Bad Romance
Author's Note: Annddd (drumroll) sexual tension time! Yay! Hope you guys like this chapter…and thanks for all the reviews you all have given me. Keep them coming of course, and remember I'm updating this fic once a day (hopefully). Oh yeah, and any names are either taken from the potter universe, or else, if they're made up, have something to do with the reason for that character's existence (i.e., if they're a professor, then their name will probably have some clue as to the subject they teach). I'm not too keen on OC's.
Also…I did a bit of research to help me with the course material for some of Hermione's classes, but please, feel free to correct me on details. Merlin knows I probably butchered Arithmancy…
Chapter Four: Paranoia
After a much-needed nap, Hermione felt more like herself than she had in years. She sat up, stretching and basking in that refreshed feeling that had become so foreign to her after her hunt for Horcruxes with Harry. Yes, hunting them will be a lot more enjoyable from a four-poster bed and three meals a day. She grinned at her own reflection. Already she was looking better. Her cheeks looked more rosy again, and with the aid of some of the hair potions that she had purchased, her hair was (slightly) less terrifyingly bushy. The whites of her eyes looked bright white, instead of the dull rusty red color they had acquired.
She mentally scolded herself for acting like such a headcase around Tom Riddle as she stared out the window at the twilit sky. Soon the students would be arriving…and thus the year would begin. Well, now that I've got my wits about me, it shouldn't be a problem to stay out of his way until I figure out a plan, she decided. Ignoring the feeling that her heart was breaking as she recalled ridign the train with Harry and Ron, Hermione decided to seek out some of the professors early to introduce herself. The halls were empty but there were signs that House Elves had been there as well; everything seemed to gleam with a freshly polished light. Hermione felt guilty for admiring the elves' handiwork and also resolved to try and do something to help them over the course of this year.
Deep down, she knew that finalizing a plan for how to go about hunting Horcruxes was more important than anything else. But she'd always had Harry and Ron-but especially Harry, in this case-to come up with daring plans, or else to give her ideas. On her own she felt tentative and insecure, a feeling she hardly recognized. Even when things had been at their worst, Hermione had always been confident that she and Harry would be able to come up with something, even relying on pure nerve. And she missed Ron's jokes that had always kept the mood lighthearted. Without Ron's silliness, Hermione knew she was quite likely to settle into a permanently black mood.
We were the perfect team, she thought wistfully. Harry's daring and gallant tactics, Ron's perpetual good humor, and Hermione's brilliance with logic and keen grasp of knowledge… We were unstoppable. But now she would have to become her own Harry and Ron-she'd have to become more confident, and she'd have to keep her mood buoyant and cheerful. It would be the only way to defeat Voldemort.
"Miss Macmillan?" A tall woman whose age was indeterminable to Hermione sauntered round the corner and began approaching her. She had dark hair that fell to her ample hips and dark eyes that flashed with something; it hit Hermione that this woman had veela blood in her. "I heard Mr. Riddle saved you," she commented, her voice smooth and sensual. Remembering Fleur, Hermione shrugged. I wonder if Veelas work on Riddle. She had to fight down a giggle at that image and smiled.
"Yes, I'm quite lucky he was there to carry me," she said easily. The professor regarded her through thick eyelashes and Hermione wondered what she was thinking.
"Well, at any rate-I thought I might introduce myself now, though I'm sure you'll hear more about me soon enough. Veronique Vanlandingham." Professor Vanlandingham made no move to shake Hermione's hand or bow, and instead fingered a long, delicate wand. "I teach ancient runes; you are in my class I have heard."
There was the faintest trace of an accent and Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at Vanlandingham. Honestly. The witch was the classic 'hot' professor; Hermione would bet her wand that she had quite the following. Part veela? Check. Lilting, untraceable accent? Check. Long dark hair, broad hips, and long soap opera-esque name? Check, check, and check.
