Chapter 1
What does he think he's doing? Hermione tapped her foot, impatient and annoyed. They had been stuck in the cupboard of Potions classroom for the past fifteen minutes with no avail. Spells did not work. Shouting did not work. Nothing worked.
The most frustrating part of the entire experience however was her companion—so to speak—who refused to even allow her to approach the cupboard door. Hermione huffed at his impertinence. His patronizing of her person. And he did it in such an unassuming polite manner that she didn't even have the courage to confront him.
But perhaps being stuck with Riddle in the cupboard did have its advantages. The whole ordeal would have been even more torturous if Riddle had not used his wand to magically enlarge the small cupboard, they were locked in. At least they had room to breathe in.
Why on earth where they locked in the classroom? Hermione contemplated hard enough for any curses or tricks of this sentient castle that she might have read but she came up with nothing. Was it a trick of peeves? Trick—her eyes widened with realization and she found herself pushing—no, shoving—Riddle out of the way to press her hands against the cupboard's door. She missed the look of anger that passed through Riddle's eyes at her action.
Before he could curse her however, her words distracted him, "I think it's one of Fred and George's gags. The effect won't wear off until a few hours."
"Weasleys," Riddle murmured. Hermione noticed the practiced lack of emotion in his comment. Did it come easily, or did he have to try really hard? Hermione couldn't decide. She nonverbally transfigured a set of brooms to create comfortable couches for them to sit on while they waited. Riddle gave her a look of surprise before smiling at her thankfully. She couldn't help but blush under his approving gaze.
They sat in silence for a while before Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She had so many things to ask him. Riddle was a year older than her—a Prefect—and a brilliant wizard. Also, a brilliant student. He had scored seven OWLS and there were all sorts of rumors around him that he had mastered the seventh year's course in his third year. And that once he had taken on a troll all by himself. Another which said that he had defeated a teacher in a duel.
Hermione was not sure how true these rumors were, but she had noticed how kind and helpful he was to everyone and anyone despite their age, blood status and house affinity. He was—perfect. He was even beautiful to look at. Sometimes Hermione wondered if he was real. If someone as perfect as him could really exist.
"Say, Riddle," She said, leaning forward, with her elbows on her knees, "I've always wanted to ask. In Gambert's philosophy, she talks about employing runes and blood magic to create a portal which could allow one to travel back in time—" Hermione began, frantic and excited but she was cut off by Riddle who said, "Yes, but Granger, you must know that her work is strictly based in philosophy and not empirical study. Despite several attempts—,"
"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione cut him eagerly, "But I was thinking what if what if it could work—I mean, we could time travel—"
"A Time-Turner would achieve the same with one hundredth of effort," Riddle cut her off again, but this time with a smile. The shock and displeasure at being interrupted must have displayed on her face for Riddle softly added, "Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes," Hermione conceded unhappily before saying, "but that wasn't the point I was making. I was saying, that if we could travel back in time—then we can travel forward. And even to other parallel worlds."
Riddle who had been earlier regarding with her polite interest suffered a change in disposition. His back straightened and there was an odd coldness to his voice when he uttered the next few words. "Parallel worlds?" he murmured. "Granger, that is quite interesting. Interestingly Muggle, I would say."
Hermione blushed at his comment. "Yes, I read it in a muggle book actually."
"I would presume your schoolwork would keep you sufficiently busy." His words pricked though they were not said unkindly. Was he reproaching her? Hermione had expected a teacher of such conduct, but she had not expected Tom Riddle to admonish her for her curiosity. Or was he rebuking her for having drawn her ideas from a Muggle author?
"Do—do you not read muggle authors?" She asked, suddenly curious. Riddle—Riddle was not a pureblood name, after all. At best, he was a half-blood. But of course, blood purity did not matter to Riddle. That is what made him so well-liked in school. Unlike his horrendous Puritan housemates Riddle had always maintained a neutral position on blood purity. He had always championed equality. Hadn't he…?
But even Hermione could see that her question had caused Riddle much discomfort. Because he just frowned at her, struggling to keep a smile on his face. She blushed, embarrassed at having embarrassed Tom Riddle. She hadn't meant to be nosy. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—, I think I spoke too fast," she sputtered nervously, "But I really wanted to know your thoughts on time-travel and if it was possible… which is why I asked at all."
