Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. This incredible world and it's characters belong to her and those affiliated with the brand.
PART ONE
.
ONE
Hermione hadn't meant to, not really.
Her parents had decided that Italy was a beautiful place to spend August, and while she spent half of her time touring with them, her main concern was seeing Wizarding Italy, intent on learning as much as she possibly could, not only for her thesis on Magical Creature (Human and Non-Human) relations, but also so that she would be a greater help Harry when the time came. It wasn't that she didn't have faith in her friend, because she truly had all the faith in the world that he'd someday manage to kill the greatest Dark Wizard of all time, but everyone needed some sort of help. And what was the use of being the brightest witch of her age if she wasn't able to explore and experiment?
She reached for her wand and palmed it, ignoring the magic that pulsed through her hand. It'd been three days since she'd left Italy, and she found herself unable to use her typically known and faithful wand, and she felt no more inclined to do so today. Not after...
Studying the Dark Arts, objectively, of course, had not gone as planned. But, how was she to know that there would be a time she would be inclined to use them? Not that what she'd done was that bad. Really, it wasn't. It was just a shock. A huge and incredible shock.
Anyway, Dumbledore had encouraged her, he really had. He was a practical and logical man that she was ever grateful for, and Hermione was certain that if he had been present, he would have done same thing. She didn't think he would object to her having spent her summer studying them. He'd agree that knowing as much as possible about the enemy was necessary, if you planned on beating them. The rest of the Order may not understand, not exactly, but Dumbledore would, and Harry would come to, and that's what mattered.
Oh, who am I kidding, Hermione asked herself, easily recalling her trudge through the ruins of Herculaneum.
"Hermione, dear!" Her mother's voice sounded from the bottom of the steps. "Are you nearly ready? It's time to head to King's Cross!"
She sat up on her bed, quickly standing, and instantly recalled the way it felt to stand on the ledge before the dark room. She hadn't been alone, and it was such an instant feeling she thought she'd fall from the warehouse and into the sea below. She hadn't been alone, and there were suddenly what felt to be hundreds of pairs of eyes on her -admittedly, there were only about ten, but it was still too many. There wasn't supposed to be anyone even on that property. She...she...
The witch sat back down on the edge of her bed, hands pressing into her knees and fingers squeezing the soft flesh. She realized that she dropped her wand, and her eyes found where it lay on the bedroom floor, seemingly mocking her. For days, she'd been cataloguing what it meant to be the owner of a vine wood wand, and everyday she convinced herself a little more that she was in no shape, way, or form inclined to the Dark Arts. She was Muggleborn, for goodness sake, and a firm protester against Gellert Grindelwald's ridiculous campaign.
She'd just been desperate. It'd been life or death. She'd done what she had to do. And no one had been injured, at least, not anymore than they already were. They'd been dead to begin with, anyway -and, on that note, why someone thought it okay to have an army of Inferi in a Muggle ruin was beyond her. It was disrespectful, not to mention illegal.
"Hermione!"
"I'm coming, Mum!" She breathed, letting go of her knees once the feeling grew too similar to the feel of the Inferi holding onto her.
As she reached for her wand, her eyes fell onto the back of her hand, studying the fleshy wound she'd acquired. It'd finally stopped bleeding, but she swore she could still feel nails pressing through her skin as one of them had attempted to drag her deeper into the warehouse. They were so strong, and nothing had worked. She'd been forced to use anything that came to mind as they attempted to overpower her, and as she once again gripped her wand, she remembered what it was like the moment Fiendfyre came to mind. It was as though she'd woken up; she casted it before she could think about all of the damage it would do.
And then, she'd been so afraid. There was so much magic, so much stronger and more powerful than she'd been accustomed to, sprouting from her wand so potently that she feared the fire would consume her if she didn't run. So, she did. Oh, how they screamed, shouting specifically for her; it was as though whatever spell they were under lifted, leaving them alive, and they were heavily aware of what was happening. She could still hear them, calling for her to help them…damning her.
"Hermione!"
She started, getting up from her bed and magicking a bandage for her wound before quickly leaving her room.
"Didn't you visit the Herculaneum ruins while we were in Italy, Jeannie?" John Granger looked up at his daughter curiously as she came down the steps.
She made herself busy by shooing Crookshanks into his carrier, blinking a few times. "Huh?"
"The Herculaneum ruins, dear," her mother, Jane, began to usher her out of the house. "Weren't you there?"
Her father followed them with her trunk, loudly.
"Oh, no. Turns out you can't actually access the grounds. There are wards around them." It was the truth. There had been wards, and she'd unwisely made child's play of them; however, she'd been able to put up a heavier set up before leaving, fearful that Muggle children would stumble across what she had. "I'd read that the Muggles thought the grounds possessed, so perhaps some wizards were attempting to keep whatever is in there, in there."