After she and the ancient runes professor parted ways, Hermione realized it was nearly time for the feast; indeed she was beginning to hear shouts as students filed into the Great Hall. Hermione greeted a cheerful Dumbledore and followed him and a few other professors into the now packed hall. Hermione abruptly recognized a much younger Horace Slughorn, and though his face was unlined and his hair was gingery blonde, he hardly looked any different from how she had known him. He was laughing jovially at something, bejeweled hand resting on his rotund stomach, and Hermione's heart gave a funny jump when she realized he had been laughing at something Riddle had said. After that, Riddle turned to seat himself at the Slytherin table, which was already filling up with his eager admirers. Even girls from the other Houses were gazing longingly as a girl who faintly reminded Hermione of Pansy Parkinson attached herself like a barnacle to Tom's arm. Tsking and rolling her eyes, Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table, garnering curious stares from everyone around her as she set her books down. She saw a black-haired boy and some friends peering at her surreptitiously. He's probably a Potter, Hermione thought, trying to not return the stares. There were a few redheads of different ages scattered about the seats and she knew they were Weasleys.
The rest of the feast passed without incident. Hermione noted that all of the girls around her were whispering about Tom and she rolled her eyes. Honestly. They're worse than the Krum fangirls. Though when she remembered that technically, she had been one too-they had dated, after all-her cheeks flushed. The idea of ending up with Voldemort is disgusting…even more so considering he certainly didn't keep those good looks.
Good looks? a sly voice asked in her head. Hermione scowled and angry stuffed a forkful of mashed sweet potato in her mouth. Yes. FINE. I admit it; he is a beautiful-no, perfect-man. That's how he lures in all of his followers. Satisfied that it was okay to find Tom Riddle handsome, she stood up, not noticing that a certain Weasley had turned to a certain Potter and muttered, "Mental, that one is."
Tom Riddle's fingers curled around his yew wand as he stared at where Hermione MacMillan had left the Great Hall. Hyacinth Parkinson was clawing at his sleeve in a most intolerable fashion, and Tom idly considered hexing her. He had, after all, already mastered nonverbal spells. But it was quite unnecessary, and Tom merely cast Hyacinth a winning smile before returning to his analysis of the new girl. She had arrived looking like she'd been beaten and tortured, and the way she reacted to him suggested that she feared him, deep down. As she should, Tom thought with a smirk.
But that suggested that she knew something about him and his intentions. Not that his intentions were not noble, but he knew most witches and wizards-especially those of Gryffindor House-would consider his 'experiments' unconventional in the worst way.
Do not worry, little Hermione…he thought to himself, watching her hair and skirt be the last things to disappear round the enormous wooden and wrought iron doors. You have nothing to fear as long as you're not a MudBlood…
The first day of classes were upon them. Hermione ate her breakfast alone, but she was quite happy with this. She was used to having months to look through the next year's books and acquaint h herself with the material, so the night before had certainly not been enough time. Being away from her schooling for a year, she had forgotten how much she genuinely enjoyed it. She was already looking forward to her first set of homework, something she knew Ron and Harry would have been teasing her for. She smiled to herself, but did not let herself think of it for too long.
Her first class was Ancient Runes. With Professor Vanlandingham. Just great, she thought with a roll of her eyes before entering the classroom. Somehow she could tell she and Professor Vanlandingham would not get along as easily. At least she won't be Trelawny. You can't teach Ancient Runes with that kind of attitude, she thought cheerfully as she took the front seat as usual. Around her, she could sense the other students' eyes on her, watching her carefully. She hadn't gone out of her way to introduce herself, and she was sure that rumors about her were flying. The classroom was still a bit dark, but then suddenly the candles burst aflame simultaneously. Here we go. I guess I spoke too soon about her being unlike Trelawny.
Professor Vanlandingham sauntered in, wearing a blood red velvet floor length skirt, high heeled black lace-up boots, and a chiffon-trimmed black corset top. The effect was that of a clumsier, more intentionally sexified Bellatrix. She almost snorted loudly when she heard other girls gushing about Vanlandingham's incredible fashion sense.
"Something amusing?" That sensual deep voice dragged Hermione from her pondering about what it was like for Bellatrix to go shopping (did her clothes all have to be black? Were they rated on a scale of how villainous they looked, and then chosen from there? How many corsets did the woman own?). Tom Riddle slid into the seat next to her, his hair gleaming in the candlelight, his tie, shirt, and robes immaculate and pressed to perfection. His eyes slid imperceptibly to Vanlandingham and then back to her. He shot her a grin that made it feel like they were sharing a private joke. "Oh, she's only warming up. It'll become much more of a spectacle as the year passes."
