Bad Romance

Author's Note: A lot of you commented on the fact that Hermione did not beat Riddle in dueling. Remember, while Hermione is obviously a fantastic witch, dueling has never exactly been her strong suit, and she can become quite timid if she's not protecting Harry or Ron. Plus…at this point, Voldemort has already murdered Tom Riddle Sr. and his family (as well as possible others). He is already quite powerful, and much more vicious than Hermione.

…Of course, the biggest reason is that I need Hermione to not beat Riddle yet for plot reasons!

Enjoy.

Chapter Seven: Laws of Thermodynamics

Hermione might have been on her period, for she was feeling quite crabby. Getting beaten by Riddle in Defense Against the Dark Arts had caused her mood to plummet, and she stormed off to the library, hopeful that she would not encounter Riddle there. His triumphant gleam in his dark eyes and condescending dueling tips were enough to send her irritation into overdrive, and she needed her wits about her if she were to both complete her enormous amounts of homework as well as begin planning her mission in earnest.

Most students were enjoying the last few warm days outside, and most professors had not assigned much homework. Therefore the library was blessedly empty, and Hermione happily settled down at a table by the window, spreading her things out and breathing a sigh of relief. Several hours passed, until she had missed dinner and it was quite dark outside. Feeling accomplished and much calmer and more like herself, Hermione stared out the window, wondering where to start with her plans.

Without really intending it, she found herself retrieving the Invisibility Cloak when she returned to stash her books at Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Ron would be proud, she thought wryly as she pushed past the doors to the Great Hall. The ground was a bit wet and all was silent save for the sounds of the night. Peaceful…safe. She relaxed entirely and let herself wander about the grounds, even daring to go as far as to wander at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The low level of adrenaline was pleasant, and she began to feel more and more daring. She crept into the Forbidden Forest, exploring for a bit before deciding to leave when she began to hear the sound of hooves. Firenze had been kind towards humans, but that hardly meant that other centaurs would. She walked to the top of the hill where the Shrieking Shack would soon sit, and stared at the views surrounding her.

It was about eleven o'clock now. Hermione ventured down the hill towards Hogsmeade, which looked like an idyllic painting, with its different buildings covered in little squares of warm yellow light. She was feeling quite adventurous now, so she went behind a tree, slipped the Cloak into her bag, and then entered the somewhat dodgy Hog's Head.

It was dimly lit in the pub. A few Hags sat around a table near the front, and a wolfish looking man was tearing into a raw slab of meat. Remembering Fenrir Greyback, Hermione shuddered and hugged her arms round herself. All eyes were on her as she walked through the pub and finally sat at the bar. Aberforth, looking much younger and yet still grizzled and unkempt, was polishing grubby glasses, his eyebrows raised as his twinkling blue eyes, so like his brother's, fixed on her.

"Not another one of you 'Ogwarts lot," a toothless wizard groaned, and Hermione bristled slightly. Another one? Was there another student in here? Probably Riddle, she thought darkly, and looked for a place to hide, but stopped when her gaze landed on a familiar head of unruly black hair, seated in a booth, his head low, talking to two students that looked like Slytherins.

Alphard. She frowned but decided it wouldn't be a big problem if Alphard saw her here, and she climbed up onto a barstool.

"Well?" Aberforth stared at her expectantly.

"Just a butterbeer," Hermione said hastily, sliding a few Sickles cross the table. Aberforth set a dusty bottle on the counter in front of her a little harder than necessary, and she saw Alphard tense before shooting a wary glance over his shoulder. When their eyes met, he looked entirely surprised, before a smile slowly started to take shape. Hermione waved a little shortly before attending to her butterbeer, though Alphard was coming her way. She noticed he was wearing a black hooded cloak that seemed a little finer than the traveling cloaks that were standard issue for Hogwarts students, and when he turned to her, it swirled impressively around him.

"Hermione," he greeted, his eyes twinkling. "Never thought I'd see you here."

"I didn't think I'd see you here either, actually," Hermione admitted. Over Alphard's shoulder were the two students he had left behind. They were staring at Hermione a bit threateningly. Alphard followed her gaze and glanced over his shoulder at his table.

"Never mind that. How on earth did you get out?" He cocked his head to the side, intrigued. Hermione decided this was not the best time to tell the truth, and simply shrugged and gave a mysterious smile.

"Oh, you know. I have my ways," she replied. "What are you doing here?"

Alphard shifted uncomfortably, a guilty look passing over his handsome face. His mouth twitched, as though he were holding back a response.

"Just having some fun," he finally said dismissively. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but I see you already have got one."