They all got into the car, her mother instantly lighting a cigarette. Her father fussed, rolling down the windows before saying, "That's too bad, really. Apparently, someone tried to burn them down. The authorities can't trace the fire to any given point, and they had to call in specialists to put it out. Can you believe it? Wild, isn't it? You've got to be a sicko to do something like that."
Hermione pulled the half-kneazle from the carrier, snuggling him to her chest. "Yeah," she agreed, "a sicko."
Really, she hadn't meant to.
.
TWO
Hermione moved deeper into the Common Room, her anger seeming to grow with every group of people she was forced to push through. I'm going to kill him, she thought to herself, I'm going to fucking kill him.
Someone grabbed her shoulders, turning her around. "Hermione!"
"Get off me, Nott," she hissed, wiggling out of his hold.
He grinned at her, undeterred by her obvious discomfort and displeasure. "I'm glad you could make it! I was beginning to think Riddle didn't invite you!"
"He didn't!"
She pushed past him, finally making it out on the other side of the room, and as though he'd been waiting for her, Tom stood smirking, his dark eyes cloudy but present as they took her in. "You're foul, Riddle! Tomorrow is the first day of classes, and you have your housemates carrying on as though they have no responsibilities. What is the matter with you? You're Head Boy for Merlin's sake!"
"I can't hear you, Granger!" He told her, head bobbing as the Polar Prymates' music filled the room.
She didn't believe him, not even for a second.
"Maybe you should just enjoy the party! Your housemates are!" He pointed behind her, and she turned to see Lee Jordan making out with a Slytherin as they danced.
With her cheeks inflamed, she turned back to see amusement dancing across his features. Somehow, she resisted the urge to shove him. "I should report you," she threatened.
He blinked, managing to pull himself together –even if it was only barely.
"Oh, you heard that, did you?"
He stepped closer to her, and Hermione was suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that she'd never even been in Slytherin House before, let alone so near to Tom Riddle. She was also well aware of the fact that they'd barely said a thing to each other, ever, before today. Her skin seemed to tingle with life, surpassing discomfort and displeasure by a long shot. But, she refused to take a step back, because it was exactly what he wanted, and she couldn't help but feel that their forced acquaintanceship for the rest of the year relied heavily on this conversation –never mind that it was entirely her fault. She'd deal with herself later.
And, as though her eyes hadn't been pried open enough, she hyperaware of the fact that she was surrounded by Slytherin. By people who lived and breathed Dark Magic. They could probably sense her shortcomings on her as plainly as they could see that her shirt was red. Her damaged hand, as though aware of her situation, started to weep through her bandages.
She tried to establish eye contact with Tom, to see if he'd noticed, but got distracted.
His eyes were almost lazy as he stared down at her, as though her presence was absolutely ordinary. It was almost a relief. "Hermione," he murmured.
She only heard him because she'd been looking at his mouth. "Don't call me that, Riddle."
As though he hadn't heard her, he asked, "You wouldn't want to spend your 7th year quarrelling with Malfoy, would you? Because it's my understanding that he's next in line, should I be removed."
"Yeah right, Riddle. I know for a fact that Marcus Belby-"
"Accepted an internship with his uncle's potion's company, and is unable to preform the duties of a Head."
"-would gladly step in, should I ask him to do so," she huffed, only partially sure of her statement.
Tom's eyes sparked with dark joy, a smirk smoothing over his face. "So, that rumor is true then?"
She felt her cheeks begin to burn. "I'll give you until midnight, Riddle. After that, I'm waking Professor Snape to deal with you."
Glancing at Malfoy, who stood posted against the wall, his eyes disinterested as they roamed the crowd, Hermione realized that spending a year with his haughty apathy would put her in a deeper version of hell than Riddle ever could. Her eyes caught the pin fastened to his button-ups collar, and she resisted gagging. Proudly, as though racism was something so be proud of, against the lush green of his sweater, sat the symbol of a Grindelwald supporter. As she scowled, he smirked at her.
"And keep better company. You're the Head Boy for fuck's sake."
She turned to leave, choosing to ignore the fact that she had no intention of ever telling Snape anything. It wasn't exactly the way she wanted to start the year off.
An arsonist and a snitch.
Merlin, she laughed to herself, rubbing her forehead tiredly as she moved through the crowd.
"Granger! You can't leave without a drink."
It was Nott again.
"I can," she told him, blinking bitterly in his direction. He was smiling largely at her, almost sickeningly. She wondered if Tom put him up to bothering her, because she could barely remember speaking with Nott socially before tonight. "And I will, Nott. I'm the Head Girl."
"Off duty Head Girl right now. Term doesn't start until tomorrow." He pushed a cup of Butterbeer into her hand.
