She stared at the boy standing in front of her in shock. Panic rippled through her body. Her eyes frantically darted across the room, scanning every detail of the Gryffindor girls' dorms, the colours now a blur of crimson and gold in her mind. There was no use in even trying the window - oh why didn't she own a broomstick? - and he was blocking the exit to the door. "You…" she said breathlessly, "I-but- how?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Me? I don't believe we are acquainted." he said simply.

No. No. Of course they weren't. Not yet at least. A manic laugh spread across her face. So this was who fate had teamed her up with? When she'd cast the spell and asked for a tutor in the dark arts - it had been with the intention of destroying the very man standing before her, not learn from him.

"My apologies." she said, getting to her feet. "I believe there must have been some kind of mist-"

"No mistake whatsoever." he said. "Well, of course I didn't expect you to be a Gryffindor, but so long as your knowledge of Runes, and dare I say it, manipulation, is adequate, I don't believe that will be an issue." He looked pensive for a moment. "In fact it would probably make sense for you to be in Gryffindor. I've always been told that I occasionally sound… dishonest. A…" he seemed to struggle on the next word, "… flaw in my language I am keen to rectify."

Her hands shook slightly. "You… you cast the exchange spell?" He rolled his eyes, as if to say, 'obviously-I-did-don't-be-so-dimwitted-else-my-faith-in-you-shall-diminish-rather-rapidly'. "You're a sixth year too, I take it? What year are we in anyway?"

She opened the window to let some of the cool winter air in, and gazed at the landscape sprawling beyond the tower. Winter had been particularly harsh this year. Frost had kissed the trees into a white stupor, ice had swept over the lake, the Hogwarts grounds were blanketed in snow. To some, a world like this must have looked uninviting. To her… A small smile spread across her lips. To her it was beautiful, beautiful and perfect. She swallowed, searching for the courage to turn to the man beside her.

"My name is Hermione Granger." she spoke calmly, ignoring his previous questions, and holding out her hand. "And you are?"

He shook it with a firm grip, a smile tugging at his lips. "Tom Riddle."

"Granger? Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger, the famed potion master? And you didn't answer my last few questions." he added reproachfully.

Sweet Merlin. So many questions. Was this what she sounded like to other people? Didn't he ever get tired of asking incessant questions? "I am indeed in sixth year, and this is the twenty-sixth of December 1996." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "As for Hector Dagworth-Granger, I doubt I am any relation of his." She made a show of examining her nails. "I am, after all, muggle-born." she smirked, eyeing his Slytherin uniform carefully. "What is it people in your house call me? A mudblood, yes."

If there was any shock manifesting in his brain, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed rather pleased. "It's the twenty-sixth of December 1942 where I come from." He grinned, before comparing the time on his wristwatch to that of the clock. "In fact, I do believe we have managed to synchronise this perfectly. Though your clock may be perhaps five minutes late."

"It's not late. But if the only difference between our day-times is five minutes, then we should consider ourselves lucky." she muttered.

"The half-century time-gap between us suits my purposes rather well. You and I can be completely forthcoming with each other without any fear of repercussions. As for you blood heritage," he began, "Well, talent does come in the most unexpected of places. Now - I need you to help me with some rather tricky runes - this would be a partnership of course." She nodded. "I've also been told that whilst I'm charming I lack… as I say, what's the word…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this. Charming, perhaps, but what he lacked most of all was - "sincerity. My lies occasionally fall short when it comes to this. I need to learn how to appear sincere. This is of the greatest importance to me - I cannot emphasise this enough." He sat on the bed opposite her - Lavender's - eyeing the frilly pink pillow case disdainfully. "Can you fulfil these terms?"

"Yes. I do believe I can." She began to examine the quills on her bedside table, holding them up to the light. If anything, she was merely avoiding his gaze. She'd managed to escape having to look directly into his eyes during the whole meeting so far. "The Dark Arts. I need you to teach me about the Dark Arts." - to bring you down - she almost wanted to add.

"Brilliant." There was something in his voice, a strange mix of joy and hunger. Lord Voldemort, joyous. Who'd have thought? "I'm also thinking of taking up Legilimency, I'd need a partner for that." he added.

She frowned. "I think for obvious reasons, that would not work. I can't allow you to look at the future, Tom." This time she looked into his eyes. They were a mesmerising shade of dark grey - with hints of green and violet strewn here and there. She swallowed. He seemed pensive. "That seems fair, I suppose. I'd like to at least talk through the theory with you though. I can tell you're no fool, and Hogwarts in my time is so inbred in the Slytherin quarters, it's impossible to have a proper conversation with anyone."

She snorted, her lips involuntarily twisting into a grin. Perhaps they weren't so different after all. "I would .. love to discuss theory with you." She said at last, and found herself meaning it.

He smiled. "I look forwards to it, Miss Granger. I assume it's the winter holidays here as well, which would explain why the place seems deserted. I shall call on you this time tomorrow, and we can begin." And with a swift bow, he was gone.