"That's alright, Granger," Riddle smiled at her warmly. Hermione felt instantly better. "I find it charming that you are so absorbed by your academic pursuits."
Hermione could not help blush at his compliment, though it did not escape her notice that he had avoided her question. "Well, I'm nothing like—like you. I'm still wonderstruck at this world. It's so different and new. Moving portraits and photographs and ghosts! Even this castle is alive. It's—everything has life. Artificial intelligence could become something entirely revolutionary if mixed with magic, I—I was thinking. It would be so—much more magical." She couldn't help but smile, her mouth spreading wide enough for her teeth to show. "Aren't you fascinated still?"
"I am afraid I cannot relate. The familiar does not fascinate. It must be enchanting though, your experience," Riddle smiled at her before going back to his book. She did not miss the alienating emphasis on the word ''your'.
But isn't it yours too? This experience? She wanted to ask but she did not. Maybe Riddle was half-blood and brought up in magical world. But there were rumors that he was a muggleborn. But then, there were also rumors that he was a pureblood and already betrothed to Daphne Greengrass. And Pansy had told her that that was false information. Hermione wanted to so badly know about his upbringing but found it impolite so was quiet.
She sneaked a glance at Riddle. She had always found him impossible to imitate. She had looked up to him since she had come to know about him. How was he always perfect? How did he know so much and where did he know it from? If there was one thing Hermione Granger wanted very much, it was a bibliography compiled by Tom Riddle. She wanted to know everything he knew and much more, much, much more.
"Riddle, I want you to help me with this research—as a partner, of course," she said after a while.
Riddle looked up at her, surprised. "While that seems tempting Granger, I'm afraid I must decline—,"
"I am a good student. And great at research. I think we will do well together," Hermione said quickly. She did not want to be rejected. She did not. She really thought there was something to this. They could work on it together and they could win—
"I could stay on as a mentor."
"A mentor?" Hermione frowned. "No, I'm not looking for guidance. I'm looking for a partner. An equal," she said levelly. A mentor? Did he think she needed his patronizing advice on research? He was also a student after all. Only a student.
"I don't want a mentor," Hermione asserted again.
"Well then, I'm afraid I must decline, Granger." Hermione opened her mouth to argue again but Riddle cut her off with a firm, "and I would appreciate if you left the matter alone."
"Alright," Hermione conceded. For now, she thought.
"Thank you, I appreciate it," Riddle said, before returning to his book. It was another half hour of silence before the door opened on its own and the two parted ways—Hermione grudgingly and Tom Riddle very, very annoyed.
"Ginny, has someone ever told you you're barking mad," Hermione said, taking out what her friend had requested of her from the pocket of her robes. A copy of Wily Witch that Hermione had managed to ask Pansy to get her. The latter had raised her eyebrows and smirked at the demand—not to mention the incessant questions she had subjected Hermione too. The teasing too had yet to stop.
"Has anyone ever told you you're a darling?" Ginny grinned, sliding the copy underneath her robes, glancing around the Great Hall which was sparsely populated with students at this early hour for breakfast.
"What is it for?" Hermione asked, adding some milk in her tea and offering to do the same for Ginny when the latter shook her head but smiled gratefully.
"Luna's birthday present," she shrugged. "Apart from the proper present we brought her, I thought this ought to spice things up."
Hermione could not help but burst into a giggle when she imagined the dreamy witch's reaction towards the magazine. "You're mad," Hermione bumped her shoulder to Ginny's, "a genius—but mad." Ginny only grinned.
"We'll give it to her when we celebrate her birthday tonight in the common room when everyone's asleep," Ginny said buttering her scone. "Do you mind meeting me earlier and helping me with my Potions homework? Snape's class is proving to be more difficult than I had predicted, and I just cannot wrap my head around some concepts."
"Alright, sure," Hermione nodded, taking a sip of her tea and feeling the chamomile calm her nerves almost immediately. "I had a lot of trouble last year too. I'm terrible at Potions—though I hate to admit," she grumbled into her tea earning a laugh from her friend.
"You're not," Ginny argued though she knew it was not entirely true. She remembered how much Hermione had struggled last year with Potions. Though she was good with theory, it was practical application that had got her in a fix. Ginny's denial earned her a pointed look from her friend.
"Nevertheless, how does seven do for you? I've got Quidditch practice till then," Ginny took a bite of her scone. "Or is that too late for you?"
