A/N: "Yes, it took me a while." … "No, I haven't updated since last year." … "Yes, I'm terribly sorry for it, as well as ashamed." … "No, I don't plan to give this story up." … "Yes, I really mean it." … "No, I have no idea where the story is taking me, but it sure is getting 'angst-ier' by the second."

SPOILER WARNING: I've read all seven books. Some of the plot might make it to this Alternate Universe!story.

Disclaimer: JKR is rich; I am not. JKR owns Harry Potter; I do not. JKR is happy to own Harry; I cry myself to sleep at night for not owning it. :P

From the last chapter (in case you forgot):

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione Granger," Riddle said, and with a wave of his hand, he left. Surprisingly enough, all signs of his being mad at her were gone. Maybe he really was insane, Hermione realized. He certainly had the mood swings for it.

"See you tomorrow, crazy Riddle," was something Hermione would have liked to answer back, but she certainly didn't allow herself to form those words. She decided to simply say nothing at all instead.

When the door was closed, Hermione moved straight to the bed and picked up her wand. It would be the last time she left it alone, she vowed.

Somehow, it seemed as though she had finally managed to get herself into far more trouble than she could manage alone.

It felt awkward to Hermione to have her breakfast delivered to her room by a House Elf, but it was even more awkward to eat breakfast with Riddle.

Hermione Granger hadn't really called him—not at all. She had kindly opened the door when Tandy knocked, embarrassedly said thank you to the confused House Elf several times, and then closed the door quietly to eat. She hadn't exactly screamed that she was eating breakfast, but somehow, Riddle had known she was awake.

As soon as the door between her room and his was opened and revealed Tom Riddle, Hermione was thankful that she was already fully dressed and had gotten a shower.

"What are you doing here?" she had hissed at him, Tom Riddle leaning on the door as he watched her. Hermione couldn't help but be a little confused: she could have sworn she had locked the door with more than a simple door lock.

"You were awake, I figured we could talk."

Hermione was not so comfortable with that. Aside from his usual insulting, she now had reasons to believe Tom was crazy. Something about the way she looked at him must have revealed that she still fully remembered last night, because Tom, contrary to all things logic, smirked at her.

"I'm not going to insult you, Miss Granger, I believe we had called a truce."

Hermione glared at him, but didn't bother to remind him that she had not agreed to a truce of any kind just yet. But by not correcting him, she had sort of accepted the truce as well.

So now there they sat, in Hermione's borrowed bedroom, sitting on two seats conjured by Riddle across a table conjured by herself. It was certainly odd eating with your worst enemy—even if there was a sort of truce.

"What do you think this Headmaster wishes us to do?" Riddle asked nonchalantly as he picked at a slice of apple. He didn't even bother to look at her, but she raised her eyes from her pancakes and to him anyway.

"I can honestly say I have no idea," she admitted, but went no further. It was obvious to her that Riddle had at least an idea of why they were here.

There was a pause, and then Riddle spoke again. "Where did you put the ring?" he asked casually.

Hermione hesitated. "I don't think I'm supposed to tell you."

He looked at her then, and she didn't like the feeling. It was almost like she was being interrogated. "Why do you think that is?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said defensively. Then, before she could stop herself—"Do you?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't answer.

Hermione was more than slightly annoyed by the lack of response, when she had clearly answered all of Tom Riddle's questions, and she went back to eating her pancakes in silence, leaving the fresh apples for dessert. By the time she was done, she noticed that Riddle was no longer playing with her food, but had been staring at her instead.

She felt uncomfortable.

"I wouldn't be lying if I said that I'm not very comfortable with any of this," Riddle admitted, the sudden outburst of what seemed to be sincerity confusing Hermione to no end. "Here we are, thrown to a different world, and we don't even know what's going on."

Hermione hesitated—was this why he had appeared to be so angry—and nervous?

He continued. "Sometimes, I must admit I'm not very happy with the way the Headmaster does things. Even you should have noticed that he doesn't seem to be well."

"He is the best headmaster Hogwarts has had yet," Hermione was quick to respond. She might sometimes doubt the Headmaster's sanity, but she would never doubt that he was the best and brightest wizard she had ever met.

Tom Riddle stared at her for what seemed to be hours. "I understand your loyalty," Riddle said finally, still looking into her brown eyes. For some reason, he really looked understanding. "But you must be very stupid to believe that just because a person is bright, it means he can lead. Albus Dumbledore might have been a great wizard at one time, but he is old and insane now. And besides, who is to say that he knows better than you or I? We certainly aren't as mentally impaired as everyone else."

Hermione felt odd. Where was all this flattery coming from, if it even was flattery? What was Riddle trying to do?

Riddle smiled a weird smile, and then dropped his gaze to drink his tea.

Hermione knew the conversation was over before she had gotten a chance to defend Dumbledore and demand that Riddle explained himself.

(TRHG)

Hermione and Tom found themselves in Headmaster Dumbledore's office not long after, both dressed in the robes that Tandy had brought for them. It was a weird feeling, being in a room they had seen for years and talking to a person whose face was so familiar that it felt almost impossible that they had never talked to him before yesterday. To Hermione's mind, he was still Albus Dumbledore. Yet this Albus Dumbledore was not the same she had met in her first year.

What was different about this particular Headmaster Dumbledore besides the fact that he was a different Albus Dumbledore, Hermione didn't know for certain. It was true that he must be younger, as she learned that this particular world was about two years in the past; but he seemed much older than the Dumbledore she knew, even though the blue eyes were just as sparkling as ever.

Tom Riddle interrupted her musings with a cold statement. "You have still not explained to us why we must help you, Headmaster."

Hermione and Tom were sitting aside each other, facing the Headmaster, who was sitting at his desk. Tom Riddle had been on edge ever since they had been called to his office, and Hermione was no longer so sure if it was because he suspected something or because he was just as clueless as she was.

The Headmaster seemed patient to Tom Riddle's current antipathy.

"Oh, I will explain," Headmaster Dumbledore said calmly. "Believe it or not, Tom, I am perfectly aware that I owe you at least that." He shifted his attention to Hermione then, and—both to her surprise and annoyance—Riddle placed a forceful hand on her thigh for the second time that week. Hermione swatted it away and glared at him, but Albus Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow in calculating surprise.

"Does Miss Granger know why you are here, Tom?" the old man finally asked after a short, yet uncomfortable, silence.

Whether Riddle was glaring at Dumbledore or not, Hermione didn't know, for she was looking determinedly and anyone but him for the time being. "No," Riddle answered. To Hermione's ears, his voice sounded stubborn. "Neither of us know why we were sent here."

"Then maybe I should explain…?" Albus offered. Hermione was puzzled. Why had he said that in a questioning tone?

Was he asking for Riddle's permission?

Rather abruptly, Tom Riddle got up from his seat. Hermione had too little time to be able to refrain herself from her resolve and looked at him.

"No, Headmaster. I am afraid that anything you would say would make no sense, neither to Miss Granger or to me," Riddle all but hissed, sending Hermione into an almost catatonic state of shock. To respond to a Headmaster with such an open tone of dislike was worse than sacrilege.

"You are obviously not well, Headmaster," the young man proceeded after having admittedly calming down, at least visibly. Hermione noticed the eyes—oddly enough, they looked almost reddish again, but she had enough common sense left to at least blame it on the lighting. "Perhaps we should leave for our quarters now and come back when you feel better."

There was a small pause, and to Hermione's relief, the Headmaster didn't seem to be angry at all when he answered. "Ah—Perhaps you're right, Tom. Very well. But I would like for us to speak alone before you go."

Tom Riddle turned his head to look at Hermione for a moment, and she immediately gave a low growl of dislike and turned her attention from him. "I have no complaints if all you want to do is talk, Headmaster, but I would rather leave Miss Granger in her quarters before we do. After all, it wouldn't be very thoughtful of you to send her alone."

Hermione almost huffed with resentment. Both the wizards seemed to be obviously dismissing her, and she was not stupid enough not to notice.

The Headmaster, though, seemed to have no objections. "But of course, how very careless of me. Off you go, then, my students of another world. Tom, I will have tea waiting for you once you come back."

Tom Riddle raised an eyebrow, then gave a slight bow—not once leaving his eyes off Dumbledore's. Then before Hermione could protest, he had grabbed her arm and forced her out with him. She, unlike him, had enough respect for the Headmaster to force herself not to struggle.

"What were you doing here? Are you mad? You could have gotten us into trouble!" Hermione hissed at Riddle at the top of her voice, clearly angry. They had walked a distance long enough to be sure they were not overheard; Hermione had dislodged her hand from Riddle's as soon as they had gotten out of Dumbledore's office, and had refused to touch him since.

"The Headmaster is clearly the one who is mad, Miss Granger," Tom Riddle said with only a hint of anger in his otherwise dangerously cool voice.

"He was going to explain to us why we're here" she shrieked at him, finally forcing one of the confused portraits to ask her to be quiet. They were, after all, under an invisibility cloak.

Riddle abruptly stopped walking, forcing Hermione to stop as well just before she ended up walking out from under the cloak.

"What are you doing?" she asked him angrily, though admittedly in a far quieter tone.

Tom Riddle seemed to have a hard time calming himself so he could look at her and answer. "You need to calm down, Hermione. I am beginning to suspect that it isn't very convenient for us to be here at all. We don't know Dumbledore's real intentions."

"How would you know?" Hermione hissed at him. Then she remembered the Headmaster's inquiring glance at Riddle—like he had been asking permission for something…

What did Riddle know?

It must have been the sudden way she stopped talking, or maybe he knew Legimency, but some way or the other, Riddle knew of her suspicions.

He laughed a bitter laugh and then shoved Hermione to the wall, taking himself along with her before he drew out his wand. "You're too smart for your own good, Miss Granger. But it's time that you knew that you should leave this all to me."

Hermione gave him an angry, accusing glare. She was smart enough to know not to say anything, but she was not going to let Riddle treat her like this before he knew just what she thought of it—

"No wands," Riddle said, smirking, just as the idea of quickly grabbing her wand to defend herself came to her mind. He had his left hand on her shoulder as an extra means to keep her still, but instantly lowered it until he grabbed Hermione's right hand—the one closest to her wand pocket.

To Hermione, the irony of such an otherwise loving gesture almost made her have her own bitter laugh.

"What are you playing at?" she finally asked him. It might be foolish, but she was, after all, a Gryffindor.

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I am actually after the better interest for us both," Riddle said simply. The way his wand was currently poking at her neck said otherwise.

"Yeah, right," Hermione said sarcastically. The portrait just beside her head was beginning to ask who was there. "And how exactly is what you are doing to our best interest, especially since I'm sure the Headmaster thinks otherwise?"

Tom Riddle's gaze, to both her relief and slight annoyance, left her eyes and instead focused on the frightened picture. He too seemed to have realized that any time now a student might come here after having finished breakfast. The strong grip he had on Hermione's hand relaxed significantly, until she almost couldn't feel it was there.

"I am not one who usually asks for trust," Tom Riddle whispered, his wand lowering slightly, even though his grip on Hermione's hand tightened a little again. "I do not need it, so I won't ask you to trust me. I have stronger weapons than trust, so I will tell you now: You can either do as I say, or you can be forced into it. All I ask that you do is not to talk to Albus Dumbledore, anyway. Now give me your wand.

He let go of her hand, and Hermione was just about to grab her wand and surprise Riddle with a quick hex before he gave a low chuckle and beat her to her wand pocket.

"I keep forgetting how clever you are," he said lightly. "Not to mention, you're a Gryffindor."

He placed Hermione's wand in his pocket, and changed his wand's position from his right hand to his left, before he took Hermione's left hand in his and with a triumphant air escorted the furious witch to her bedroom.

It would be an enlightening day for one of them. Meanwhile, the other one would have no choice but to stay locked in a bedroom. Hermione had no idea what Tom was up to, but she did know that Albus Dumbledore would stop him before he did any harm, if that was even what Riddle intended. Still, she couldn't help but be jealous of him, amidst the confusion, the anger and the fear—she truly loved a good conversation with Dumbledore. And she really hated not knowing something.

A/N version 2.0: It may be unedited, shorter than usual and, uh, unedited… But this just might be my second favorite chapter of those I've written yet! (The first one not having yet seen a chance to wriggle its way into the story—though it will). I just loved Tom Riddle in this one for some reason. Was he eviler? He was eviler. XD

By the way… Sorry again for being so late with this. I should really give a good explanation, but I am afraid I don't have one. I was just… confused as to what to write. Finally, I worked up my courage and read this horribly unedited fic (I really should edit what I post in here, but it ends up making me so insecure about my work that I never go past the editing stage!). I must admit that, though I flinched at times (computer! Why can't you make me write prettier!?), I still liked the plot. So I am so finishing this.

As always, thanks for the support! Reviews are one of the things that keep this story (and my happiness) going, so I really appreciate it! Oooh, and this chapter goes out especially to Vera-Sabe, who has written the nicest review I have ever received! It made me feel all warm inside. Thank you! And thanks again to all who review, I love you all! And I hope you liked this chapter.