She would have bet her life that someone had heavy-handedly poured in Firewhiskey. "That's hardly an excuse."
"Right," he smirked, glancing over her shoulder. "Here comes Belby," he winked before disappearing into the crowd.
Hermione chugged the Butterbeer just as the Ravenclaw touched her shoulder, turning around with a smile on her face. "Marcus!" She exclaiming, allowing him to hug her.
She felt his magic, cool and calm –different- as it swept over her, but she didn't get the chance to consider what it meant. The alcohol clouded her mind like summer rain, warm and comforting against her already frazzled state.
"'Sup, 'Mione? How was your summer?"
The wound on her hand itched terribly in response to the question. "It was enlightening," she told him, watching him pass a hand through his dark hair. "Yours?"
"Honestly? I missed you."
She laughed, blinking a few times in attempt to clear her blurring vision.
"What happened to your hand?" He asked, grasping and pulling it into view.
The action, thankfully, helped sober her. Pulling her hand from his, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed. It was crazy –it was stupid, really, because why would anyone care about a bandage? Why would they notice, more than in passing?
But she was in Slytherin. If there was anything she'd learned about them, it was that they always noticed. Her eyes caught Malfoy's as he looked up from her hand; his blank stare seemed to make the situation all the worst.
Hermione realized that she'd made a horrible mistake coming down here –worst than she originally imagined, even-, and that she needed to get out as quickly as possible.
Looking back at Belby, she smiled prettily, and glanced casually at her hand. "Just a burn. I was barbequing." She gagged, unable not to. "I should get going."
"You only just got here!" Belby smiled, but there was something wrong. He reached for her hand again. "Dance with me."
She felt her chest tightening. His grip, his entire presence, made her feel as though she was again trapped by Inferi. There really wasn't an option anymore. She had to get out. She had to…
Swallowing, she carefully extracted her hand from his, using the uninjured one to brush against his cheek. "Maybe next time, Marcus."
Hermione turned directly into Tom. He looked down at her humoredly, before glancing speculatively between she and Belby. "Leaving so soon, Granger?"
"Yes, I really must be going."
He hummed thoughtfully, offering her his arm, "Allow me to escort you."
"That really isn't necessary, Riddle. I saw myself down here, and I can see myself out," she tried to go around him, but he caught her arm, looking down at her with large, dark eyes that seemed to eat away at everything in her.
She wasn't sure where any of her emotions were coming from, but was relatively thankful for the distraction they brought. Her mind seemed to calm. "Fine," she murmured. She wasn't really sure why.
He smirked, leading her from the Commons.
"I hear there is going to be an Aptitude Test in Defense tomorrow," he told her, voice low and uncomfortable.
Hermione folded her arms over her chest, careful to keep her bandaged hand hidden away. "An Aptitude Test?" She questioned quietly. "Isn't that illegal?"
"They aren't testing to see how much magic you're capable of. They're testing to see the type of magic."
She forced herself to keep walking. Tom had absolutely no reason to tell her. They were not friends. They were barely even colleagues, considering their reign as Head Boy and Girl had yet to really start. The only explanation she had for him telling her –and it wasn't even a logical one, for that matter- was that he knew. He knew. But how could he?
"Nervous?" She asked, hoping she didn't sound it herself. As she looked over at him, she realized that he was watching her from the corner of his eye. Every glance was small and calculated as they neared the Dungeon staircase. She honestly couldn't believe her luck, or lack of.
Her decision to come down and confront him about his irresponsibility only seemed to draw attention to her own. She should have known better.
"Are you?" It was the most curious she'd ever heard him.
Continuing the line of questioning, she asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
He stopped as they got to the steps, turning to her with a slight frown on his face. "I'd much prefer Hannah Abbott have gotten this position-"
"She's ranked twenty-fifth!" She couldn't help her outrage.
"Yes, but she is capable of keeping her nose out of other people's business," he told her soundly, unamused as she huffed angrily. "Nevertheless, I'm sure that you, like myself, would like to make the most of this year and position. Therefore, we need to communicate and be honest with each other, as it pertains to our status and this school.
"I'm sure you've realized that many Head pairs have something to do with each other post Hogwarts, and while I have no intention of ever seeing you again, Granger, I believe that this is an important alliance and experience for the both of us."
Hermione tried to believe him. She would have recommended the same things if she was in her right mind. The problem was that she wasn't. She couldn't help but believe that he knew what she'd done.
"What do you want from me?"
For what it was worth, he looked confused. "A drama free year, Granger. What is wrong with you? Are you drunk?"
"Yes," she breathed. It was easier than the truth.
