Chapter Text
February 1936
By age 9, Hermione Granger was officially friendless. Her life revolved around books, and they might have well been her friends. If she wanted to have a conversation, it was all about books. Books could take her places she’d never been or give her answers to unlimited questions. Consequently, her attempts at friend-making went ignored and unreciprocated. Play date after play date ended with her in tears and the other children no where to be seen.
She had always known that strange things happened to her whenever her mood turned sour. When upset, she would crack open a window or lights exploded with just a thought. It was all very strange but thrilling. In spite of her odd… talents, Hermione was fascinated by what she could do. It was almost like the stories her mother read before bed had come to life. However, her abilities added onto the reasons she was rather solitary.
Connecting with other children was simply not feasible. Hermione could still remember the first and last time she had shared her secret. Her friend, Alfie, was the only child willing to play with her. One day, he got a nasty scrape after they had run through the park. No one else was around, so Hermione beckoned him forward.
“Alfie, if I show you something, promise you won’t tell anyone?” she asked earnestly. Her hands were twiddling with a piece of her hair as she waited on pins and needles for his answer.
“No, I suppose not. What could be that bad anyway?”
Once again, she looked around before coming close to his ear to whisper, “I can do something special.”
“Something special? Go on, then!” Alfie eagerly prodded. His blonde bangs falling over his eyes before he swatted them away.
“Look.” Hermione pointed to wear his scrape was and held her hands firmly as she squinted her eyes. Soon, the skin was closing up, as if it had never been cut.
Alfie looked at her alarmed and scooted back in abject terror. He kept looking between her and his now-disappeared cut.
“Wh… What was that? Did you do that?” She nodded her head slowly.
“You’re – This is not normal. Are you a witch?”
Hermione frowned. “Now that’s not nice to say!”
“Father Stone told us that witches burn in hell. I bet you’ll burn in hell!” He gloated nastily.
Alfie got up and pointed his finger at her as she slowly began to back away. “Witch! Witch! Witch!”
“What? No! I’m not a witch!” she tried to explain.
“Now, what’s going on here?” Alfie’s mother had come by.
“Mum, she’s a witch!”
“Alfie! You should be ashamed of yourself! Apologize to Hermione at once!” his mother demanded.
“No, mum. It’s true, she completely healed my scrape. Look!” She did. She spotted another scrape nearby.
“Honestly, Alfie! It just looks like you got blood around there from your other scrape. Don’t be telling lies, young man! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“But, mu – !”.
His mother interrupted. “No buts, Alfie,” She turned to the little girl. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. Best be getting you home, eh?”
Hermione never did play with Alfie after that. He spread rumors about her that isolated her even more from the others in spite of her teachers’ efforts. She eventually stopped trying after realizing that there was no point. The others were afraid from what Alfie told them, or they were jealous of her good marks. So, she spent her time during playtime reading books. While Hermione was at school, she would make the books float to her.
She would even practice after homework. Mother and Father were the only ones who knew of her extraordinary powers.
She was the only child of theirs that lived to be born. What they thought was a miracle turned into something magical. Although they were immensely pleased by her abilities, they knew others would not view it the same way.
The Grangers made a great effort to attend Church in order to evade questions about Hermione, especially after what was dubbed the “Alfie Incident”. If she went like any other child, there would be no reason to question how “normal” they were. Of course, they bribed Hermione with walks to the park or anything that didn’t cost money.
The ’29 stock market crash had taken away a lot of their earnings. Thankfully enough, they still had a stash of money from their wedding that they never invested.
On Monday morning on February 18th, 1933, Mother came into her room. Her short hair was coifed nicely behind her ears in chocolate waves.
“Hermione, darling, we’re going to some place special today.”
“Where, Mother? Will there be books there?!” Hermione eagerly asked.
Mother chuckled. “Perhaps, darling. We’ll be going to a home for children without mothers or fathers. It’s called Wool’s Orphanage. We’re going to give things that would be put to good use.”
“Why haven’t they any parents?”
“Some of their parents have died or weren’t able to look after them.”
“Will that happen to me?”
Mother sputtered. “Heaven’s no, Hermione! Of course not! We just want to share your small clothes with children who can’t afford them.”
She scowled and asked “But, mother why do I have to go I think you can do it by yourself it wouldn’t it be much faster?”