"Seems fine to me," Hermione said but immediately exclaimed, "oh no, I can't," she gave her friend an apologetic look. "I've—I've got some work to do Ginny. Is it alright if we work on it tomorrow?"
Ginny was going to ask her what work it was, but she only shrugged, "sure."
Hermione gave her a grateful smile and quickly unfolded the newspaper on the table and began a pretense of busily perusing it lest Ginny ask her any questions. She was to meet Pansy at 7 today and did not wish to lie to her friend. She was happy when Ginny seemed more involved in her breakfast than being inquisitive.
The two ate the rest of the breakfast in silence until more of their friends started filing in and chatter began to swell in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron soon followed suit, one after another, squeezing themselves next to her. Their faces still bore traces of sleep and Hermione noticed Ron looked especially sleep deprived.
"Ron you look awful," she said pushing a tray of food towards him, at which he shot her a grateful smile. "Didn't get enough sleep?"
Before he could reply Harry said, "He was up all night. Fred and George got a howler from their mother because of their detentions. Someone ratted them out." He was smirking and gave Ron a friendly shove before continuing, "And they suspect Ron of it. Wouldn't let him sleep till he submitted to a full Weasley interrogation."
"Bloody hell, it was absolutely unfair!" Ron grumbled, "I told them I did not tell on them, but they said they had evidence." He scoffed as he bit into his toast. "Evidence, my arse," he leaned towards Hermione, "let me tell you—If I found out the person who ratted them out, I would express my sincere thanks towards them—,"
"Ronald," a voice said which made Ron drop his toast and eyes widen. It was Fred. He was standing behind him with his twin—both of them were two looming shadows, their eyes gleaming with malice.
"Did you hear that, Fred?"
"I sure did, George."
"And what did you think of it?" George asked his twin, his eyes still trained on the back of now-cowering Ron's head.
"Guilty," Fred replied.
"Guilty," George agreed.
"But I—," Ron began in protest but it was cut off with a firm, "watch your back, Ronald," from George.
"And your front," Fred added. Ron only grumbled into his toast as Ginny, Hermione and Harry laughed.
"Fred," Ginny said as they settled next to her. "We're on for tonight, yes?"
"Yes, of course. Also," Fred paused to take out something from the pocket of his robes, "you forgot this." He handed Ginny something. A pair of socks and a couple of books. Ginny took them gratefully.
"Mum sent it," he said. "You seemed to have forgotten quite a lot, young lady," he bumped his shoulder with hers. "Getting clumsy, are we?"
She rolled her eyes at Fred's comment. "Shove it," Ginny said, but she was smiling. "Or I'll send mom a letter asking her to check under your bed."
"Already clean, sister dear," George grinned.
"And under the floorboards?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. She smirked when she saw the unamused looks on Fred and George's face.
"Yeah, that's right, Ginny!" Ron piped in. "I think I have some more hiding places for you—,"
"Ronald," Fred cut in, "is this a conversation you think wise to join?"
"Yes, Ronny. Don't forget we know that last year when you were in the bath you were—," George began but was interrupted by an alarmed Ronald who was flapping his arms in protest. His ears had gone pink with embarrassment.
"Everybody knows about that," Ginny added unhelpfully, to Ron's horror, "so technically they don't have anything against you."
"Right, Gin, thanks. That's makes me feel loads better," Ron sulked while everyone laughed.
Hermione watched the playful sibling exchange and yearned for something similar. She averted her eyes to the newspaper in her hand, before looking at her companion whose face sported the same yearning as her own. Watching the siblings bicker, Hermione saw that Harry too wished he had a sibling like the Weasleys. Hermione nudged him. At least we have each other, she was saying. Harry seemed to have understood her message because he nudged her back, smiling.
"What on earth is this?" Dean whispered, his eyes wide with horror at the plant in his hand. Harry only gave him a shrug as his confusion mirrored Dean's. Hermione could not help but bite back a snigger. It wasn't really Dean's fault. To be fair, the plant they were dealing with in Herbology looked like the wrong end of a baboon crossed with a reptile.
"Sometimes I think I'm in a dream," Dean said as Professor Sprout told them they had to lather the plant with smoothening and strengthening potions before laying them on top of each other in a bucket provided to each group. It was to help them bind easier with the soil later. Dean, Harry and Hermione were placed in a group.
