Previously: Riddle hires someone to look for information on Mirage Greenhorn aka Hermione Granger. Beeper steals Riddle's ring. Deputy Headmaster Wallace Rugen takes onto his staff faux Auror Cicerone Levy, aka Colin Creevey. Riddle visits Hepzibah Smith. Colin and Hermione move into Hogwarts, accidentally discovering a hidden hideaway, within the school's walls.
Chapter 6
The walls of the circular prison showed no possibilities of escape. Footsteps marched around the enclosure cautiously as the floor seemed laid with slimy water. The boots squished around the edges before determining the prison's circumference to be approximately a hundred paces. Pausing, fingers then ran along the crevices of the stone wall, seeking, searching for something that refused to allow itself to be found. Odd angles, irregularities could be felt, but all were immovable. Colin groaned. He had gone back to investigate the secret room, the pit, hoping to find its reason for being. After all what would Hogwarts have to do with something created so pointlessly?
He had discussed it with Hermione in length after they had managed to settle into their rooms. She had gone on muttering that it had not been on a map and perhaps it was unplottable as the Room of Requirement had been. Sorely confused, he felt tempted to point out that Hogwarts never handed out a welcoming direction map. However, he wisely decided to say nothing, in case they did and he never received one. It would explain a lot in his point of view, considering the numerous times he lost his way about the castle while others found theirs just fine.
Coming back to the present, he wondered again of the pit's purpose. Filch would have a field day, if he knew about this place, tossing students down into the dank darkness for detentions. Maybe it had been one of the banned punishments? He shivered at the thought. Lighting his wand, he glanced at the time. Realizing he was very nearly late, he grabbed the broom that accompanied him on his descent and made his way out.
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The afternoon light filtered its way through large circular windows, touching upon large plush chairs that spoke of comfort and elegance. A fountain at the far end of room which had been gushing cherry soda earlier, currently decided to spout rivulets of chocolate down its sides, emitting a delightfully sweet aroma. Near the door stood a tree that produced lemon drops, a gift presented to Dumbledore on his first day as Headmaster. The room spoke of a candy lover's paradise and looked very much sickeningly sweet.
She had checked her pocket watch for the third time within the last ten minutes. Minerva McGonagall abhorred lateness and found it tantamount to disrespect. Hoping the Deputy Headmaster would appear soon; she smoothed down her emerald green robes and took another look around the room, evaluating the rest of the inhabitants. Most were chatting, though some seemed to prefer a moment of solitude. Filius Flitwick sat to her right atop two cushions, sipping a cherry syrup and soda concoction, most likely obtained by the fountain, while scribbling away at something on a parchment.
Turning her head, her lips formed an imperceptible smile at seeing her old Potions professor, Horace Slughorn boisterously speaking to another younger staff member who appeared quite bored. Scrutinizing the individual carefully, she was dowsed with a sense of familiarity and racked her brain trying to identify him. The man had the appearance of a statue hewn from rugged granite and adolescent dreams. His face was handsome; his nose was thin, his eyes heavy lidded, and his cheekbones high.
She did not have to think long, however, as Slughorn chose this moment to clap the man on his back and praise him by name. Tom Riddle, she mused. She vaguely remembered him through prefect meetings, as he had been in the year below her in school. Looking at him now, she was unsure how she could have ever forgotten him.
Her eyes were drawn away from the duo, however, as a clash of colors came into her line of sight. A pretty witch, whose curly locks seemed magnetically charged, sat in robes of a swirling purple and blue, arguing with a quite serene and pregnant Professor Warble, whose robes were geometrically set in orange and yellows, about the relevance of sortilege versus augury in Divination. Immediately turned off by the conversation which she deemed empty-headed chatter, she turned to join the conversation of Silvanus Kettleburn, professor for the Care of Magical Creatures and Herbert Beery, the Herbology professor. Their discussion currently centered on ways to survey the Forbidden Forest.
"-of all the wild, extravagant theories!" Kettleburn cried. "I'd lose another finger or foot for sure, utilizing such a hare-brained scheme!" He gestured to his few remaining limbs.
Herbert Beery huffed, "Well, it's currently only an experimental verification method. The kinks still have to be worked out."
"Kinks! Your idea holds no viable or even promising solutions. It's like those dramatic plays you go see, where everyone ends up miserable and dead. What say you, Minerva? What's your opinion on this?" said Kettleburn turning expectantly toward McGonagall.
Just as she opened her mouth to reply, the door creaked open, silencing the rest of the room. Anticipating the appearance of the Deputy Headmaster, they were slightly disappointed when, instead, it revealed a young man in his early twenties. His robe was dusty and dirty, and smeared with green down the sleeves; his hair was disordered and seemingly lighter in places, either with dust or dirt. His face had a pale hue. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, as if dazzled by the light, though if truth be told, the staff room held only a dingy glow of afternoon's light. His eyes grew brighter upon spying the witch in blue and purple and rushed to claim the seat next to her. Before sitting, he acknowledged the hush that had formed due to his entry. They stared at him in silence, as if expecting him to speak.
Glancing about awkwardly, he spoke, "Don't let me disturb you. I'm all right, just an -er flying mishap." Once conversation resumed, the man settled down in his chair, leaned toward the woman he called Mirage, and murmured something in her ear. Some pleasant comment, Minerva supposed, seeing a dash of red stain Mirage's cheeks before she whispered back to the man she identified as Cicerone. Taking a closer look, they seemed to be conspiring, but she broke off from her musings as the door opened yet again, this time by the Deputy Headmaster Wallace Rugen.
Looking frazzled, he greeted the staff. Then, with a somber tone, he spoke, "By now I'm sure you all have heard about the state of our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. On a day like this, I thought we might start by taking a moment of silence to show some respect, consideration, and well wishes for a wizard so integral to this school, and hope his magic aids him in a speedy recovery."
Minerva's eyes misted as she thought of the professor. She had last seen him a week ago when he had hired her for the Transfiguration position not two days before ending up in St. Mungo's. After a few moments had passed, Rugen took another breath and began listing upcoming expectations for the new school year. As he progressed to more familiar and happier topics, a look of rapt pleasure seemed to broaden his angular face, though his voice varied rapidly from tremulous indecision to energetic concision. Topics flew from House points, forms of punishment, grading reports, patrolling schedules, and Hogsmeade trips.
Angling himself in Tom Riddle's direction, Rugen then addressed him, "On other fronts, I've reviewed your request, Tom, and approval for the dueling club is still tentative. However, I will consider approving it for fourth years and up, if you can find a second professor to aid in supervision-"
At this point Horace Slughorn interjected the conversation. "We just decided upon that and I have offered to aid in supervision."
Acknowledging Slughorn, Rugen continued, "Very good, but there are still some fine points to address in terms of the dueling club. I would also like it if you could send me a specific list of what you plan to cover in your meetings. If I find it acceptable, you may begin as soon as mid-September." Pausing, he looked around the room, "Now, if there is no other business, I call this meeting adjourned."
Minerva stood, approaching Rugen for a question, when Mirage Greenhorn and Cicerone Levy brushed past her apologetically, looking as if they had just heard the world was ending in a matter of days.
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"You're a professional thief as well?" Hermione whispered to Colin as they attempted to break into the Headmaster's office.
"Hush." Colin sat down, his ear pressed against the mouth of the stone gargoyle.
Completely mystified as to why they could not use a modified reveal spell, Hermione watched Colin do some complicated wand-work, which he claimed would disable any alarms. This made her brows furrow, as her diagnostic spells showed nothing of the sort. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked around checking to make sure they were still alone.
A moment later, Colin signaled her, as the gargoyles moved from their places allowing entrance to the Headmaster's office.
Grinning, Colin took a bow, "You may now call me the gargoyle whisperer."
Rolling her eyes, she looked around cautiously again, hoping that they would not be caught. Then, under the shroud of darkness, the four feet made their way noiselessly up the spiral staircase, the wooden floor creaking from their combined weights. Tugging Colin's sleeve for him to stop, Hermione sniffed the air. Something was burning. Forgoing caution, she hurried up the remaining stairs. Hermione's first impression as she opened the door was that a fire had broken out, since the room was so filled with smoke that the lights were blurred by it. As she and Colin entered further, her fears were put to rest. The acrid fumes, which took her by the throat and had her coughing, were the result of several cigars that looked to only recently be put out. Calming her breath and muttering a silencing spell, she then waved her wand. The dark smog turned into a transparent mist and objects in the room slowly became visible. Numerous trinkets laid about the room and shelves in an alcove contained dozens of books of interest. A faint noise coming from the shadows alerted them to another in the room. Clutching her wand, she turned toward the direction of the sound. Sitting upon a perch was Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, preening his feathers and eyeing them rather suspiciously, but made no move to alert anyone of the invasion.
"How are we supposed to find anything in here?" Colin groaned, rummaging through the desk.
Hermione glanced over her shoulder as she fed Fawkes a treat to calm the now bouncing phoenix. Upon soothing his ruffled feathers, she replied, "We can always make another trip, but hopefully, we'll find something tonight. I'm just glad Rugen finally turned in. I thought he'd never leave."
"You and me both. Are you sure we couldn't do this tomorrow? The welcoming feast left me tuckered out," said Colin as he examined a figurine he discovered closer, which then proceeded to sneeze on him. Surprised, Colin nearly dropped the figure, before quickly laying it back on the desk.
Hermione took to investigating the opposite side of the room and picked up several books, examining them for false covers that may hide objects. "No, this is the perfect time to snoop. Everyone's bound to be distracted with the events of the day - oh- and while we're at it maybe we can find Tom Riddle's file. Find an old address or place of employment and see if we can discover anything of aid there." Opening another book, she quickly slammed it shut when it began to sing a rousing jig.
"Planning on blackmailing him? I don't know. Isn't he king of that kind of stuff? I doubt he would leave stuff just lying about," Colin queried as he picked the lock to a desk drawer magically.
"Still, it never hurts to check. Though you have a point, he does seem guarded and distrustful," said Hermione thoughtfully as she moved her search to another shelf that contained numerous knickknacks.
Colin snorted, "Distrustful? I'd call that an understatement. Did you see him staring at us? What I wouldn't give to know what he was thinking the moment he recognized you."
Hermione groaned as she remembered first walking into the staff room. Riddle had already been there making idle chitchat with other members of the staff. When his eyes had alighted on her, their appearance had turned from surprise to a raging storm before becoming expressionless again. "Most likely Crucioing me. I didn't help matters at the welcoming feast either." The event, in Hermione's opinion, had to be the worst she ever had the privilege of attending.
Colin, on the other hand, had a differing opinion, "I thought I'd die laughing at his expression when you tore off his cloak."
"Yes, well, I didn't expect Professor Warble to try and deliver her baby in the Great Hall. Besides, I didn't know it was his when I grabbed it." Hermione's face burned as she recollected the incident. Professor Warble refused to move from her location and Hermione, in an attempt to find some way for the professor to retain her dignity, grabbed the nearest cloak she saw. Unfortunately, it was still attached to Tom Riddle, whose face bore no amusement whatsoever from the act.
"Speaking of which, what's going to happen with that? Wasn't Warble supposed to spend the first week updating you on her classes before taking off on her maternity leave?" Colin asked, shuffling through some papers in a filing cabinet.
"That originally was the plan, -oh, I think I might have found something." Seeing something on the topmost shelf, Hermione stood on her tiptoes as she reached for it. Upon attaining her goal, she found that it was a crate, which in itself was a long and awkwardly shaped box. Attempting to open it, she realized it was seamlessly shut. Colin soon joined her as they tried to figure out how to expose whatever dwelt within.
The sound of a door grinding open interrupted their exploration. Hermione hurriedly shoved the box underneath a chair before frantically searching for somewhere to hide. Colin grabbed her forearm, dragging her toward a window. Looking at him confusedly, he grinned as he enlarged the broom he had hidden in his robe pocket.
"Come on. Now it's your turn to jump through the window." Pulling her onto the broom, they made their escape just as the head of Tom Riddle came up the stairs of the Headmaster's office.
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Animis opibusque parati. "Prepared in minds and resources" was a motto Hermione believed in fiercely. It led her to light several candles and incense inside the Divination classroom, in preparation for the first class of the day. Pausing from her activities, she mentally reviewed the lesson plan that she had created. She intended to start with a brief tarot reading before moving on to the crystal ball.
Counting her divining tools, her hand halted briefly at the cards on the table. Looking at her notes once more, she read the instructions of the different spreads - spreads that claimed to foretell an individual's aims and deepest desires. Loathing to look ridiculous, she glanced at the time to see if she could still get one more practice run in before students arrived. Determining thirty minutes was more than enough, she moved to shuffle the cards on her desk. Now what to ask, she pondered. Her thoughts flew toward the future from whence Colin and her came, a swirl of questions coming to mind. Focusing on the more important inquiries, such as the past they changed and the position they inadvertently helped Riddle to gain, she centered her energies on what should be done so balance could be restored.
Pulling four cards from the deck and placing each one accordingly, she turned them over. Blinking, she gazed down upon the cards before her eyes traveled back to the current page in her notes, which touted this simple spread as one of the most powerful and accurate ones. Her eyes drew back to the cards magnetically.
"Ridiculous," she snorted, reshuffling the cards before picking out four cards again, only to meet with the same four. "Impossible." Faster and slightly more frantically, she shuffled the cards again, before choosing and relaying out four cards again. Crossing her fingers, she prayed for a different result. Unfortunately, her prayers went unanswered, since the cards went unchanged.
"Balderdash," she grumbled. The cards had to be tainted in some way.
A sudden cough alerted her to her now very present class. Sixteen eyes gazed up at her, waiting expectantly upon her to begin. So engrossed was she with her reading that she did not even sense them enter. Glancing around the room, she noted that there were still several candles left to light. Waving her wand, her current agitation caused flames to erupt from the candlesticks, similar to a flamethrower's torch. The students started, becoming still, afraid to upset their teacher further, lest she decided something similar with them.
She remained standing, leaning against her desk and impatiently tapping her nails on the surface. Directing half her question to her class and the other half to herself, she asked, "The future. Is it unchangeable, immutable, or unpredictable? Is the future prewritten or can individuals create their own fate, one that is ever-changing?" At this point, she turned her attention fully to the class, "That is what we shall aim to discover in this class."
"Let's begin with the tarot and defining the cards," Hermione said sternly, turning to sit down. This time, she chose a different deck, her mind still on the cards from before. Her palms slightly sweaty, she again pulled four cards from the deck and placed them on the table. Turning toward the class, she said, "Let's imagine you wish to know about a future interaction with a particular individual." Lifting the first card from the table, she refused to look at it. Instead, she asked the class, "Now, what is this card and what would it tell you?"
A lovely blonde girl from Slytherin answered, slightly arrogantly, "It's the Wheel of Fortune and it shows fate. So, obviously, it's inevitable that the two people will come together."
Glancing at the card, she became conscious that the girl was right. Yet, her breath caught, since the card was the same as all the other times she had drawn. Realizing the students were waiting for confirmation of the correctness of the answer, Hermione nodded her head before briskly turning over the next card. Her heart sank as it appeared this spread would be identical to all others.
The card was the Lovers, an indication of a relationship . Blanching slightly, the wheels in her head began to turn. A relationship with Tom Riddle? Over her dead body. The idea was simply ridiculous. Then again, when she thought of her question, she didn't specify only herself and Tom Riddle exactly, did she? Colin was somewhere there, too, right? Of course, the idea of Tom Riddle and Colin together was even more preposterous. Perhaps, it was just an indication of a possible close teaching relationship. This was exactly why she found divination wooly. Picking up the card, she faced it toward the students. "The card of the Lovers. A sign of a relationship to come. A new question. Would finding your future in the cards aid you in your decisions? For example, would you consider having a new relationship just because of a card?"
A slightly pudgy boy named Todd Toadstool from Slytherin decided to answer with his own brand of wit, "Depends how cute she is." The class reacted with muffled chortles and giggles.
As she rolled her eyes at the answer, she spotted a brown and white fluffy ball, from the corner of her eye. Realizing that her nargle, Beeper, had returned and decided to silently accompany her to her class, she prayed for no one to notice him. Continuing on, she lifted the next card. This elicited gasps from some students, with others giggling at the thought of their professor meeting temptation in any form. Observing the card herself, it seemed to mock her. The tiny devil on the card waggled its eyes toward her, as if to tell her that indeed she could not escape. A mix of emotions ran through her, the most predominant being dread. She spoke, "Yes, the Devil. Can anyone tell me what it indicates?"
This time a redhead from Ravenclaw, Craig Forest, answered, "It's a card of ambition, but if it indicates a person, it can mean someone of money or power. They could be aggressive, controlling, or just plain persuasive. Basically, someone who is hard to resist."
This set another round of whispers throughout the room. A dark haired girl named Hazel turned to her friend, "Oh, how exciting! I would love to meet some wealthy, powerful man." Eyeing Craig across the room she then frowned. "Some people get all the luck." Hermione who had overheard the girl's statement, suppressed herself from making a biting comment. Instead, she voiced her agreement with the boy.
Only the fourth and final card was left. So far the pattern of the cards had gone unchanged. Four times she had drawn the same hand. Four times the cards had gone unaltered. If she did not have a class to instruct, she was certain she would have first wept, then stomped over to the nearby window and tossed the cards out. Having no reason to doubt the last card would be any different, she resigned herself to fate. Hermione turned the final card. The jaws of the students seemed to drop collectively. Once passing the initial shock, the whispers began before they soon turned into a raging symphony of noise. Shouting over the hubbub Hermione yelled, "Silence!" Her sudden exclamation was met with the quiet she desired. "Thank you. Yes, it is the card of death."
At this point Todd Toadstool raised his hand. Predicting his question, she shot him a look before continuing, "And no I am not forecasting my timely death. So you will still get an assignment at the end of class." At this Todd dropped his hand and groaned. "Now death usually signifies an ending. Can anyone state what else it could mean?"
The blonde from before replied, "It could mean a change will take place or something."
"Very good. Any other ideas?" Hermione questioned scanning the room when her eyes alighted on two boys whispering to one another. Examining them more closely they appeared to be taking bets. "No? It should also be noted that if I find anyone making predictions of my death day, House points will be deducted." At her words, the parchment the boys had been scrawling on vanished without a trace.
Eager to get away from what she believed were cursed tarot cards, Hermione decided to switch topics, "Now why don't you all take out some parchment, quills, and your copies of Unfogging the Future, and turn to the chapter on gastromancy, The Art of the Crystal Ball." Giving them a moment to follow her instructions, her eyes turned toward Beeper, who currently held twenty different quills in his paws, chewing on the tips of each, trying to find the ones with a sugary end. Horrified, Hermione yelped, "No!" Puzzled, all eyes turned to her again. Endeavoring to keep a calm façade, but failing miserably, she tried to clarify and continued in a Trelawney-ish tone, "I mean, my inner-eye tells me none of you have quills." Grabbing a handful of quills from her desk, she passed them out to the confused students.
Craig whispered to his friend, "I think she's barmy. Of course we got quills."
His friend, who had been searching through his bag, whispered back, "Maybe you do, but mine are missing." Soon, more students were grousing about missing quills as they realized that their teacher was correct. As class progressed, several Slytherins started a rumor that she had vanished the quills to frighten them.
Hermione, hearing this, snorted, but felt it wiser to remain quiet and have a talk with Beeper when the students left. Rounding on the students to check their understanding of the topic, she came across two students chatting about the European Quidditch Cup game that started 3 days ago and still had yet to finish.
"I wager the Karasjok Kites will win over the Caerphilly Catapults. It's a given. 340-200," one of the boys said, attempting to wrangle an opposing wager for his friend.
"Naw, they'll win 400-200. You'll see." They both quieted as they noted Hermione standing over them.
Raising an eye, Hermione questioned, "And what does your crystal ball say?" Looking guilty, the boys stayed silent. As she eyed them, she could not bring herself to scold them for not paying attention, feeling it hypocritical of her. Remembering Harry and Ron go on about what they felt would be the ultimate game to have seen, she smiled before she replied, "I believe it says that the Caerphilly Catapults will win, 380-370, with Dangerous Dai Llewellyn scoring the last few points."
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"Me and my big mouth." Hermione currently held her head as the evening had led her with somber spirits. Some students were celebrating the Caerphilly Catapults win while others were pointing and gossiping about their Divination teacher that predicted it all.
"Come on now." Colin said in between bites of his dinner, "It's not that bad. Think of it as a good thing. No one will doubt your credibility now."
"No. Now, they'll probably ask me for Quidditch scores." Blaming her lapse of judgment on the stress of the first day, she turned to Colin, "So how were flying lessons with the first years?"
"Ended up in the hospital wing twice." Colin glowered at the memory.
"They were that bad?" Suddenly, she felt grateful that nothing worse happened in her classes.
"No, I was that bad. My broom didn't happen to agree with my flying instructions and I ended up first breaking my wrist, then twisting an ankle."
"That's terrible." Hermione winced sympathetically. Seeing Horace Slughorn make his way to her, a greedy look in his eyes, she took it as her cue to escape. Agreeing to meet with Colin later that night, she abandoned the rest of her dinner.
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Eager to have finally left behind the whispers of both students and teachers alike, she wandered down one of the corridors toward her room, deep in thought on ways to find the lock and rid Riddle of his teaching post. She was awoken from her ponderings as she noted that a figure situated himself in a way that blocked her route. She looked up to find the current object of her musings. There Tom Riddle stood studying her. Shadows fell across his face, giving him a sinister cast. His attention was unnerving, with his eyes burning into her, as if he could strip her bare, body and soul. Though she said nothing, he cocked a lazy eyebrow, as if amused by her, and proceeded to stroll toward her, his movement graceful, like a panther on the prowl. The closer he came, the bigger he seemed, tall and broad at the shoulder. He seemed both an element of nature and a beast, a huge, ruthless beast who kept his claws hidden until he chose to use them.
Uncertain of what he may do, Hermione refused to flee. Her heart pounded fiercely against the walls of her chest. Certain its thumping resonated throughout the castle; she would be surprised if Tom had not heard it. He stopped mere inches from her. She gritted her teeth to keep from flinching.
Surveying her, he said in a deceptively soft voice, "A tough burden to bear no doubt."
Curiously, Hermione met his eyes, "Pardon?"
He circled her, like a hawk closing in on its prey. Stopping behind her, he leaned closer, his breath tickling her as he murmured into her ear, "The gift of sight, of course." Sweeping around to face her, his eyes narrowed, "Tell me. Do you foresee tragedies as well? For that would be a terrible thing."
His sham compassion coupled with his underlying threat shattered the wall around her emotions. Simultaneously uncomfortable and furious, Hermione raised her hand to push him away, but he grabbed her wrist painfully and pulled her to him so that their faces were only inches apart. Reeling and operating totally by instinct, her other hand went to his shoulder to steady herself. Realizing her error, she removed it as if burned. Then, attempting to disengage her wrist from his grip, she only succeeded in agitating him.
"Look at me," his tone was husky and slightly demanding.
"I know things are not always what they appear to be." His eyes set in glowing wheels of fire, he lowered his voice to a silken growl. "I am no fool."
Again, she had the urge to step backward and put a safe distance between them, but, in her opinion, that would be tantamount to admitting that he held the upper hand. "I never said you were."
Caressing her wrist with slow circles of his thumb, he made his way to the palm of her hand. Holding her breath, she watched warily as his thumb traced the lines he found there. Turning his head back toward her, he abruptly changed the subject, "I've always found the art of palmistry fascinating. To think…one can be evaluated so simply and a simple line can tell so much about one's well-being." He punctuated his last few words by pressing his thumb viciously against the line of life in her palm. Still, he did not release her.
She clenched her teeth and faced up to him, trying to ignore their proximity and the sculpture-like perfection of his features. She gritted her teeth and spoke, "I, myself, find onomancy an intriguing topic and even simpler. A person's name can tell much, even victors in battle." Her implied meaning left no room for misunderstanding.
She could feel his fury vibrating in his arm. She could feel it lifting her off her toes. She wanted to peer into his mind and, at the same time, shield away.
When he next spoke, his voice contained a razor-sharp edge of menace, "Tell me how confident are you on the accuracy of such a form of divination?"
She took a breath to speak and looked at him. His dark eyes watched her, almost threatening her with his gaze, and her words hung, unuttered, in her mind.
She did not like this.
She did not like the way he overwhelmed her good sense with pure intimidation. She did not like the scent of him or how the strength of his body was emphasized next to the vulnerability of hers, or the sight of his face, so close against hers.
The tarot card reading from earlier entered her mind. Fortune. Lovers. Devil. Death. The chant repeated itself without pause. Her lungs ceased to function. Her heart leaped and she gawked like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake. His ebony lashes framed green eyes. Not grass green or sea green, but burning green, blazing with something she could not identify. Her heart gave an irregular thump. Wariness returned in a rush. She was shaken, but she had not lost her wits.
At that moment, she realized that he made a game of her. He knew exactly what he was doing and had been testing her. She knew what he was and who he would become. Yet, for some reason, she had ignored it. Now, she looked at him again, seeing him as he was: a swaggering, powerful, experienced man, the kind of man who hunted his prey unrelentlessly, not stopping until every living part was devoured.
She tried to surreptitiously ease the chill of goosebumps from her skin. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had succeeded in shaking her. In as tart a tone as she could manage, she retorted, "No matter what form is used, the outcome will always be the same."
He then smiled and she caught her breath in awe. His mouth … his glorious, sensual mouth. His lips were wide, too wide. His teeth were white, clean, and strong as a wolf's. He looked like a man seldom amused by life, but he was amused by her.
She froze, her eyes widened, positive his gleaming grin bore ill for her. Confused and with her mind in turmoil, her eyes began to ache with the strain of never blinking.
Releasing his grip on her, he tucked his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders. "Actually, I believe individuals to create their own fate, one that is ever-changing."
His words eerily mirrored her statements from her earlier classes. Yet, unable to admit any sort of agreement, Hermione quickly countered, "But one cannot hide from fate. It is unavoidable."
"Perhaps." Riddle looked upon her thoughtfully.
Uncomfortable with the sudden silence, Hermione then spoke, "Well, now that we have conferred the obvious, I believe I'll take my leave." Yet, she remained frozen to the ground, her legs not obeying her order to move, when he spoke again.
"I find, MissGreenhorn, the world is full of the obvious. Many obvious things that no one has had a chance to observe. Though I must say, I find observation of such things a special delight." With that, Riddle walked past her, his boots thudding against the cold stone floor, disappearing down another corridor.
Standing alone, she absorbed his words and horror crept in a stranglehold around her heart.
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A/N: First off, a big thank you to all my reviewers: stumpt, Cursed21, RJLupinFan, Hajnalmadar, as well as everyone that added the story to their favorites, or updates. You all continue to inspire and motivate me.
Also an even bigger thank you to Hajnalmadar (your ideas made this chapter sensational, in my humble opinion) and serpentinred (you gave clarity to what was a muddled chapter, and for that I'm ever grateful) for betaing this chapter.