He smirked, taking a step away from her as he tucked his hands into his pockets. She felt her cheeks heat up as he studied her, but relaxed enough to pick at the bandage on her hand. Despite the fact that she was still disturbingly and irrationally sure that he somehow knew she'd been the one that vandalized the ruins, Hermione felt fine. If him knowing meant that he would finally be civil with her, than so be it. It was more than anyone else would be if they knew.
"You're still awfully tense."
A couple came stumbling out of Slytherin, drawing their attention over her shoulder. Realizing that she was standing and chatting with Tom Riddle, Hermione straightened herself up and refolded her arms over her chest. "I will agree to being cordial with you, Riddle. I also think that it is important for us to be transparent with each other."
Noticing the way his eyes instantly fell to the bandaged hand, she swore under her breath and added, "As it pertains to being a Head and Hogwarts." It was really incredible how many people could be interested in something so insignificant.
Tom nodded slowly, eyes dancing as they observed her. She was almost in awe of the way he looked simultaneously interested and bothered, and wondered if it was something they practiced in Slytherin, or if it was a natural characteristic. He motioned for her to start walking again, and she did.
But, they didn't speak the rest of the way.
.
THREE
Hermione wasn't incredibly sure how to prepare for failure. At least, not her own –because she had been preparing to collectively lose against Grindelwald (begrudgingly, of course) for years. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, and she'd chosen to write her mother for help. It was pointless, considering Defense was her first class of the day, but if she tried hard enough –and it was easy, because she was desperate-, she was able to convince herself was she was being productive and proactive.
As she sat perfectly still, unable to suppress the fear pulsing though her, the target on her back seemed to light itself aflame, attracting the attention of all of her classmates. It was as though the universe was suddenly out to get her, and there was nothing she could think to do about it. There was no way out of the hole she'd dug herself into.
She just couldn't believe it was happening on the first day.
The wound on the back of her hand, still weeping through the dressings she was constantly changing, smarted painfully. She rubbed the skin around it in attempt to soothe herself.
"You okay?" Neville asked, curiously eyeing the black bandages.
"Just a burn," she told him, trying to focus on Professor Merrythought.
"It's useful," she was saying, her eyes seeming the smother each student before she continued, "to know if you have an affinity for Dark or Light curses and counters."
Hermione busied herself by tying her hair into a bun, ignoring the spell demonstration. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Tom wasn't paying any attention to her at all. It was, strangely, unnervingly, and distractingly reassuring. She'd talked herself down from the belief that he knew, as there wasn't really any way for him to know, and all the signs of the morning pointed toward her decision.
"The color is nothing to worry about, of course," Merrythought pointedly patted a Slytherin's workstation. "Having an easier time with either doesn't speak to the character of your heart, but rather the structure of your mind."
It wasn't an inspiring comment at all.
"Mind over matter," Ron whispered behind her. Harry laughed, and she could practically see the looks they were giving Slytherin.
Unable to stop herself, she turned to stare at the both of them. "Grow up," she hissed, "the both of you. I'll take points."
At their confused looks, she turned back around, shocked at even herself. But…what would they say when her spell turned black? Because it wasn't a matter of if. She knew that well enough.
As Merrythought gave them the go ahead, Hermione blinked a few times. "Neville. Would you like to give it a go?"
"Uh," he grabbed his wand.
She looked over the sheet the professor had given her, "Start with your wand firm in your fist, knuckles facing upward. Turn your wrist clockwise while saying the incantation, and flick in a sharp, downward motion to your- no, no, Neville, it's almost one, fluid motion. Yes. Perfect. Now, once you flick down, continue to rotate your wrist in a small, circular fashion, repeating the incantation. You essentially want to make a sort of funnel for your magic to pass through. Ah-almost," she smiled at his excited laugh. "A little faster and-"
"Oh, splendid, Mr. Riddle!"
Hermione looked over her shoulder, toward the windows.
Tom stood leaning casually against his workstation, laughing with Malfoy and Zabini as grey smoke funneled from the tip of his wand. As excitement washed over the class, she rolled her eyes, groaning.
Ron scoffed as Harry remarked, "Who does he think he's fooling?"
"A nice grey. Absolutely lovely, and to be expected from a great, Slytherin mind-"
"Why even bother," she murmured. "Neville." She called, regaining his attention. "Nothing to worry about now. If Riddle's grey, we're all in the running to be saints."
Neville laughed, looking over the classroom to see if anyone else had been successful before practicing the gestures once more. After his third try, he was the fourth person in the class to successfully execute the spell, and Merrythought congratulated him excitedly as the creamy smoke seemed to roll around their workstation.
Merrythought then looked to Hermione, her round eyes expectant. Her mouth went dry, and she drew her cheeks into her teeth briefly, trying to ignore the way everyone seemed to focus on her. She offered the professor a tight smile, eyes catching Tom's over the shorter woman's shoulder.