"I know what you mean, mate," Harry said, rubbing potion onto his plant. "Last night, getting to Divination took me twenty minutes because I had forgotten about the stairs shifting. Even after all these years."
Hermione nodded in acquiescence. Even she had had problems with the stairs often. But also, she was amazed at how wonderfully different and diverse and new the wizarding world was. There was always something new to discover. Though it did sometimes make her feel awkward and like an outsider…
"For Merlin's sake, Draco!" Hermione heard Pansy, who was grouped with Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe shout. "It is not going to eat you up. Just—just give it to me," Pansy said and threw the plant into the bucket, earning a frown from Professor Sprout.
"Ms. Parkinson, that is not the way to treat these precious plants," the professor admonished. "And that is not that way to place them," she said and moved away annoyed with the unruly students and went to check on other pupils.
"Well how are we supposed to place them?" Pansy asked, frustrated.
"You're supposed to place it horizontally not vertically," Hermione corrected, biting back a smirk. She suddenly felt all eyes on them and a sudden silence. Hermione realized she had spoken to the proverbial 'enemy' without a hint of sarcasm or malice.
Pansy, who was as shocked with the outspoken advice as others managed to only nod awkwardly and do as Hermione instructed. Hermione ignored the odd looks and continued with her work. She noticed Ron trying to catch her eye and pointedly ignored him. She felt a nudge. It was Harry.
"What?" she asked, annoyed. Merlin forbid a classmate helped another! They were acting as if she had helped Grindelwald himself!
"What was that?"
Even Dean had stopped his work, eager to hear her answer. "What was what? She asked something—and I just replied. Is there a reason to be snarky at every chance possible?"
"They're Slytherins," Harry said in a way which for him proved to be a reasonable argument.
"And are Slytherins forbidden to be relayed information on how to place their Reptakrolls correctly?"
Harry rolled his eyes at her question. "Hermione, they're—they're evil," he argued, at which Hermione gave him an annoyed look. Even he was forced to admit how childish he sounded. "It was just odd, I guess," he mumbled. Hermione did not deign to reply, choosing to reach for her plant and placing it in the bucket.
It was only when the class ended that Hermione allowed herself to heave a sigh of relief. She caught Pansy's eye, who was lingering behind her friends intentionally and gave her a small encouraging smile. She wondered if Pansy too had been questioned as she had.
"Hermione," Pansy said in a sing-song manner as she settled down next to her friend. They were sitting in the Room of Requirement, which had transformed into a huge warm room with a fireplace, sofas and cushions. "What are you doing?"
"I am doing my homework," Hermione said furiously scribbling away at the parchment in her hand. "Pansy," she added in a sing-song manner after a thought. She did not see but felt Pansy smirk.
"Revolutionary as always," Pansy leaned over Hermione's arm to see what she was writing. It was about the time travel thing that she had been researching on for quite some time.
"Found anything new?" Pansy asked. Hermione looked up and the distance between them, Pansy noticed, was very short. She could see faded pimple scars, she could see how soft it seemed. Hermione's eyes were brown too, deep brown, they were—away, looking away from her. Pansy moved away.
"Not really," Hermione replied cryptically. Pansy was accustomed to this behaviour from her. She felt when it came to her work, Hermione guarded most of the research she found jealously. She was afraid of plagiarism or something, Pansy thought. She did not push.
"So...," Pansy began, waiting for Hermione to look up, which the latter did, though rather reluctantly. "Herbology," Pansy said, instead of explaining. Hermione nodded immediately.
"My housemates are wondering if they should mark me a traitor," Hermione scoffed, with a smile. "Not really, but Harry and Ron did seem very put off and were asking questions. Did you get any...?"
"Draco was asking me why you were so keen on helping," Pansy shrugged. "Apart from that they all thought it was a prank of some sort."
"Draco did?" Hermione made a face as she went back to her scribbling. "I'm sure Draco was curious as to why the mudblood was suddenly intruding," she muttered furiously under her breath.
"Hermione," Pansy said with a sigh. Hermione did not look up. "Don't call yourself that...And you know I would never tolerate Draco calling you...that either."
Hermione did not answer. She went ahead with her scribbling. Pansy knew not to push her friend so took out a book of her own. It was a while until either of them spoke.
Pansy was the first to break the silence. She kept her book aside and said hesitating, "Hermione, father said that we are to go to Chile this Christmas."