Before she could stop herself, Hermione felt herself let out a chuckle. The corners of Tom's mouth twitched as he went about setting up his books, as though he were working very hard to hold back laughter. He is Voldemort. Voldemort is not funny at all. And yet she still found herself grinning at his words minutes later, when Vanlandingham had to remove her heavy rings because they were interfering with her drawing of a set of runes.
When Hermione heard whispering behind her, she looked back and saw a table of girls huddled together, whispering…Vanlandingham continued on, oblivious to the whispering. The girls stopped when Hermione raised her eyebrows at them, and looked guilty and defensive as they resumed pretending to take notes.
Vanlandingham's velvet dress nearly caught on fire at one point and Hermione nearly broke her ribcage trying to not laugh. Tom's cheeks had become quite pink with the same effort, and Hermione had to mentally slapping herself for noticing how becoming the color was. You're acting like a fangirl. He's Voldemort, dammit! Still, Ginny had confided in her a number of times that when she had been writing in the diary, there were many times that Ginny felt she had found her true Prince Charming in the diary, and would forget about Harry completely. 'He's…clever. He can very easily figure out what will lure you in…and then he uses it. He seemed so understanding, so kind, so witty. He seemed so intrigued by what I had to say. He understood me in ways no one else ever had…no one understands how Voldemort rose to power, but I do.'
Well, Hermione thought a bit smugly, Ginny was an insecure ten year old girl with older brothers that enjoyed teasing her and an enormous crush on an entirely unavailable boy. I won't fall for the same trick; there's nothing wrong with enjoying a joke with someone.
"Oh, and for homework: two feet of parchment on why the unknown symbol represents the number seven," Vanlandingham announced finally, signaling the end of class. Hermione could hardly fight back her scoff and she couldn't help but notice that Tom seemed to share her sentiments. Such a trivial question to ask of seventh years...After class, Tom seemed to be swallowed by his many fangirls and 'friends' and Hermione managed to walk to her next class, Arithmancy, alone with her wonderings about the young Voldemort.
He couldn't be trying to lure me in. There's no reason for him to, she reasoned to herself. He's probably just treating me with the same act that he uses on everyone else, and I'm so egotistical I'm assuming it means I'm special.
Arithmancy was not much better. Taught by a wheezing, ineffectual old wizard called Isopseph, Hermione realized this wouldn't be quite as invigorating as the Arithmancy classes she had taken in the future. She settled into the front seat again, feeling both glad and disappointed when it seemed Tom was not in this class. It meant she'd concentrate better, for certain, but it also meant she couldn't enjoy his little remarks or the humor-filled glances he sent her.
….And, time for another mental slap, she thought, letting her forehead fall against her textbook. I am not sad that I cannot joke with Voldemort during class. Really, what in Merlin's name has gotten into me?
She assumed she was probably just lonely, though when another witch she had never seen before settled into her seat, it was hard to keep up that line of thinking. She felt no better now that she was sitting with someone, and she had to mentally slap herself some more when Riddle finally did come into the classroom and she was tempted to tell the witch that had sat down next to her to move. She noticed how Tom's dark gaze fell on her and immediately her face grew hot. He sat down next to a wizard that might have had the Avery family name; she wasn't quite sure. Their gazes connected across the room and Hermione pointedly looked ahead at where Professor Isopseph stood, fumbling with pages of notes that floated in the air.
"Welcome back," he wheezed. "I hope your summers went well," he continued, "but now they are over and now we are back to school. I expect you all to behave accordingly." His rather menacing words had no effect considering he stammered repeatedly and wouldn't look any of them in the eye, instead fidgeting with the brim of his purple pointed hat. "As you all know, Arithmancy is the study of divination through numbers. This year, we will look mostly at the Agrippan method. Can anyone tell me why?"