It was a long shot. She knew that she was only imagining it. But, Merlin, if it didn't feel like he knew exactly what she'd done. The witch tried to convince herself that he had no idea, and that even if he did, it wasn't as though what she'd done was so bad anyway. She'd been protecting herself. She'd done exactly what she had to do in order to survive. Never mind what happened as a result of her actions –and how she was to know that she was capable of such dark potency, anyway?
Hermione swallowed.
"Nervous?" Merrythought questioned.
She laughed, looking away from Tom. "A little." It physically hurt to admit it.
"Not a problem, dearie. Mr. Potter, why don't you give it a go, first?"
"Uh. Ok," he picked his wand up from where it lay casually on the table. Looking over the instructions one more time, it took him two tries for anything worthwhile to happen. As the smoke funneled from his wand, it caused a grey nearly the same shade as Tom's to cover his area. Almost unapologetically, he looked at Merrythought, cracking a smile at the last moment. "The hat always did want me in Slytherin, Professor."
The tension that had momentarily filled the room melted away as their classmates laughed, and Ron took the opportunity to try to spell as well. Like Harry, it took him two tries for it to work. Merrythought clapped happily as cream colored smoke curled from his wand, "Very good, Mr. Weasley! Very good, indeed. Now, Miss Granger?"
She was certain that if her spell turned out the same color as Harry's, everyone would have something so say about. Her only saving grace was that he and Ron wouldn't judge her too hard. They knew her, after all. They knew, relatively speaking, the extent of what she has always been capable off. All she needed was for it to somehow be grey.
Glancing over the instructions, Hermione acted out of movements before repeating them with the incantation. She seemed to circle her wrist for quite sometime before grey smoke began to filter from the tip of her wand. It was, thankfully, lighter than Harry's. She almost couldn't believe it, a slow grin spreading across her face as she looked up at Merrythought.
The professor smiled kindly, "Great job, Miss Granger. That was absolutely nothing for you to be wor- oh my."
Hermione looked down to see the smoke had changed from grey to black. She dropped her wand almost instantly, but the damage was done. It seemed as though the night sky had blanketed the classroom floor, and students gasped could be heard from all around. Horrified, she looked around to see a mixture of faces that she was sure mirrored her own, as well as curious stares from some of the Slytherin (and questionable Gryffindor, if she was being honest with herself). She wasn't quite sure what to do, but her chest felt tight with panic as her mind clouded with fear.
It was worse than anything that could have possibly happened.
"Professor, I'm not sure…. I," Hermione swallowed her words, looked at Harry with a mixture of terror and confusion, and fainted.
# # #
Later that evening, she sat alone in the infirmary. Harry and Ron had come to visit her during lunch, their trepidation obvious as they all sat watching each other. It was fine by her, because she wasn't sure what she would have told them –or anyone, for that matter- if they'd asked. There was no easy way to tell your best friends and professors that you'd taken to studying Dark Magic over the summer -and that it seems as though it'd been for the best, all things considered. If everyone wanted to ignore it, she would too. It was better that way. It wasn't as though she was Dark Witch. She was apart of the Order, for Merlin's sake.
Still, it wasn't looking too good for her.
Sighing, she rolled over to see that Tom Riddle was standing near the foot of her hospital bed. Somehow, she resisted screaming. She was more curious than scared, anyway.
"Good evening," he told her as he sat down in a nearby chair, drawing his ankle to his knee. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah," she told him, drawing her legs to her chest as she sat up.
"Yeah," he replied just as quickly as she had, his eyes like steel as they watched her. At her questioning look, he said, "You had one fucking job, Granger."
Offended, she asked, "Excuse me?"
"Why do you think I told you about the Aptitude test? Did you think I was feeling friendly?"
She swallowed heavily. "I thought you wanted to make the most of our 7th year, and positions as Heads."
He looked as though he couldn't quite believe what she was saying, and laughed coldly. "Listen. I don't care what you're up to, all right? I'll stay out of your way, and you'll stay out of mine. But the least you can do, Granger, is cover your ass."
He dropped a bundle of papers on the edge of her bed as he stood up. She recognized them as lecture notes instantly. It was odd to think he was scolding her –about Dark Magic usage, no less- and helping her. "Thank you."
Tom worked his jaw angrily. "Off the record, Merrythought will retest you at the end of the week," he told her before walking away.
"Riddle," she called, low enough to keep them out of trouble. "How'd you do it?"
He looked over his shoulder, a funny frown on his face. "Ambition," he told her. "Preservation. Attributes you seem to lack."
The silence that followed seemed to be deafening. Not only was she uncomfortably aware of the fact that Tom Riddle had been the only one levelheaded enough to treat her no differently then he had within the last twenty-four hours, but also brought her detailed lecture notes. It was far more then what anyone had done for her. And it was weird.