Mother took Hermione’s smaller face gently into her hands. “Darling, we know how difficult it is for you to make friends. Your father and I want you to try a little today. Some of those children are just as lonely as you are. I should know. I was raised at Wool’s.”
A gasp filled the air. “You… You were raised at Wool’s? But, you’ve got parents.”
She received a harsh glare in return. “You mustn’t say things like that. The children at Wool’s are just as good as you are! Your Nana Grace and Papa George gave me a chance. You should give them a chance too!”
Hermione downturned her eyes in embarrassment. If her own mother had been raised there and did well, then it was good enough for her.
“Oh, Hermione, darling! Please, come along!” Mother said as she brushed her daughter’s hair.
“It would be wonderful for the children of the Wool’s Orphanage to receive a kind gesture like this. Imagine their delight at receiving new books, clothes, and a cap! It would do well for a child to have a bright spot outside of the misery going around these days.“
“Yes, Mother.” Her mother’s eyes instantly brightened.
“Fabulous! Be tidy and proper, please. I’ll wait outside by the motorcar.”
The ride to Wool’s Orphanage was an hour and a half from where they lived in Wembley. Usually, rain dominated their days during the fall. Today was not such a day. It was crisp outside, but the shining sun gave some warmth. Hermione was bundled up in one of the sweaters, hats, and pair of gloves her mother knitted for her birthday in September.
Hermione had been idly fingering her Peter Pan collar as they passed by the ever-luxurious Creamy Liz Ice Cream Shop that was buzzling with children and adult customers.
“Mother, can we stop for some ice cream.” Her mother peeked in her rear-view mirror.
“Sorry, darling. You know that we need to save money.” Hermione pouted and huffed as she crossed her arms over her cream sweater.
This trip was going to be another disaster.
After seemingly ages, the grimly red-bricked stone facade of Wool’s Orphanage came into view. It reminded her of the abandoned castles from one of her stories. Curiously, there were no children playing outside. Were they on the back lawn? Her thoughts were cut short when a plump, middle-aged lady in a black lace dress came by and greet them as they exited the motorcar.
She seemed to be a stern woman and the type to take no nonsense. However, upon seeing Hermione’s mother, the woman’s face turn radiant.
“Oh, welcome, Helen! Please, do come in! It’s so good of you to visit!” The woman looked upon Hermione in peak interest.
“Is this your young lady you’ve been writing about? Come to visit bearing with gifts for the children!” She noted the parcels in Hermione’s arms. “What a kind heart! Bless you child.”
Hermione stared at the plump old lady with a slight smirk on my lips before saying, “Thank you ma’am. The pleasure is all mine.”
“What nicely mannered child!” The woman turned to Helen. “You’ve been doing a wonderful job, dear!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cole! I think these things and a few other donations would make the children of the orphanage feel happy. I know my Hermione would love to give them to the children if you please.”
They were now in the vestibule that looked like it had once been a sight to see but was now well-worn.
“Splendid idea! Thanks to you and one or two others, I don’t know how we would have gotten by these past few years.” Mrs. Cole took her mother’s hands in hers. “You will always have a home here.”
Mother looked like she was about to cry. Hermione had no desire to watch, so she tuned them out and began to explore. She carried her box filled with old books she had gotten bored with towards the left side of the hall where there was a library.
Hermione walked inside to find a smattering of books that were tarnished or fragile. Most of these books she had already read through herself – Moby Dick, Frankenstein, and Wuthering Heights.
Hermione had the odd feeling she was being watched as she stood, so she turned around. She had been so focused on the inventory that she didn’t notice that there was a slight, gangly boy who had silently entered and was now watching her in fascination.
He was pale with raven hair and calculating eyes that appeared to be trying to figure her out.
The collar of his white cotton shirt peaked out from a slightly ragged brown sweater. His corduroy pants seemed a tad too baggy, but they nonetheless fit him length-wise.
Tentatively, she spoke. “Hello! My name is Hermione. I brought some books for you to read. Would you like to see some of them?” She shifted her arm so that she could put the rather obtrusive box onto from the table.
But the boy didn’t bother to introduce himself and just merely asked “What kind of books? Let me see!” He gestured for her to take a seat.
“I hope these books are good and not some boring old nonsense stories”
“Nonsense stories?” She parroted, brought out of shock by indignation.