"But I thought we had decided that we'll spend it together," Hermione scowled. Pansy could see that she was upset and apologized immediately.
"I know, I'm sorry, Hermione," she said, "but Father is—he's insisting, and it won't look proper if I reject him. I can't."
Pansy's shoulders drooped and her face was cast downward. She had been looking forward to spending time with Hermione this Christmas. They had all sorts of fun activities planned for them to do—Muggle and Wizard. But now none of them seemed possible.
"You know, for all your Pureblood ways, I notice the women are not entirely free to do what they want," Hermione bit out, angrily. Pansy sighed. She could see how angry Hermione was and did not wish to anger her further.
"Yes, they aren't," she conceded.
"Well, you can't take this lying down! You must—you must fight!" Hermione almost shouted. Pansy flinched but frowned at her outburst.
"Aren't I already? In my own way?" Pansy argued, though her voice was still soft.
"No," Hermione protested, although Pansy could tell Hermione knew she was not being fair. Pansy was rebelling against the entire Pureblood institution by associating with her, by being her friend, by, by—
"Anything more would mean exile," Pansy admitted quietly. "You know—," she began but was cut off by a very angry Hermione.
"Yes," Hermione snapped, irritated. "Yes, I know." Hermione shoved her books inside her bag. "I'll see you later, Pansy," she said, still extremely irritable and left slamming the door behind her.
Hermione's head hurt as she woke up the next day. The party they had thrown for Luna had gotten a little out of hand. The twins had managed to sneak in alcohol and though Hermione was not traditionally one for underage drinking, even she had to admit it would be too much of a damper to not enjoy the company of friends and get sloshed with them. She had realized she actually enjoyed drinking. Although perhaps her quantities needed much amendment because her head felt like it would kill her.
Luna had really been touched by the party thrown in her honor and was even more delighted by the gift presented to her by Ginny and Hermione. "I will make good use of it," she had said in a dreamy manner, leaving Hermione and Ginny giggling. They made her promise to tell them when she did put it into practice.
Hermione let out a small groan as she clutched her head. She really ought to manage her alcohol better.
"Want a Sober-Up potion 'Mione?" A voice—George Weasley's asked her at the breakfast next day, when most of her friends from Gryffindor were in a sleepy, sick stupor from the night before.
"Yes, please," she whispered, reaching for a goblet of water for her throat was parched.
"5 sickles, please," George said holding a small bottle in his hand. Hermione shot him a glare.
"Really?" she asked, annoyed. George smirked and pointed to Ron, who was sitting a little away from her, happily munching at his food, before leaning closer to her.
"If it makes you feel better, I charged him ten."
Hermione could not stifle the chuckle that escaped her mouth despite her need to protest such harsh treatment of their own brother. She reached into her pocket and presented George with the fee.
"Always a pleasure doing business with you, milady," George said emphatically before going to others to sell Sober-Up potion. Hermione watched him with amazement as he managed to offer each suffering person a different price. She snorted in disgust and wonder as she reached into her goblet and poured it in her pumpkin juice. She looked up and ran her eyes over the Slytherin table to see if Pansy was present. She could not spot the dark-haired witch anywhere.
Hermione was really upset that Pansy had cancelled their plans. She had already told Mrs. Weasley that she would not be coming for Christmas this year and she could not back out on her word now. She felt too awkward. It had been so difficult to convince them to let her be in Hogwarts 'alone' for her research to suddenly go back on it. She was determined to not speak to Pansy at least a whole day. Though it would be the longest they had gone without speaking since they had become friends.
It was exactly five minutes later that she spotted the trademark pale-blond hair of Malfoy and the brown hair of Pansy making their way in. Why were they always together? Hermione hid a scowl. No matter how much Hermione complained about Draco having bullied her terribly to Pansy, the latter would only sympathize but make no attempt at breaking her friendship with the former. I guess they are friends since childhood, Hermione bitterly consoled herself.
As if feeling Hermione's eyes on her, Pansy looked up and gave the former the smallest hint of a smile, but Hermione looked away, still annoyed. She knew she would have to speak to Pansy eventually but today would not be the day, she vowed.
In History of Magic, Hermione frowned and scowled as Professor Binns droned on about Pureblood laws and ignored Pansy who eagerly sought her eyes ought to further communicate her apology. In Potions, she sat at the far end with Neville, sulking thoroughly and even snapping at her partner when he added the wrong ingredient in their Sleeping Draught potion, feeling bad only when Snape threw a nasty remark at him. Hermione was determined to sulk her way through Care of Magical Creatures as she complained a little too-loudly than planned, "why are we doing this?"