As though no time at all had passed, she heard him call, "A week, Granger," just before the doors shut soundly.
.
FOUR
The words echoed in her head for hours that night, and hadn't stopped as she prepared for classes the next day. In fact, they rang in her ears for the entire week, her confusion and ever-growing misunderstanding seeming to block any personal attempt to do something about the state of her future. Instead, all she could focus on was throwing herself into her schoolwork. It was the only familiar part of herself, and it was safe to study school related topics. It left no room for her to pick up books on Dark Magic, or anything too closely related to topic, and it gave her an opportunity to get ahead –which she hadn't been able to do before classes started.
Her dutifulness to her coursework made it easier for everyone else, as well. It gave her little time to associate with her friends and classmates, anymore than she had to as a Head, at least, and it gave them the opportunity to politely ignore her. It was still the best option, because she was still unsure what to say about what had happened.
She also didn't really have a plan to change the outcome of her spell, either –save for not allowing it to go on for so long next time. Somehow, she was comforted by the fact that everyone would officially know that she was someone to look out for, and secretly hoped that they would somehow connect her to what had happened in Italy. If they knew, they would lock her away somewhere, and even she wouldn't have to deal with herself. It was an easier option, and likely a safer one as well.
Footsteps distracted her from her self-pity, reminding the witch that she'd been studying. Before she could completely concentrate, someone pulled the chair across from her away from the table.
"Granger," Tom greeted, hanging his bag on the back of the chair. His presence really solidified the fact that the end was near.
"I'm not sure what I did to convince you that we were friends, Riddle."
He sat down, causing her to sigh deeply. "As charming as that idea is, Granger, it isn't why I'm here," he told her tiredly.
She looked up at him exasperatedly. "Then what, Riddle? I really don't have time-"
"Make time, then," he suggested, as though he weren't at all aware of her situation.
If she hadn't been on her last pot of ink, she would have pelted it at him.
"Anyhow, I'm sure you'll find what I have to say enlightening and inspiring."
Hermione scoffed, but set her quill down anyway.
Tom checked his watch. "You've about an hour before you have it take –retake, excuse me," he almost smiled, "your Aptitude Test."
She picked up her quill and continued to organize her Potions notes.
"It's interesting to me that you –of all people, Granger- have given up on it."
Her hand burned, but she refused to scratch it. Instead, she continued to work. "Subjective."
He hummed. "So you don't mind the claims that you're a secret Grindelwald supporter?"
"Not so secret, anymore. Perhaps it's time you come out. As Head Boy and Girl, I'm sure we'll cause quite the scandal."
He looked away, laughing. "It's bull shit."
"I haven't given up - I don't care what anyone has to say about me, so long as I know who I am."
"And who are you, Granger?" he looked back at her. "I must admit that I'm a bit curious, given the circumstance."
Her eyes fell closed as she rubbed her temples. She wasn't completely sure, but that was the last thing she wanted to admit to him, of all people.
"Someone who knows when to get off her horse." She looked him blankly, tiredly, unable to hide anything anymore.
What she'd done seemed to dance on her tongue, just waiting for her to open her mouth. Really, it was better Tom Riddle knew then Harry Potter. At least he would understand what Dark Magic could do to a person. He already seemed to know, anyway. She doubted her telling him anything would be a shock.
But, as her lips parted, all that came out was, "If that's all-"
"Will you be stepping down as Head Girl, then?"
"I've yet to decide," she told him plainly. "Please, what is the meaning of this, Riddle? This is the first time we've spoken to each other since we started Hogwarts, and I dare say we've shared enough words to last a few lifetimes."
He smirked, but his amusement was fleeting. "Here I thought we were enjoying this."
Hermione refocused on her task. She couldn't believe herself, not really, because she was suddenly genuinely interested in what he had to say. But, she refused to take the bait, and after a few minutes his fingers drummed against the table.
"I usually don't care to get involved with my rivals personal crisis', but as you stated, you are my counterpart for the year –and you are better than Patil, regardless of how lovely she is," he let his words hang only long enough for her to fidget uncomfortably.
She rubbed her hand.
"-I'll make an exception. You are generally competent-"
"Do you make it a point to drag out every conversation? I'm growing quite bored."
He propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand, as though he knew she was lying. "As you know, Britain –and all Europe, for that matter- is dealing with terror cells and so called Dark Lords-"
"So called?" She questioned angrily. "My best friend lost his parents to a 'so called' Dark Lord. One you support, Riddle. So, if this the shit you're taking up my time with-"
"Best friend?" He questioned, eyebrow rising. "I suppose I did overhear him giving you a half-assed defense to some rather cruel Ravenclaw. He hasn't really done much to defend you from your House, though."
"What happens in Gryffindor is none of your business, Riddle." Honestly, nothing had happened in her House. At least, not while she was around.
