h-headmaster, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione insisted, twice as frightened as she had been when she had had to sneak into Snape's private stores.

Professor Dippet raised his eyebrows. "No, that's wrong, but he is the Deputy Headmaster. Maybe that was what you meant."

Hermione mouth wordlessly.

"Now maybe you could tell us your name," Dippet said not unkindly.

"Her-Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Is she alrigh', Perfessor, Headmaster, sirs?"

Hermione twisted around and gasped, "Hagrid!"

"Hagrid," reproved Dippet, "are you neglecting your duties?"

Dumbledore put a hand on Hagrid's shoulder and said to Dippet, "Now, now, Armando. Hagrid has taken a personal interest. After all, he did find her."

"Well, yes, you did, didn't you, Hagrid? She's fine now. Why, what's the matter, dear?"

For Hermione had brought her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her head was buried into her arms. Her shoulders were noticeably shaking. She looked up to see the two men and large boy staring at her.

"What year is it?" Hermione asked in a wavering voice, fingering the gold chain around her neck, Time-Turnerless.

Professor Dippet and Dumbledore shared a look at the strange question.

"It's 1943, Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore.


Chapter 2: Little Hope

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said softly, "could I talk to you? Alone?"

Dippet was puzzled at the odd behavior, but he felt willing to pledge his faith on his trusted Deputy. His hands on the young Hagrid's shoulders, he left, Hagrid casting concerned glances at her as the door shut behind them.

"Miss... Granger, if I remember correctly?" Dumbledore said.

Hermione nodded.

"There are mysteries that need clearing up. I was reluctant to ask in front of the Headmaster." Dumbledore pulled Hermione's robes from the front of his own. "I know all my students, Miss Granger, especially those in my own House. However, your robes bear the Gryffindor crest. Also, the Head Girl this year is Minerva McGonagall, yet here is the Head Girl badge. Then, you know Hagrid and myself, while we've never seen you before in our lives."

Dumbledore looked over his glasses in his piercing way. "And there's the very nature of your accident. It seemed you were on top of a staircase and fell. Most of your injuries were understandable, but there was also sand in your hair, and glass had embedded itself into your skin here and there. I cannot imagine what could cause such unlikely debris in the case of a fall. All these have given me reason for suspicion, but there is one last one: students are not to come here for two more weeks when start-of-term begins. Even the transfers should not be coming for another week and a half."

"Oh dear, Professor, I don't know where to start, really." Hermione gestured helplessly, tears streaming down her face.

"The beginning would be fine," said Dumbledore lightly, but with no twinkle in his eye.

"Well, that's just the trouble, sir," Hermione said, "the beginning hasn't even happened yet. But what I remember is looking up Animagi in the library for my NEWT coursework, then I decided to come back to my dormitory, but I was carrying so many books, and I was distracted. I tripped on the stairs, and in doing so, my Time-Turner must have turned too much." She held out the chain for Dumbledore to see. He did not touch the jagged remains of the small hourglass, but his gaze intensified on the glints of gold. "Then I suppose it smashed under me. And now... I don't know how to get back."

Dumbledore's eyes left the chain in favor of Hermione's lost expression.

"A Time-Turner," he whispered. "There are not many here, and there are none that go forward."

"Then... I'm stuck here?"

Hermione was accustomed to Dumbledore's uncanny ability to solve all problems, and Dumbledore looked as woebegone as she.

"Miss Granger, may I ask you something else?" the next Headmaster asked gently.

Hermione nodded, so intent on holding back more tears she was that she did not correct him by reminding him that he had just asked one.

"What year do you come from?"

Hermione looked up and wiped her eyes. "It's just after Christmas holidays in 1998."

Dumbledore was staggered. "Fifty-five years!" he cried. "There isn't any chance that we can just wait it out then."

"And there are few forward Time-Turners in my time as well. I haven't read enough about them to have even a clue to go about making one myself..."

"Well," Dumbledore said decisively, putting her hands on his knees and standing, "if there's nothing we can do right now, there's no use moping. But don't worry, Miss Granger," he reassured Hermione, "we'll find a way to get you home if we have to build that legendary time machine imagined by the wonderfully inventive Muggle, H. G. Wells."

He began to leave, but paused and turned back.

"I trust that a young lady such as yourself that was awarded the privilege of Head Girl and a Time-Turner will understand what is at stake here?"

"Of course, Professor. After all, you told me." Hermione smiled through her tears.

Dumbledore responded with a twinkle in his eye. "Ah, yes, I am your Headmaster, aren't I? Good gracious, do I live that long?" He chuckled, and Hermione felt the warmth from the sound spread in her tense muscles, making her feel like everything would be okay again.

"Now, Miss Granger, I'm going to inform the present Headmaster of the barest threads of the predicament, but I think we ought to invent a new name and a believable situation."

Hermione said incredulously, "A new name? Is that necessary?"

Dumbledore looked down at Hermione. "Oh yes, you should know that this is a very serious situation indeed. You knew me and Hagrid, so odds are that you'll know others or their relatives. And this is a most dangerous time for you. You have not been born yet, so you could possibly cause events that prevent your birth or another's birth or initiate someone's death."

"Oh," Hermione squeaked meekly.

"Now, I have a great-niece coming to Hogwarts this year. I can speak with my daughter-in-law, and she could say you are her relative on her husband's side. His surname's Shannen. I think they'll be happy to cooperate. Until we can smuggle you to their home for two weeks, you should stay here, in the infirmary."

"Charlotte's my middle name," Hermione suggested, "and my parent sometimes addressed me in that way, so I'd be more likely to respond to it, making it more authentic."

Nodding Dumbledore agreed, "Yes, Charlotte is fine. I will leave you now, Miss Granger, and inform the Headmaster and my daughter-in-law of the circumstances."

"Er, Professor?" Hermione ventured.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Could I talk to Hagrid a little? I won't tell him or anything, but he needs to know my new name."

Dumbledore looked at her out of the corner of his eye and sighed, "I'm not sure whether it is a good idea, but I'll send him in."

Dumbledore slipped out of the infirmary... only to find himself bombarded with Hagrid's questions.

"Is she all righ', sir? Did she hurt herself too bad, sir? How did it happen, sir?"

"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, raising his voice to keep the large fourteen-year-old at bay, "she's fine. She wants to talk to you. Go on in. And Armando," he directed to the Headmaster, "I believe we have a very complex problem."