They were separating skin of slugs from their pus rotten bodies. It was a tedious and hideous task and something which was not up to. Usually Harry, Hermione and Ron would always be open to oblige Hagrid but as Hermione was already at the end of her wits, she found it difficult to oblige anyone today. Apparently, her impatience had made itself known, for Hagrid replied not unkindly, "It's fer te snakes in the Forbidden Forest."
Although Hermione blushed apologetically, her interest was piqued. "For the snakes?" she asked, urging Hagrid to explain.
"The snakes from the muggle swamps are comin' to the magical 'uns—some climate problem," Hagrid said, sorting through Dean's bucket of pus, checking it for quality, Hermione guessed, "it's become uninhabitable fer 'em."
"Global warming?" Hermione asked, sympathetically but Hagrid only looked at her confused. Dean shot her a grin which she returned.
"It's a phenomenon," Dean explained, "which is making the earth turn warmer… is it because of that?"
"I s'ppose so," Hagrid shrugged, "Wouldn't 'ave known 'bout this if that boy hadn't told us. Said we ought to do something to save the snakes."
"Which boy?" Hermione asked, curious.
"Riddle," Hagrid said absentmindedly, going through Ron, Harry and her collection of pus. Hermione was surprised at Hagrid's answer and wished to ask more but he had already moved on to other students. Riddle discovering snakes that needed help in the Forbidden Forest? But how did he know—? And was he a muggleborn like her? Or perhaps a half-blood? Hermione found herself troubled with these questions but found no one to quench her curiosity, having decided not to speak to Pansy until her anger faded.
"But Hagrid," Hermione said, following him to Parvati's table. "H-how did Tom Riddle know?"
"Well, lad's a parseltongue, isn't he?" Hagrid picked up Parvati, Lavender and Hannah's bucket and held it close to his face. The girls flinched at his gesture. The mixture smelled awful enough to not hold it against your face. But Hermione took no notice, busy processing the new information Hagrid had given her.
"Parseltongue," Hermione whispered, amazed. "A parseltongue? Th-I did not know that. But—," Hermione began again but her questions were drowned when a slug from Seamus' hands shot out into the air, plastering itself onto the back of Draco Malfoy's robes.
The class—except for the Slytherins—dissolved into laughter and even Hagrid took his time detaching the slug from Malfoy. Even Hermione couldn't help laugh. Malfoy could be heard complaining and groaning loudly as he was wont to. The usual threats of reporting the events to his father making itself known.
"Prat," Ron muttered grinning, "I know another place the slug could have done some good to him."
Although mildly horrified, Hermione could not escape the laugh that escaped her lips.
At lunch, Hermione was keen on eating fast to be able to go to the library, prompting Harry to urge her to slow down. "Hermione, you're going to choke if you eat that fast," he said casting a worried glance at her. But she only shook her head. She would have asked him to not worry but her mouth was full of food.
"Leave her be Harry," Ron said, "I never choked on eating fast and I can eat much faster," he boasted.
Hermione shot Ron a grateful smile before heading to the library. She decided to move to the secluded spot near the windows but to her surprise, she couldn't find it. It was supposed to be adjacent to the section on Merlin's philosophy but it… it wasn't there! Unless…
Unless someone had cast a charm to avoid intruders. Interesting… Hermione thought, a challenge. And she loved nothing more than a good challenge.
"I heard you gave Fred and George detention slips for six months."
A small huff of surprise escaped from Riddle. Was it at the comment or at her presence? Hermione wondered. He was sitting in the most inconspicuous corner of the library, with a Notice-Me-Not spell cast over him—to prevent intruders who might disturb his precious study time, but it had not stopped Hermione. Nothing would. She was told that no matter how good he was, he was a Slytherin at the end of the day. And that meant she had to deal in 'Slytherin ways' if she wanted to achieve her purpose.
"Slytherin ways?" Hermione had asked Pansy to whom she had presented her predicament last week. They were lounging outside in front of the big lake. The sun was strong and warm against their skins.
"Yes, surely you don't think Riddle would give you something for free. He is a Slytherin."