Isopseph spared a glance up at the class, and immediately, Hermione's hand shot in the air. She opened her mouth, expecting to have been the only one who had volunteered an answer, but a silvery smooth voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Well, sir, doesn't the Chaldean method disregard the number nine?" It was all so perfect. The hesitancy, the uncertainty. He didn't sound like a know-it-all the way Hermione knew she always had. He sounded merely brilliant, but mostly unaware of his brilliance. Hermione couldn't resist shooting him an icy stare that seemed to confuse Tom.
"Very good, Mr. Riddle, though I expected no less! Ten points to Slytherin-"
"But the Agrippan method is so much less precise because it includes the number nine," Hermione interrupted, unable to let this matter slide. Everything inside her was telling her to just let it go, but she couldn't resist. Arithmancy was her favorite subject and she had despaired over not getting to study it in her seventh year. Isopseph seemed mildly surprised by her outburst.
"True, an excellent point, Miss…"
"Macmillan," Hermione finished for him, feigning modesty as he awarded Gryffindor fifteen points instead of ten. Tom looked surprised and maybe, just maybe, a little annoyed.
Hate when people steal the spotlight from you, don't you? Hermione thought cheerfully as Isopseph went on to explain the matter to the rest of the class. A sly voice, the same one that had pointed out her attraction to Riddle, mentioned that she wasn't too different in this respect, and also, she wasn't exactly 'staying under Riddle's radar' by stealing the spotlight from him in class.
"Well, I'd rather know more at the risk of less precision," Tom finally interrupted. Isopseph blinked in surprise. He clearly wasn't used to having his class interrupted. Tom was looking at Isopseph.
"And that is beneficial how? The Chaldean method is more precise and is based on so much less guesswork. There's no point in bothering with arinthmantic calculations if you could do just as well picking things out of a hat!" Hermione retorted.
"Another excellent point-" Isopseph went to award them both more points, but now Tom and Hermione were facing each other as they argued. The witch next to Hermione seemed to be sorely regretting her seating choice, and was leaning so far back in her chair to get out of Hermione's warpath that the chair might have toppled over at any second.
"You miss too much with the Chaldean method. It's a worthless branch of Arithmancy," Tom said coolly. Something flashed in his eyes and even though Hermione secretly agreed with him, she couldn't help but take this stand. Why she wanted to take a stand eluded her but she assumed it had something to do with hating to not be the smartest one in the room. "Besides, Arithmancy is just divination anyway, isn't it? It's bound to be quite imprecise."
"The whole point of Arithmancy is that it is a more precise art than divination, and far more useful," Hermione ground out, finding herself on the edge of her seat. As much as she hated to admit it, she was also enjoying this debate. She'd never debated any points in any of her classes before. She had always been the best…well, except for in sixth year potions, but that was really just Snape unwittingly giving Harry loads of help. No, she had never been bested before. She was finding herself more invigorated in a class than she ever had been.
"You disdain divination, but I find it to be quite a useful field. Even the tiniest warning can be useful, even the slightest chance of something harmful occurring…and then you can avoid it, and you're the wiser for it," Tom said levelly. Hermione smirked.
"Suspicious, are we? True, perhaps you can duck out of one situation…and perhaps right into a more troublesome one! You can't escape death," she retorted, and then quite suddenly recalled who she was talking to: the man who had gone to greater lengths than any before him to escape death itself. There might have been a flash of red in Voldemort's eyes, or she might have been being paranoid.
"That's quite enough!" Professor Isopseph called out, startling everyone in the class. He seemed to regret having raised his voice, for immediately he began fidgeting with his hat again. "You both make very interesting points, but we're studying the Agrippan method and that is that." His voice was quavering again, and Hermione involuntarily let her eyes slide back to Tom for the briefest of moments.
He was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time, an animalistic curiosity present in those dark depths. It chilled Hermione's blood and then instantly after that she felt warm from the attention. Isopseph was still speaking, but Hermione forgot she was in class for the moment as the rest of the world seemed to become blurred and distant. Her heart pounding and leaving her breathless, Hermione broke the eye contact first and stared very hard at her desk, deaf to Professor Isopseph's words.
After Arithmancy, Hermione ducked out of the classroom, wishing she could simply Vanish and avoid Tom. There was a funny, tremulous feeling in the very pit of her stomach, and her body was coursing with adrenaline.
She had never had a class like that before. Even though the debate had been stupid (because of course, she thought to herself, the Agrippan method was the better method. Any idiot could see that.) the debate had been intellectually stimulating. Tom had not been ready to back down from it, and neither had she, and it was that that made all the difference. Occasionally she'd gotten into 'debates' in Muggle Studies back in her own time, but they had always been extremely dull and cordial affairs, and Hermione always was left with the feeling that people simply thought it too much trouble to try and argue with her.
The other part of it was that Tom had also seemed a bit excited by the debate. He'd clearly been surprised when she had tried to argue with him, and then the surprise had turned into irritation, and then… If only Isopseph hadn't stopped us, she thought longingly as she stepped into the Potions dungeon. Slughorn was evidently having himself a quick snack and nearly spilled his goblet of mead when she came in.
"Ah, so sorry m'dear, you surprised me during my snack…" he chuckled before winking gamely at her while hastily corking his bottle of mead. He dumped the goblet in a random cauldron before turning back to her and gesturing for her to sit anywhere. "And you must be the new student, Miss Macmillan! I've already heard about your fabulous scores," added Slughorn as he strolled towards her. Hermione took a seat near the supply cabinet and prayed that someone else might enter the room and save her from Slughorn and his ambition to fit in with the 'right' students. Her prayers were answered when the dungeon door creaked open, and who else but Tom sauntered in, followed closely by a pack of Slytherins. No doubt they couldn't pass the exams to get into any of his other classes, she thought a bit meanly. They're lucky that the Potions master is Head of Slytherin. Her cheeks still were warm from the debate and she hastened to pretend she was studying her cauldron in order to avoid meeting his eyes.
More students filed in, but no one sat at Hermione's cauldron with her. Great. I forgot what it was like to be friendless. Before Hogwarts, Hermione had been accustomed to being alone, being picked last for sports teams, to having no partners in class, but Harry and Ron had made her forget all of that. Now it came rushing back and the back of her neck burned with the humiliation of being so clearly alone.
"It seems we're all here. Excellent, then let us begin… Now, I have a particularly intriguing little prize for anyone who can brew… " Hermione stopped listening for a moment as she watched Slughorn, anticipating him holding up the phial of Felix Felicis like he had done for her first class with him. Indeed, moments later he withdrew the little phial, and Hermione immediately set to work. She had a new goal in mind: making sure Voldemort did not get that little bottle.
It was strange, to go from having an immensely satisfying debate with him one minute to giving every ounce of her intellect towards working against him. Once or twice she looked up instinctively, knowing that he was doing the same thing for her. How had it become a competition? Certainly this entire class was competing against one another for the Felix Felicis, and yet somehow it seemed an unspoken truth that really, the ones in competition were her and Tom Riddle.
"Finished at the same time? I should have not expected any less from both of you two. Professor Dumbledore spoke quite highly of you, Miss Macmillan, and of course, who doesn't know of Tom's brilliance?" Slughorn was eyeing her with renewed interest as he checked between their potions for the better solution. Hermione's hands had become quite sweaty, and she knew her hair had probably turned into an epic tumbleweed, with stray tendrils having plastered themselves to her cheeks from the steam of the cauldron. "And of course, it seems we have a tie!"
Slughorn was delighted, but Hermione could not stop from shooting Tom an indignant glower. Tom did the same, though as soon as people began to look at them, they each plastered on feigned friendly smiles.
"Brilliant," Hermione said tightly, accepting her half of the Felix Felicis. "You're quite talented, Riddle."
"As are you, Miss Macmillan," Riddle replied cordially, though behind him were the jeers from his followers. "Of course, after our debate in Arithmancy, I can't say I'm surprised." He was studying her intently now, and though Slughorn was announcing the homework, Hermione once again had stopped listening as she returned Tom's steady stare. "…It seems I've finally met my match…" he added softly. It should have been a compliment, and yet somehow, Hermione saw it as a threat.