Author's Note: So I took a lot of liberties with this fic. It is VERY MUCH an AU where Hermione is a student during Minerva McGonagall's time at Hogwarts, and Headmaster Dippet agreed to take Tom Riddle on as the DADA professor upon his graduation like Riddle originally intended. There is no time travel element to this fic!

Also, I might play a bit with Hermione's bloodline in this fic, but if you guys don't like the idea I'll probably just omit it.

1 September 1953

Hermione slid quietly into the train compartment where her friend and classmate Minerva McGonagall was sitting. The bright witch was talking energetically to the Gryffindor quidditch captain about this year's tryouts and their schedule. Minerva was an excellent Seeker and had been part of the team since they were second years.

"This will finally be the year we beat Slytherin," Minerva said, her green eyes shimmering with excitement. "I can feel it." For most of their school career, the House Cup had alluded Gryffindor and the only team that stood in their way time and time again was Slytherin.

Hermione smiled at her friend and cracked open this year's Transfiguration textbook. It was easy enough for her to drown out quidditch talk, having done so on the train since she first met Minerva and Wesley Wood during their first trip on the Hogwarts Express. The three had become inseparable ever since that first journey, partly due to all of them being sorted into Gryffindor.

"What's on the agenda for you this year, 'Mione?" Wesley inquired when his conversation with Minerva had reached a natural end.

"Oh you know, the usual," she replied. "I'm going to really crack down on focusing on my NEWTs. I really want to improve my score in Defence Against the Dark Arts—"

A chorus of dreamy sighs and girlish giggles sounded down the train car and Hermione stopped talking and rolled her eyes. It was always the same thing every year.

There was only one individual who would trigger such a response from the female population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Tom Riddle. The wonder-boy professor had been hired upon graduation by Headmaster Dippet, and almost every girl in the school went through a phase of pining after the seemingly unattainable teacher.

Everyone except Hermione, of course. She'd never really seen the appeal; sure, Riddle had the looks of a Hollywood movie star and his voice was as smooth as silk, but everything about him seemed like a facade. She was certain that she had never seen the man genuinely smile; to her, he seemed like the type who would only crack a grin while witnessing some sort of twisted, sadistic act. Why Dippet had let his soft spot for Riddle dictate his hiring was beyond her. Add in Riddle's strong bias toward Slytherin and against Gryffindor, and he was firmly at the bottom of Hermione's favorite professor list.

"Do you think he enjoys all the attention?" Minerva mumbled to Hermione.

"A man his age? Enjoying attention from hormonal teenaged girls?" Hermione scoffed. "I doubt it. And if he does enjoy all the attention then there's something seriously wrong with him." Minerva chuckled softly and sat back in her seat.

There was a soft rap on the door of their compartment, and Hermione looked up from the fifth chapter of her textbook to find none other than Tom Riddle himself standing outside.

"Speak of the Devil," Wesley muttered.

The door slid open and shut and Hermione straightened up slightly in her seat, pretending not to be completely displeased with Riddle's sudden appearance. "Professor," she greeted. "To what do we owe this distinct pleasure?"

"Miss Granger," Riddle nodded stiffly to her. "Miss McGonagall, Mr. Wood. I was hoping to have a word with our new Head Girl before the train reaches our destination."

His words reminded Hermione of the shiny new pin on her burgundy sweater. When the spring term had ended last year, she had been almost certain that Minerva would be Head Girl over her, and she had been honestly shocked when the letter came from Headmaster Dippet that she would be assuming the station come autumn.

"Of course, professor," Hermione smiled forcibly.

"Alone," Riddle specified.

Minerva's brow furrowed at his decision. "Whatever you have to say to Hermione you can say to us," she said, motioning between herself and Wesley. "We are Prefects, after all."

Riddle's gaze snapped to Minerva for a moment and Hermione could have sworn he was glaring at her for such a suggestion. It seemed rude of him to exclude two seventh years who, while Hermione did outrank them, held positions of authority within the student body.