Hermione had frowned. "And what would you suggest I trade him his knowledge for?"
"That you figure out. I have enough problems on my hands as it is—now, did you get the muggle potions like I had asked you to?"
"It's called a conditioner, Pansy, and yes, here it is."
Pansy had ignored Hermione's comment and had continued to jab at the blue plastic bottle of conditioner with interest. "Why does this work better than all the potions?" she had murmured to herself before putting it aside and asking Hermione if she wanted to work on their Transfiguration homework together.
"Granger," Riddle huffed, surprised. "You broke the spell." It was not a question. But he did seem taken aback. Hermione gave him a slow smile and shrugged. Had he thought she couldn't? Truthfully, it hadn't been entirely easy. Her suspicions about it being a Notice-Me-Not charm were correct but partially so. The Notice-Me-Not charm had been combined with something that appeared to be a modification on the Disillusionment charm. It had taken several counter spells and a modification on the same to have the required effect. But she wasn't going to tell Riddle all of that.
"You gave Fred and George detention for six months," she repeated, her eyebrows raised.
"Yes, and?" He went about scrawling something hastily on sheets of parchment. His handwriting was neat, Hermione noticed, despite the urgency attached to the movement producing it.
It shows your need for vengeance, she thought to herself.
"And you sent word to their mother?"
The quill stopped. His dark brown eyes met Hermione's. She grinned, satisfied. "I am correct, aren't I?"
"Is there anything you want Granger?"
"Not really," Hermione sat down with her books. "I wish to study in silence."
Riddle looked like he wanted to say something sarcastic, something biting but he doesn't. He smiled politely. Saccharine sweet. "Of course," he graciously moved some of his books to make more space for hers. They worked in silence for an hour.
Riddle was the first to speak. "How did you manage to undo my spell?"
"It wasn't easy," Hermione said instead. She did not wish to reveal just how much she knew. She wanted to know how much Riddle knew. But he did not speak. He just stared at her as if waiting for her to proceed. She doesn't.
"And?" Riddle prodded.
"And, I combined some of Gubar's theories on spell modification," she conceded carefully, "to understand how you had patterned yours. And then unlocked it."
"Unlocked it? How long did it take you?" There was a glint of interest in his eyes.
Hermione hesitated before answering truthfully, "an hour."
The interest in his eyes faded at her response. "Impressive," he said though his face proved otherwise.
"But not quite?" Hermione sulked. What did stupid Riddle know anyway? Hermione argued. It was the first time she had tried her hand at modifying a spell. An hour was decent. Decent? It was good. Excellent, even. If Professor McGonagall had witnessed it, Hermione knew she would be awarded with house points and compliments. Not 'impressive'.
"Do not fish for compliments, Granger. It's unbecoming," Riddle smiled. Hermione glared at him.
"Unbecoming?" she scoffed. "You're insufferable," she muttered under her breath.
"Did you say something?" Riddle asked, looking up from his books, feigning innocence. Hermione did not reply. She fumed quietly, tending to her books.
"And I pretend to pray," Hermione sang shaking her hands and waist in a manner Pansy found bizarre and funny. She sat surrounded by their books abandoned by the both of them a half hour ago when Hermione had decided to show her a 'boomb-ox'. Pansy had understood it as an ox of some sort. Perhaps a transfigured object. Though in hindsight she realized what an absurd thought it had been.
Hermione had come up to her an hour ago when she had been working on her Charms essay to apologize for overreacting. While Pansy had assured her friend that she was over it, she still did feel guilty that Hermione now had nowhere to go for Christmas and was bound to stay at the castle all alone. Her parents had already booked their tickets for their vacation and approaching the Weasleys, Hermione told her, would be too rude now. When Pansy had again profusely apologized, Hermione had only brushed it off telling her she might as well get some research done.
They had sat in the library hidden by charms and spells cast by Hermione while each worked on their assignments. After an hour they had decided to go hang out in the Room of Requirement where Pansy now found herself being subjected to what she considered awful Muggle music.
"Is this them—The Beatles?" Pansy asked, taking the boombox into her lap and trying to figure out from where she could find out the name of the artist. She knew where the little flat circle thing went, though. Hermione proved unhelpful as she was
"California Dreamin'," Hermione danced gesturing Pansy to join her. The latter only grimaced in response.
"I'm not sure what you're doing but it cannot be dancing," Pansy wrinkled her nose in distaste. Hermione only laughed.
