Authors Notes: Because of the Anne Rice Thing, I do not own Harry Potter. Starts in the Trio's sixth year albeit I've taken some obvious liberties with it.

It had been her own stupid fault. Hermione had meant to tell Ron she had feelings for him, especially after she had "helped" him during try-outs, only that was too early in the year. Now, she was a complete train wreck after Lavender had declared that it wouldn't be long before they were officially dating. He was… happy. That's what mattered. No, she was still bitter. And he still hated McLaggen. She did too.

She'd attempted to distract herself from Lavender and Ron in the common room with the library. Only McLaggen had taken to creeping around it to talk to her. Harry was busy with Dumbledore's lessons, and she didn't feel like talking to him much after the Half-Blood Prince's book. She then found herself wandering up to the seventh floor to the Room of Requirement. It was as good of a place as any.

I need something to distract me

She repeated the phrase until the door showed up. When she walked into the room, she found that there were books in organized, yet chaotic, piles around the room, and there was a large couch in front of a fire on the other side of the wall. Her hands lingered on the spines of books she hadn't managed to find in the library, or Diagon Alley. Only her elbow had inadvertently knocked over one of the books, and before she could bend down to pick it up she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

When she looked over to the couch, there was somebody standing behind it. She couldn't quite see the face before she whipped out her wand. As did the other person.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Who are you?" She shouted at the same time.

He walked around the couch and she moved behind another set of books closer.

"I'm Tom Riddle, Head boy," he said. "And you are?"

She wished she hadn't moved closer. Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

"I said what are you doing here?" He demanded.

"I just, asked for a place to distract myself, how are you here?" She said calmly.

"I asked for a place where I could distract myself and not worry about the time. And your name?"

"Hermione— Hermione Granger."

"Well miss Granger, you don't seem like you're from 1944."

She looked down and saw the unflattering jeans and the plain creme colored sweater she wore.

"I guess that time thing really did it," she smirked.

"I should be more direct in my commands. How did you find this room anyway?" He asked.

"A friend."

It wasn't a complete lie, but it would be a mouthful to explain. He rolled his eyes.

"Well, what year are you from?" He asked.

"Is this an interrogation?" She asked innocently.

"I'd rather not be stuck in a room with you either."

"If you must know, 1996."

"Well miss Granger, I'm trying to study for my NEWTS. So please don't bother me if you're going to stay in this room."

"Fair enough."

She turned and saw that the door had vanished. Damn it. As if a number of things this year hadn't already gone wrong. Then the idea occurred to her— she could kill the future-Dark Lord right now. And nobody would know. She'd save Harry's parents, Sirius, the victims of the first war; only he was experienced in dark magic, he'd already killed Myrtle and framed Hagrid by this point, and he was skilled from what she'd read in papers about Lord Voldemort. He could possibly out duel her. Unless she stabbed him in the back, literally, but he'd have to see that coming. Riddle had already gone back to his couch. She grabbed a book from the top of a pile and went closer to the fire. The hair on her neck shot up when she heard him sigh annoyed.

They sat in silence for a while. Then she looked up at him as he was hunched over a text book and a notebook.

"What NEWT are you studying for?" She asked.

"Ancient Runes," he stated.

"Do you need help or anything?"

Why would a Dark Lord need help?

"Look over it," he challenged.

She had already read the seventh years text book, and it hardly had any updates through the years. A few minor adjustments as always. Then she noticed a minor error— the translation had been corrected in the 50's if she remembered correctly. She borrowed Riddle's quill and made the adjustment to his dismay.

"I had it right," he scoffed and attempted to undo it.

"I'm the brightest witch of my age, and first in my year, I guarantee you that's correct. You were just off by a margin of a fraction," Hermione said.

He looked at the parchment closely.

"Well, it does make a little bit more sense," he said.

She beamed and went back to her own book. They had lost track of time at some point and Hermione had fallen asleep with her hands grazing the book just above her head. Riddle had placed his books in the bag he had before he put the younger girl on the couch. She had mumbled something before he made his way towards the door.

"Riddle!" She called out, springing forward out of her sleep.

"I'm here," he said, his tone was vaguely patronizing.

"Oh, sorry, just. Never mind. Are you leaving?"

"I am. If the room has its way I'll see you again, possibly. Go back to sleep, when you return to your own time, hardly any time will have passed."

She gave a nod and laid back down to look at the fire. Then she remembered how he'd murdered Myrtle and anticipated him killing her first. It didn't happen. The door shut behind him. Ironically, she found herself missing the mostly-silent company of the young Tom Riddle. She'd kill him. Of course she would. Only she had screwed up her first chance at it, which would likely be the only chance she'd have. As she looked into the fire, she did find it hard to deny that he'd been handsome. The dark hair that looked like he'd continuously ran a hand through it to make it look messy as if it was effortless, and he'd had a good facial structure, and— dammit, she was swooning over the future Dark Lord. Merlin. At some point she had passed out.

When she woke up again, it was nearly ten. She'd been gone hardly two hours when maybe a day had gone by in the Room. Hermione made her way back up the common room where Harry and Ron were talking about something. The thought of the younger Tom Riddle crossed her mind and she bolted up to her room.

"Blimey, what's gotten into her?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, just as confused as to Hermione's absence. Ron reckoned it was because of McLaggen, only McLaggen had bothered Harry about the play for training and had gone up to his dorms hours before Hermione.

If she told Harry, he'd be disappointed that she hadn't murdered Riddle. If she told Ginny, she'd be furious. If she kept it to herself, well, it was nice to have one thing to herself. If it was someone other than the future Dark Lord, she'd be pleased. Only this was some bizarre incident where she hadn't killed him, which left her plotting to murder him at a later date. As she laid on her bed, she heard Lavender Brown walk out of the bathroom with Parvarti, gushing about Ron. Irritated, she used her wand to close the drapes around her bed and casted a silencing spell.

Authors Notes: The next chapter should be up pretty soon, however I don't plan on this being a long multiple chapter work. The rating will change as it progresses. Anyway, please leave a review!