“Of course, they’re not nonsense stories. What do you know anyway?”
The boy seemed to be annoyed by that comment. “I’m Tom Riddle. That’s why I know.” He announced with all the pride he could summon.
“Tom Riddle? So, tell me Lord Riddle, what kind of books do you read?” Tom puffed out his chest a little at that comment.
“I like the sound of that. Perhaps, you should continue to call me that.”
“Oh, please. As if you’re any sort of lord.”
“My father could have been a lord for all you know.” Hermione looked at him thoughtfully for a brief couple of seconds.
“Hmm. You’re right I suppose. Sorry, milord.” He seemed to relax at that.
“That’s better. Besides, no one around here appreciates books like I do.”
“No! Books are fun, sad, interesting, and so many other things!” she replied, scandalized.
“I know, right? Heathens, the whole lot of them.”
“Who?”
“Right. I forgot you don’t know them. Billy, Dennis, Amy, and Eric are some of the others here. I don’t like them much, and they don’t like me either.”
“That’s not too bad. No likes me either.”
“Whatever for?” She inwardly preened at such a comment.
“I read too much.” Hermione said as she gave a long-suffering sigh.
“Savages don’t read, Hermione.” She giggled.
“Too right!”
Suddenly, the light began to flicker as she laughed. She hoped he didn’t notice.
Tom came closer and looked at the collection of books in the box one by one, shifting at the covers to read the summary. Hermione was dumfounded by the inexplicable camaraderie, so she asked, “ What kind of books do you like? I know some can be boring.”
He looked at her flabbergasted. “Boring? What could you have possibly read that was boring? Books are a form of knowledge, and all knowledge is good.”
He was a tad blunt but she didn’t care. She was just excited to finally find a fellow lover of books like herself.
“To others I mean. I agree with you.”
Tom looked at her conspiratorially, “Who needs people like them.”
An hour passed by while Hermione and her new companion talked about books tirelessly. They discussed the finer points of Dicken’s work to the Secret Garden. He seemed to really love the story of Frankenstein.
Were there more people like him? She chuckled to herself. Once more the light flickered. Tom narrowed his eyes at her. Fear spiked Hermione at possibly being found out.
“Are you making the lights flicker?” he questioned.
Hermione was planning on denying it, but she slipped the truth out in her anxiety. “Yes.”
Strangely, Tom gave her a wicked smile. “Thought so. No one could be this competent and not have special talent.”
She stared at him in confusion. He looked around nervously.
“I’m special too. Mrs. Cole and the others don’t like me much because of it.”
“I scared the only friend I had because of it.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter.” Hermione looked at him as if he were crazy.
“I’m your friend now,” he declared. Without thinking, she leapt across from her chair and launched him into a hug. Tom jerked away quickly with a frown on his face.
“Don’t touch me like that!” He spat out, and he crossed his arms to his chess.
She was stunned and felt a little bad for upsetting him. “I apologize I won’t touch you like that without your say-so.” He relaxed a bit at her words.
“Tom oh, and I almost forgot.” Hermione rummaged through the tin in the box and opened a box with a pleasing aroma.
“Mother baked shortbread cookies. They’re delicious! Take some.”
He hesitantly reached for one. The slight moan that came from him confirmed it.
Suddenly, Mother came in. Tom hid the cookie as if he had been caught doing a crime.
“Hermione, darling! There you are. It’s always the library, isn’t it. And, who is this young man?”
She stood up from her chair by my book companion and introduced him “Sorry, Mother. I didn’t notice the time. This is my new friend…”
She stopped talking because she forgot his name. Hermione heard him begin to speak next to her. “I apologize madam for keeping her here unnoticed. My name is Tom Riddle.”
“Nice to meet you, Tom! Did you enjoy my cookies?” Tom nodded fervently. “Say would you mind it so terribly if you come to visit next week? Hermione has so many books to share with since you. Would you like that?”
A genuine smile appeared on Tom’s face. “I certainly would.”
When Mother started the Motor car.
“Hermione, darling time to get going say goodbye to Tom.” said Mother.
And I say goodbye to my new friend Tom hopped in the backseat of the motor car and wave at the backside mirror to Tom who was standing with Mrs, Cole staring.
So an hour of a lifetime of childhood friends are formed.