"Oh Pansy," she said, "The wizarding world is at such a loss—missing out on such great music."
"So, these are a hit in Muggle UK?"
"Not really, an uncle who lives in the States brought it as a present. I had to practically beg my parents to let me bring it to school. Life can be awfully dreadful without music see," she said as the song finished. She reached into her bag and took out another flat circle.
"Beatles?" Pansy asked, not because she was keen on the Muggle band but just for the fact that it was the only Muggle band whose name she could remember so far.
"No," Hermione said with a conspiratorial smile. "Something better."
"Pansy Parkinson, I welcome you to the fold of punk rock music."
"This—this is wrock!" Pansy exclaimed. "Weird Sisters? Howling Melons? Don't tell me you haven't heard of Beheaded Puffs?"
"No, I haven't," Hermione bristled. Pansy gave her an exasperated look before reaching into her book bag and took out a gramophone and vinyl records. "Pansy!" Hermione frowned, "you're—this was supposed to be my time remember? To introduce you to Muggle music?"
"Yes, well, but since we were on the topic, I thought why not…" Pansy's voice trailed off as her hands busily worked to set up the gramophone.
"And you just happened to carry a gramophone and records in your bag?" Hermione asked, seemingly annoyed. Pansy only gave her an innocent shrug.
"Enough of your muggle crap, Granger," She said with a sweet smile, "let's listen to some real music, shall we?"
"Muggle crap?" Hermione sputtered angrily but her angry rant was drowned by loud rock music. She clapped her hands over her ears in an act of defiance. "I am not listening to this until—," she began loudly but broke off in between for her words were said in vain. The music was too loud to allow words to be spoken at a decent decibel and Pansy had her eyes closed so no amount of miming would help Hermione communicate her displeasure.
"YOU'RE TERRIBLE," Hermione finally let out a shout over the music, crossing her arms across her chest. Pansy did not give an indication of having heard her as she continued to sway to the music but there lingered the slightest hint of a smirk if one looked carefully.
After her rendezvous with Pansy, Hermione made her way back to her dorms under the disillusionment charm when she bumped into someone.
"Homenium revelio," the person said before Hermione could react. Hermione could only stare in horror as her incantations broke to reveal her form exposed. She tried to look at the offender.
"Riddle? Is—is that you?" She asked, when she caught only a glimpse of his form.
"Granger?" The silhouette came to view and assumed the shape of Riddle. Hermione had to wonder if he was real. It was so dark in the corridor. "What are you doing outside?" he asked.
"Professor McGonagall had asked me to meet her," Hermione lied smoothly. "Were you—did you just come out of the girl's bathroom?" Hermione looked behind him, from where he had come out from.
"Meeting a professor at this late hour?" Riddle asked clearly ignoring her question.
"Yes, we had matters that needed discussing," Hermione said dismissively, "but what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, scrutinizing him. She knew he was breaking curfew. Perfect Riddle not so perfect after all, she smiled smugly to herself.
"You're breaking school rules," she pointed out. The facsimile of perfection plastered on Riddle's face cracked a little to reveal a glare.
"Excellent observational skills. Ten points to Gryffindor," Riddle said in a deadpanned voice. "I would appreciate it if you could keep this between us."
"Appreciate it? Appreciation never got anyone anywhere, Riddle," Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and resisted the urge to tut. This is your chance, this is what Pansy was talking about. Trade, trade, trade.
"What do I get if I keep this secret for you?" Hermione said quickly because she saw a dark shadow fall on Riddle's face. He looked sort of frightening. And threatening.
"Would you like me to help you out with your research on time travel, Granger?" he asked coldly. Clearly, he loathed the idea of being blackmailed.
She hated to admit it, but she felt a little nervous. Was it because Riddle was a boy—a man? Hermione had not expected her sex to make her feel nervous. Rather, she did not expect to feel nervous because of another's sex. There was something frighteningly violent about him. Was it his sex? His gender? Or himself? Hermione did not know if there was a distinction between these of any particular importance. The violence or anticipation of it was warning enough for her to tread cautiously but in a manner that would prove most advantageous to her.
"No," Hermione murmured. She cocked her head to the side and regarded him, ignoring his raised eyebrow. What could she take that she wouldn't otherwise get?
"Parseltongue. I've always wanted to learn it. Teach me Parseltongue."