"As Head Boy," he started imperiously.
"You will concentrate on your House, and I will focus on my own. The other two are our only shared business."
He watched her blankly for a few seconds too long before nodding firmly. As though nothing had happened, he said, "Their prevalence has drawn the attention of many countries Ministries, and the international court has required them to do something in order to stop the growth of poisonous regimes."
She sighed. "Riddle. Please. I do read the Prophet."
"And that does appear to be all you do, Granger," he pounded his fist on the table, leaning closer and staring at her with eyes she'd never seen before. At least, not on him. He actually cared about what he was saying. He believed it.
She tugged a hand through her hair.
"Because you can't even realize that these Aptitude Tests came from nowhere. 'It's good to know,'" he mocked Merrythought as he scoffed, shaking his head. "It's good for the Ministry to know who they need to look out for. They're weeding out the weak."
"You think those who practice Dark Magic are weak?" She asked, flustered.
He looked at her as though she'd grown three heads before relaxing in the library chair, glancing around as though he couldn't believe they were having this conversation. It made two of them, because she was incredibly unsure what was happening was even real. It was more ridiculous than anything.
"I think the Ministry knows we aren't."
She laughed, quickly and uncomfortably, fiddling with her quill in attempt to distract herself from how odd the entire situation was. He'd just pitted them together. In a matter of a week, she'd gone to never saying more than absolutely necessary to the wizard, to being spoken of as 'we.' It was mental, and she told him so.
"You sound crazy, Riddle."
She looked back up at him as he ran his tongue over his teeth, parting the soft pink of his lips- and Hermione hated herself for even noticing. She was also growing disturbingly upset with herself for being so wrapped up in herself that she hadn't even considered what he was saying. He wasn't crazy at all. He was probably right.
"Yeah. Well, it's working out for me, because I'm not giving up everything I've worked for. I'm not going on their list in forty minutes, Granger."
She couldn't fault him there. Despite she and her friends being able to see straight through him, the majority of the school thought him faultless. Though, Hermione could, unfortunately, understand their belief. He was superficially handsome and unbelievingly charming and kind when he had to be. He had everyone fooled. She, on the other hand, was losing her shit, and it seemed that everyone knew, though they kindly didn't mention it.
They probably think Grindelwald will come after them, she thought to herself, and somehow resisted laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. The school was politely avoiding her like the plague –not that they didn't have reason-, and Tom Riddle was attempting to talk her down from what she was sure would be the second biggest mistake of her life.
"Are you trying to help me, Riddle?" She asked, her uncertainty obvious.
"I can't ignore the fact that you are one of the better minds of our generation, Granger. It'd be a shame for you to go down for something so trivial."
"You think having an affinity for the darkest of magic is 'trivial?'" She asked thinly, her eyes like stones as she watched him.
He looked as though he wanted to take back his compliment, slouching in his seat as he rubbed his forehead. She wanted laughed, because it was the same thing she'd watched him do during a conversation with Nott at dinner the night before.
"I can't say I'm surprised, I just…this is all odd, isn't it? You and I, talking up conspiracies in the library?"
He shook his head, laughing as he looked away from her. "You're still going to flunk it, aren't you?"
"It's hardly flunking if I'm doing the spell right."
He reached into his blazer for something. "You bloody Gryffindors and your righteous, bravery shit. It's going to get you in a lot trouble, you know? They're going to watch you for the rest of your life."
"Maybe they should. I'm not so good, after all."
His eyes fell to the bandage on her hand, and it was so obvious in that moment that he'd known all along. It was likely everyone in Slytherin knew, which made sense, all things considered. They hadn't treated her any different than normal, though she didn't doubt that probably sat around laughing about her naivety.
Pulling her hand off the table, she asked, "Why do you care?"
Tom worked him jaw, seemingly angrily. As he got up, he handed her an envelope. Ignoring the question, he said, "This arrived to the Head's office for you last night."
She looked down to see her mother's handwriting, and sudden relief filled her. It'd been a week since she'd written the letter.
"Some guidance, little witch." Her heart stopped. "There is no such thing as good or evil. Only power- and those too weak to seek it. The Ministry knows it. And now, so do you.
"You've been given a second chance. Use it."
With a nod of his head, he walked away, calling out that she had twenty minutes before disappearing into the bookshelves.
Hermione sat for a few minutes, considering what it meant that Riddle was genuinely helping her. She knew, logically, that he wanted something from her. But, she wasn't sure what, especially considering the fact that they didn't even know each other. There wasn't much for her to offer him, anyway.