"That is true, Miss McGonagall, but my intention was to divulge some... advice to Miss Granger," he hummed. "Former Head Boy to Head Girl."

Both Minerva and Wesley seemed put out by the idea, but Hermione had no immediate reason to be afraid of Professor Riddle. While he had been one of the few professors — if not the only professor — to keep her from answering every question in their class, he had always graded her work in a fair, unbiased manner. Still, Hermione didn't really trust him; quite the contrary, really. She trusted him about as far as she could throw him, and since Riddle stood at least half-a-foot taller than her, Hermione doubted she could even attempt to pick him up.

"That sounds very kind of you, professor," Hermione quipped as she rose to her feet, smoothing out her circle skirt. "If you would lead the way?"

Riddle led Hermione out of the compartment and into an empty one. She eyed him wearily as he motioned for her to sit down. He was dressed in muggle clothes; dark brown trousers and a white oxford with a dark green tie and tan cardigan. The look would have made him blend seamlessly into the crowds at King's Cross, which she imagined Riddle preferred. He seemed like the type that liked to remain inconspicuous.

"So what is it you'd like to tell me, professor?" Hermione inquired.

Riddle sat down opposite her, crossing his legs with a casual grace that seemed well-rehearsed. "I'm going to be honest and frank with you, Miss Granger," he began. "I was expecting Miss McGonagall to earn the position of Head Girl for this school year. While I'm aware your marks in school have been somewhat better than hers, I fully believed her extracurricular involvement would help her best you."

Hermione gaped at him for a moment. "Professor, I must say I'm rather offended that you would say such things to me," she commented, trying her best not to get too angry.

"Well you must learn not to get so offended by others," Riddle retorted. "As Head Girl, you'll experience people who don't want to obey your authority. You'll turn a corner during your patrols and catch fifth years snogging — or worse — in the hall. The sooner your... sensibilities are not so easily offended the better off you'll be."

"I've already dealt with such things, professor. It's as if you've forgotten that I was a Prefect?" Hermione pointed out.

"Something tells me nothing you've experienced thus far could prepare you for the year you're about to have, Miss Granger," he stated more to himself than to her. His gaze had since fixed on his own hands, and when he looked up at her and their eyes met, Hermione shivered.

She didn't know what he meant by what he said, but she didn't think she wanted to find out.

"If that's all, professor..." Hermione slowly rose to her feet.

"Of course," Riddle motioned toward the door. "Go rejoin your friends. I expect we will be arriving shortly." He rose to his feet as well and opened the door for her, his broad frame getting perhaps a bit too close for Hermione's comfort as she slipped out of the tiny space.

As Hermione made the short trip back to the other compartment, she pondered the strange conversation she'd had with Professor Riddle. He'd never really taken any interest in her before; in fact, if Hermione had heard the rumors of Riddle's politics correctly, he didn't even believe she had a place in Hogwarts, since she was a muggleborn. But why did he suddenly feel the need to give her advice? And why did he feel like their relationship was strong enough that she would even bother to take his advice in the first place?

Still, his words made a chill run up her spine. Hermione had been hoping for a peaceful seventh year. But if Riddle was to be taken seriously — and most people did take Tom Riddle seriously — it would be quite the opposite.

"So what did the King of Serpents have to say?" Wesley asked while trying to peel a chocolate frog off the window.

"Nothing much," Hermione replied. It wasn't too far from the truth; Riddle hadn't said much of substance, at least. "He simply reminded me that there are people at school that likely won't respect my newfound authority and that I should keep an open mind this year."

"How tolerant of him," Minerva rolled her eyes. She too disliked Riddle, perhaps even more strongly than Hermione did.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Hermione, Minerva, and Wesley climbed into a carriage to make the trip up to the castle. They chatted amongst themselves, discussing classes and fellow students.

"As long as Riddle doesn't make us deal with Boggarts in class again, Defence Against the Dark Arts shouldn't be too horrid this year," Minerva quipped as the subject was brought up. "Didn't you think it was funny that he didn't let us see what his Boggart looked like? He's the professor, after all; shouldn't he have made a demonstration?"

Wesley shrugged. "It's probably something embarrassing, like him going bald or something," he snorted. Hermione smirked at the mere thought.

"... Albus, are you sure?" Armando Dippet inquired, looking curiously at his distinguished Transfiguration professor. "To even suspect—"

"I don't suspect, Armando," Dumbledore stated. "I know it for a fact. The bloodline is purer than we thought, and it still exists despite all other evidence."

"And she doesn't know?"

"She doesn't know. And for her own safety, I think it's best she remain ignorant of the truth," Dumbledore said. "There will be people who will try to collect her if they knew of her... pedigree. The bloodline is old and nearly extinct, but for some reason the magic reappeared in her."

"I trust you'll keep an eye on her, Albus?" Dippet hummed.

"Two eyes, as often as I can spare them," Albus assured.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," the headmaster sighed. "As far as I'm concerned, this matter of lineage won't be a problem until it becomes a problem."

Up in the Gryffindor common room, a muggle radio was playing Nat King Cole's "Can't I?" while everyone lounged around after the welcome feast. Hermione was watching as Wesley danced around with some Prewett girl.

"It was smart of you to bring along a radio, Hermione," Minerva commented.

"It's funny how we all can agree on muggle music," Hermione said.

She could feel Minerva's analytical gaze locked on her, and Hermione turned to look at her. "What is it?" she asked.

"You've never danced with a boy, have you?" Minerva questioned.

Hermione blushed and looked down at her hands. There were plenty of things she hadn't done with a boy. In fact, Hermione was about to turn eighteen and she had yet to even kiss a boy. None of them had ever really paid her any mind; she was always the very smart girl in their classes with uncontrollably bushy hair who knew the answer to every question the professor asked.

"You've known me since I was eleven, Minerva," Hermione sighed. "You know that I've never danced with a boy."

"Well, maybe that will all change this year," she said optimistically.

As soon as the words left Minerva's mouth, the portrait guarding the entrance to the common room swung outward to admit a rather cross-looking Professor Riddle.

"Who smuggled that radio into the castle?" He pointed his wand at it and sparks flew up from the metal box, ending the docile tones that had filled the room. Everyone looked around at each other, not wanting to speak up. "It's against school rules to bring items like that radio with you. Now who brought it with them to school?"

Hermione bit her lip and raised her hand before getting up. "I... I brought the radio, professor," she admitted.

"Miss Granger, I must say I'm surprised," Riddle stated. "Ten points from Gryffindor. And detention with me for a month."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "A month!" she exclaimed. "But professor—"

"Do you want me to make it two months, Miss Granger? If I were you, I would accept my punishment quietly." Hermione said nothing more and looked down at her shoes. "Report to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at eight o'clock tomorrow night. I will not tolerate tardiness. For every minute of my time you waste, I'll add another week to your detention. Am I understood?"

"Yes, professor," Hermione mumbled.

Riddle picked up the ruined radio and turned to depart. Wesley scowled behind his back as he breezed through the door, while Minerva rolled her eyes.

"What crawled up his arse and died?" Wesley muttered.

"One thing's for sure," Jack McLaggen grumbled. "Riddle needs to get some. It's like he gets off on doling out punishments to people!"

"That wouldn't surprise me in the least," Hermione quipped.

"Maybe you should say something to Professor Dumbledore," Minerva pointed out.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "That will just make things worse. Besides, I've handled much worse than Tom Riddle."

AN: So I wonder what Hermione's detention will look like... if you guys have any ideas or things you want to see, let me know! I love brainstorming with people.

Also, Nat King Cole's "Can't I?" reached its peak on the UK charts in October 1953, so it probably would have been all over the muggle radio.

Please let me know what you guys think!