"You two best get back to your beds," Aberforth interrupted grumpily. Alphard shot him a grin that was startlingly reminiscent of Sirius.

"C'mon Aberforth, is that any way to treat a paying customer?"

"You don't belong here," said Aberforth simply, still polishing. Hermione wondered what the point of this activity was, as the rag he was using was filthy, and most of the customers here did not seem the type to care whether their glasses were clean. "You shouldn't be talking to that lot," he added with a nearly imperceptible nod at Alphard's 'friends.' Alphard's expression hardened but he did not supply a retort.

"I-I should go," Hermione said suddenly. Aberforth muttered a particularly profane agreement as Hermione slid off the barstool, abandoning her grimy butterbeer. Alphard looked anxious, and followed Hermione out into the unseasonably balmy night.

"Hermione, no need to be a stranger!" Alphard called after her as they burst out the door. "I know the bullying between Gryffindor and Slytherin has gotten worse lately, but it's not like they have anything against you."

"I just think that pub looked dodgier inside than I realized," Hermione said lightly.

For a moment they stood there awkwardly, facing each other but not meeting each other's eyes.

"I ought to head back," Hermione said quietly after several minutes of silence. Alphard swallowed and nodded, but as she turned to go, he reached out, grabbing her arm.

"W-wait," he stammered. "Thanks," he said hastily. "And, er, you should come to the Quidditch game. I'm Seeker for Slytherin, and I have to say, I'm a hell of a lot more to look at than Potter."

Hermione blinked in surprise. Here Alphard was, flirting again with her for absolutely no reason. Her cheeks warmed again, and Alphard looked pleased even though she hadn't spoken.

"Of course!" she finally spoke. Alphard grinned before releasing her.

"See you at Herbology," he called after her as she trotted back up the hill, her heart pounding and her face most likely molten red to her hairline.

Hiding behind the same tree, Hermione twirled the Invisibility Cloak around her shoulders, and began to step away when she noticed something at the foot of the hill. Bathed in golden light from the windows, the two other Slytherins had joined Alphard to stand outside. Hermione desperately wished to turn away and return to the castle, lest she get caught, but remembered that she was supposed to be trying to emulate Harry's bravery. And remember how Harry tailed Malfoy in a manner beyond obsessive last year? Shaking her head at her own cowardice, Hermione cast muffliato and crept back down the hill. She positioned herself behind a low bush and crouched down so that she could peer over the top of it.

"Who is that girl? Is that the one-"

"She's just a girl," Alphard replied quickly. "She's new to Hogwarts so I think she doesn't realize how easy it is to get caught leaving the castle."

"Awfully cozy with our Lord, don't you think?"

Alphard didn't respond for a moment.

"He's not here, you know. You can just call him Tom or Riddle," he finally said quietly. The other two students laughed raucously.

"Y'know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you weren't on our side. Defending Gryffindors, not calling him by his proper name…"

Hermione's heart began to pound for different reasons as she watched the two students creep closer in a threatening way to Alphard. They were both looking a little too close to drawing their wands, and just in case, Hermione reached into her pocket, closing her fist round her wand, breathing little shallow breaths.

Just before anything happened, however, a taller, more graceful figure swept into their little patch of light and lowered his hood, revealing Tom's pale, handsome face.

"Avery. Lestrange. Black," he greeted. They all-even Alphard-dropped into deep bows.

"My Lord," said Avery. "We have nothing to report. Greyback would not have audience with us."

Tom waved his hand dismissively. "No matter. We'll get him later. Have you talked to the giant yet?" This question was directed at Alphard and he shook his head.

"Over the winter holidays, I plan to go there."

"Acceptable. You have done well."

Avery and Lestrange looked sycophantically pleased; Alphard's expression was unreadable, especially in the dim light.

"My lord, there was-" Lestrange halted when Alphard interrupted him.

"That barman in there resembles Dumbledore; have you noticed?"

He's saving me…Hermione felt a spasm of affection for Alphard. Tom looked suspiciously at his followers, but said nothing on the matter.

"Let's go back," he said finally. "We're expected to be patrolling right now; we will be missed."

Tom's cloak swirled regally around him as he turned to begin walking back to the castle; the three Slytherins followed him quickly and much less elegantly. Hermione waited for several minutes before leaving her hiding spot; even with the Cloak she knew from experience that she had to be careful. Not wanting to risk meeting the Dark Lord or his followers on the way back, Hermione resumed her wandering of Hogsmeade, awash in the memories of her trips there with Ron and Harry; especially Ron. The few times that it had been just the two of them were surprisingly not the most poignant of these memories, and she found herself getting more choked up at the memories of being there with both Harry and Ron.

After an hour or two, she finally decided she had reminisced enough for one night, and she began trekking back to the castle. She quickly checked the Marauder's Map; there was a secret passageway that she recognized as the one that had been caved in for her time at Hogwarts. But it's probably not caved in now, is it?

She crept through the tunnel that was indeed still in tact, and double-checked the Map before popping out the other side, from behind a suit of armor near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. No one was around, thankfully, and Hermione kept the Cloak on, still tiptoeing along, just in case.

The banging of a door stopped her in her tracks, and Tom stepped out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, brushing off his robes. Hermione's heart nearly stopped working and she frantically looked down at the map. Of course! It doesn't show the Chamber of Secrets; that must be where he had been until just now. Tom was far enough from her that she decided it safe enough to continue tiptoeing; the corridor was so narrow that had she stayed put, he might have brushed up against her.

Still, she knew he suspected someone's presence, for he suddenly seemed on edge. When her shoe scraped against the stone floor, they both froze in their tracks.

A flash of red might have passed in his eyes; she couldn't be sure. Hermione bit back her shriek of fear and began moving as swiftly and silently as possible.

"Hermione!" Tom called out, though he did not quicken his own pace. Heart hammering against her chest, Hermione consulted the map for shortcuts but found no helpful ones. Panicking, she swung into a classroom whose door was just ajar enough that it made no sound when she slipped inside.

How does he always know it's me? She wondered, watching the little dot labeled 'Tom Riddle' make its way back to the Slytherin dungeons. Her heart gave a funny little jump when she saw Alphard there as well.

And then, quite suddenly, she was disgusted with herself. How could she possibly allow herself to get excited about Alphard? She had just been mourning her boyfriend's death moments before, and now here she was, mooning over Alphard.

I'm just lonely, she told herself firmly. But from now on I've got to put a stop to this and remember who I'm fighting for.


Transfiguration with Dumbledore had been the class Hermione had been looking forward to most, and she was not disappointed. She was so transfixed by Dumbledore's sheer brilliance that she nearly forgot about the fact that Tom had decided to sit right next to her. She was almost positive that he had done it to unnerve her; just hours ago they had nearly run into each other in the corridors. Hermione started slightly when she felt something brush her arm; Tom was reaching over so slowly that it was hard to tell what he was doing. Dumbledore had his back turned to them momentarily as he drew a diagram of something.

You still haven't guessed, he wrote in his elegant script.

Hercules? Hermione wrote halfheartedly.

No. You're close, though.

You keep saying that! she wrote, her writing a little messy as she hastened to finish before Dumbledore turned round again.

It's not Greek Mythology per se, but the Greeks borrowed from it quite a bit.

So it's old?

Very. One of the first books, I daresay.

Hermione couldn't believe it: she was stumped. She turned slightly to glare at Riddle, to make clear her irritation with him, but the only thing that happened was that she glanced at his jaw line and neck, and how his dark hair curled so slightly against his pale skin; his Adam's Apple and smooth but, somehow, masculine lips… Her cheeks flushed and she inwardly smacked herself. Don't think dirty thoughts about Lord Voldemort, you idiotic pervert, she scolded herself, her face very pink now. She turned away and caught a passing glimpse of his wicked grin, and she nearly hit her head against the desk.

It's perfectly all right to stare. Hermione nearly stabbed him with her quill after she saw that.

I was not staring.

I suppose you're the type who prefers to live in belligerent denial, then…

Stop analyzing me! If I want that, I'll pay for a Muggle psychologist!

I highly doubt you'd prefer to stare at an old fat bearded Muggle.

He was so infuriating that Hermione almost was unable to Transfigure her desk to make it walk round the room; luckily her irritation towards Tom propelled her to do an even better job than him, and while his desk sauntered at seemingly its own will, Hermione was able to march hers up and down the aisles.

"Well done, Miss Macmillan," Dumbledore congratulated, and Hermione beamed at him, just before sending Tom a satisfied little smirk. Tom raised his eyebrows; wicked grin still in place.

"We'll just have to see who wins the duel next time," Tom murmured wickedly into her ear as she began packing up her things at the end of class. Hermione turned, wand in hand, preparing to threaten to Hex him into a weevil, but Tom was already leaving the classroom. Just before leaving, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

Hermione nearly set her books on fire in her irritation and embarrassment when she felt her knees grow weak and her face actually heating more in the most furious blush of the day so far.