Running her nail over the top edge of the envelope, she pulled her mother's postcard from inside. On the front was a photo of a Grecian beach she spent summers at as a child. She flipped it over to read: Dearest Hermione: Do what you need to do. Our head is over our heart for a reason, Jeannie. Lots of love, Mum. P.S., I cleaned Loki's teeth today! What a charmer. His next appointment is for when you're home…He's single! x Mum
Blushing, Hermione set the card and envelope face down on the table, laughing as she checked her watch. She had a little over ten minutes before she needed to be in DADA, and though it was strange to know her mother supported Tom's bid for self-preservation, it made things easier. The only problem now was that she wasn't sure she had enough time to figure out what spell he'd used on the first day of classes.
As she looked down at the table to gather her papers, she realized that there was something written on the back of the envelope. The penmanship was small and careful; strangely familiarly, though she couldn't quite place it. It was until she read the message until she realized who it was from.
Tom. He'd given her the modified spell.
Hermione laughed so loudly that she got put out of the library.
.
FIVE
Hermione sat through class shaking. She did her best not to distract Neville, pulling her cloak tight around her and claiming a cold, as she took detailed notes on Merrythought's lecture, but she was sure that she was making him just as nervous as she was. There were nearly fifteen minutes left in class, which meant fifteen minutes to find out if Tom had been right about them giving her another opportunity to take the Aptitude Test.
As time continued to tick away, she found herself growing agitated. If he'd been right about the Ministry watching them, and taking note of their results, she was royally and absolutely fucked. She'd never get the opportunity to work for the Department for the Regulation and Care of Magical Creatures, or anywhere of value, for that matter, and her life would truly be ruined.
She looked over her shoulder to see that he was paying her no mind.
It wouldn't take that long for her to do it. Really, it would just take a second. But, if he'd been lying….if he'd only wanted her to admit that she'd done something wrong…
"Now, there were a few of you who were unable to execute your Aptitude on Monday."
Hermione perked up.
"If you all would please form a queue here at the front of the room, we'll be able to get through them all before the end of class. Good, good – thank you. Shouldn't take too long, now. Now, no need to be nervous. You'll all do just fine."
She was sure that no one else had fainted after preforming the spell, but she had heard that a few had malfunctioned –some turning red or purple, others producing water in place of smoke. There were only three other people between Slytherin and Gryffindor needed to take the test again, and as she waited for them complete their tests, she found herself debating whether or not she really wanted to go through with the modified spell.
Maybe it was a good thing that the Ministry would be watching her. Maybe she needed them to monitor her magic for anything too Dark or dangerous. It was obvious, after all, that she wasn't incredibly capable of taking care for herself.
She glanced at Tom to see that he was watching Theodore Nott retake his test, his mouth ticking as Nott's spell turned a solid grey color around him. It would have been more similar to the shade his had been if Nott had put a little more of himself into it, and Hermione realized that Tom had offered his modified spell to a few students, an odd feeling sweeping over her as she realized she would be clumped with them forever. Another Slytherin went, giving her the opportunity to run through all of the Latin she knew as she attempted to further alter the spell.
As her turn came, she chanted the altered incantation under her breath, watching the tip of her wand with almost morbid fascination. It was the first time she'd ever purposely changed a spell, during school at least, and it felt strangely good to be doing something for herself, for once. Though, she doubted that she'd ever admit that to anyone.
Suddenly, dove grey smoke snaked from the tip of her wand, filling the area around her almost potently. Hermione sucked in her cheeks in attempt not to smile, as it would have been incredibly childish of her to do so, but as Merrythought clapped joyfully, she couldn't help but look down, her hair falling over her face as she grinned to herself.
She continued to rotate her wrist, eyes focused and jaw set, waiting for the smoke to change color. Slowly, but surly, the dove coloring faded, and she could practically feel the relief flooding the classroom. White smoke funneled from her wand. Pure and pristine as it surrounded her: exactly what was expected of her.
Merrythought praised her happily, and as Hermione tucked her wand back into her sleeve, she realized that she would likely never be questioned about what had happened on Monday. Just as Tom had worked to craft himself ideally in the eyes of his professors and peers, she'd done the same.
As Harry patted her shoulder, she wondered if the fact that she'd done it unknowingly should mean anything to her. But as her Housemates chatted happily around her, her previous spell forgotten, she realized that it didn't matter.
At the last moment, just as the bells chimed to single the end of class, Hermione looked up, in no particular direction at all. Tom stood a few feet away from her, hands tucked into his pockets as their eyes met. He smirked at her, winking before he turned and left.
She only realized she was the last one left in the room when Professor Merrythought touched her arm, a large, relieved smile on her face. "I knew it just a malfunction, my dear. I'm truly happy you got that sorted out. Better that way. Wouldn't want your future…well, it's happened to the best of us. Now, off you go. I've fifth years to prepare for."
The witch resolved to seek out Tom later that evening.
A/N: Next update in a few days. Hope you all enjoyed this (: