Disclaimer: Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, not me. All characters and plot that are in her books are hers.

Author's note: Some parts of this chapter are quoted from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Memories - Italics and Bold

Thoughts - Italics

Sorry for the delay! Here's Chapter 6!

Chapter 6 - Riddle Me This

Harry came at dinner, just as Professor Vector said. Apparently, he'd not managed to get himself unsuck, which made Hermione feel disappointed yet guilty at the same time. Harry didn't look her in the eye all through dinner which made her a bit confused. She resolved to talk to him after dinner.

So, as the two adjourned to the Gryffindor common room (where Hermione wanted to explore first), Hermione spoke.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry didn't reply.

"Harry?"

After a minute of being ignored, Hermione bit her lip, eyes narrowing in anger. What was wrong with him? Hermione waited for a few more seconds before her impatience took over, grabbing his arm to turn him around.

"No!" Harry suddenly shouted at her, ripping his arm away. Hermione recoiled in shock, "Stop acting like you know everything! You're wrong! You were wrong about being Jedis, you were wrong to leave me in a tree, and you are wrong to think I'll forgive you so easily! You think you're so powerful, but really, you're just a friendless stuck up know-it-all!"

Hermione's expression was cold. Harry suddenly looked frightened.

"Who trained you?" Hermione asked in a tone that seemed to have icicles hanging off of it, "Me. Who let you out of that cupboard? Me. Who got rid of the Dursleys? Me. Who got you to the point where you weren't cowering behind Vernon? Me. Not you. Never you. You want to ignore me? You think you can do it without me?"

Harry said nothing, looking at his adopted sister with wide eyes. Hermione sneered at him.

"Fine."


Hermione didn't think she had ever been so angry. With Lindsay, at least she had acted when it grew to much. But her once burning anger was now frighteningly cold. You see, at first, she was only hurt. Every single word in Harry's little speech was like a knife being stabbed into her heart. But hurt quickly turned into anger, for, well, how in the world could he do that to her? After all she'd done for him? Yes, Hermione was angry. And it was all directed at her so-called brother.

When Harry - no Potter - had automatically moved to the boy's dorm, despite the fact that the two had gotten accustomed to sharing a room, Hermione had simply walked in the other direction.

In the morning, Professor Vector picked them up, and brought them to their office.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Hermione" She said, "How was your night?"

"Very pleasant, thank you for asking." Hermione said, directing the word at Potter, who winced at the jibe.

Professor Vector showed them how to use the floo - a concept that intrigued Hermione very much - and they were off.

They arrived in the Leaky Cauldron. In Hermione's opinion, it didn't seem very nice: it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was

smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The

low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Professor Vector muttered something under her breath, clearly unhappy about the situation they were currently in: everyone, the bartender included, was outright staring at the trio by the fireplace.

That's rather rude. Hermione thought, and then couldn't help but wonder if they did this to all newcomers, or if their group was just unlucky.

She didn't have to wait long to figure it out.

"Good Lord." The bartender whispered rather loudly, peering at Potter, "Is this-can this be-?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Potter and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. Hermione stepped back, utterly confused and annoyed that Potter was getting all of the attention. What in the world was going on, here?

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Potter seemed to not know what to say, much to Hermione's amusement. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hermione almost wrinkled her nose at her: how could someone be so unaware?

Then there was a great scraping of chairs, and Hermione stepped back, sensing (with the force-er-magic, of course, but also with common sense) that the people coming straight at Potter like moths to a light. Professor Vector managed to step back just in time, for the next moment, as Hermione predicted, Potter found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last." One said.

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud." Another almost shrieked, making Hermione want to plug her ears.

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, thank you so much for what you did that night."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" Potter suddenly exclaimed, making Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement, "You bowed to me once in a shop."

Hermione nearly snickered at that; was Potter really so self-centered that he remembered a person purely because they bowed to him?

Pushing away the small trickle of guilt at her thoughts, Hermione kept on listening.

"He remembers!" Dedalus Diggle cried, looking around at everyone as if to assure them of what they had just overheard, "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"

Potter shook hands again and again. A man named Doris Crockford kept coming back for more., much to Hermione's annoyance. They had places to be, for goodness sake!

A pale young man made his way forward very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching, and his whole body seemed to quake.

"Professor Quirrell." Professor Vector said from the side, "It is nice to see you out an about. Mr. Potter, Professor Quirrell will be one of your professors at Hogwarts."

Hermione leaned forward, wanting to get a better look at her new professor. He didn't seem like much, but, as she'd learned, you should never judge a book by it's cover. Much.

"P-P-Potter," Professor Quirrell stammered, grasping Potter's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Potter asked, voicing one of Hermione's questions.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell muttered as though he'd rather not think about it. Hermione's doubts about his competency increased significantly at his tone, "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" Hermione's gaze darkened: Potter couldn't even levitate a feather! Professor Quirrell laughed nervously, "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

The other fans in the shop wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten more minutes to get away from them all. At last, Profesor Vector, who had not managed to make herself heard over the babble so far, drew her wand (what Hermione had learned most wizards couldn't do magic without, much to her astonishment). With three piercing cracks, the room fell quiet once again.

"Now, if you all are quite finished bombarding Mr. Potter, we have places to be." Professor Vector said coldly, making Hermione wonder if she was a Slytherin, "Mr. Potter, Ms. Hermione - let's go."

Doris Crockford attempted to barge his way to Potter again, but, at Professor Vector's glare, he stepped back, chuckling nervously. Professor Vector led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. Hermione immediately spotted a few bricks on the wall that glowed, what she'd now come to realize was a magic revealer.

Professor Vector turned to a very overwhelmed looking Potter. Hermione felt a stab of sympathy, but shook her head at herself. She would forgive him!

"I'll explain later." She said.

"Is he always that nervous?" Ha-Potter asked as Professor Vector turned to the brick wall with glowing bricks, "Professor Quirrell, I mean?"

"Yes." Professor Vector replied sharply, "He took a year off to get some firsthand experience. There are some rumors, but you shouldn't be listening to them. It's Quirinius' business, not yours.

Professor Vector began to count bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"It's those ones, isn't it?" Hermione asked the professor, pointing to the glowing bricks. Professor Vector looked to Hermione, startled.

"How do you know?" She asked, looking at Hermione curiously. Hermione looked back at her professor, confused. She'd thought that all wizards could do it. Well, Potter couldn't, but he couldn't do a lot of things.

See - I haven't forgave him. Hermione's non voice of reason sneered in her head at the thought. The voice of reason didn't reply.

"I-er-" Hermione said deliberately, looking at Potter, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes.

Professor Vector got the message.

"We'll speak later." She said, making Hermione almost certain that she was a Slytherin, and turned back to the brick wall. Professor Vector tapped the bricks in a certain order with her wand, each one glowing brighter as she tapped it.

The bricks she had touched quivered and the bricks began to move out, creating a small hole that grew wider until they were facing a large archway, that lead onto a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Professor Vector, "to Diagon Alley."

Hermione stared at the alley in amazement as the trio stepped through the archway. She quickly looked back over her shoulder and saw the archway returning to its original state. She looked back to the alley as the wall completed its movement.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop, reflecting on the surfaces. Above them was a sign that read: Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible.

"You'll need one later." Professor Vector commented, "But you need your money first. We'll go to Gringotts for that."

Hermione turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to take in everything she could: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping… the list went on.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed.

"Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

Hooting came from a dark shop with a sign that read Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Hermione's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. Hermione wrinkled her own nose distastefully at them. Honestly, could they even try to be civilized?

"Look," One of them said as the trio passed, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand- fastest ever-"

Hermione didn't hear the rest of what he said, deciding that there were more important things to be focusing on.

There were shops selling robes, including one called Madam Malkins. Some shops were selling telescopes and silver balances, while others, namely Flourish and Blotts, sold books. There were windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon... Hermione attempted to look at it all as they made their way down the alley.

"Here we are." Professor Vector finally said, "Mr Potter, Ms. Hermione - this is Gringotts."

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"That's a goblin." Professor Vector quietly explained at the two startled expressions on Hermione and Potter's faces, "They run Gringotts."

They walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was short; even shorter than Potter by at east a head. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside.

They then were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Gringotts is the safest place in the world." Professor Vector explained, "Other than perhaps Hogwarts. Robbing it is quite impossible. I would advise you against doing so, both the robbing Gringotts and the crime itself."

A pair of goblins - yet again - bowed them through the silver doors that opened to reveal a vast marble hall that was occupied by about a hundred goblins who were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, and examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There was one on the side that seemed to be weighing a large diamond on a gold scale. Talk about expensive.

There was a countless number of doors leading away from the hall. Goblins showed people in robes - wizards and witches - out of them. Professor Vector, Potter, and Hermione walked into a line for the goblin in the middle of the counter, which was the shortest of them all.

"Good morning." Professor Vector said to the goblin when they got through the line, "I'm here to help Mr. Potter take some money out of his account, as well as help a new student, Ms. Hermione, create an account."

"You have his key, Madam?" The goblin asked, perking up at Potter's name. Hermione almost groaned when he did. Why did everything seem to center around Potter?

"Yes." Professor Vector said, fishing a tiny golden key out of a brown bag that hung from her necklace. She placed it in the goblin's hands.

There was a moment of silence as the goblin inspected it closely, and then -

"That seems to be in order." The goblin announced, before smoothly transitioning to the second topic, "What is the last name of the student who would like a vault set up?"

"I'm an orphan, sir." Hermione said as the goblin's eyes pierced her, swallowing the nervousness that popped up when she stared into his eyes. The goblin's face morphed into one of surprise at 'sir', but it quickly morphed back to one of indifference. Hermione admired the goblin's mask of his emotions: it would have been foolproof if he hadn't given himself away.

"Very well." The goblin said, "Are you muggleborn? If not, we can do a blood test. We don't keep track of muggle's blood here."

"I'm the former." Hermione said stiffly, having read about blood purity from a book just that morning. The goblin nodded.

"Than you must choose a wizarding last name." The goblin said, "If the people who have it are still alive, than they must approve of it with you. If not, we have a backup test that they have created themselves when they lived to determine if you are worthy."

"Er-" Hermione said, thinking. She didn't want to be seen as someone who was trying to copy a deceased person, such as Merlin, so perhaps just thinking one up that wasn't as famous would do…

"What about Riddle?" Hermione asked, remembering the name from the trophy room. He had been a Prefect. And, besides, he was - or perhaps still was - a halfblood or pureblood, as the book said he wasn't muggleborn (an odd fact).

Hermione was too focused on her own thoughts to see the goblin to a little jolt, before peering closer at her. Finally, he said:

"Very well. Riddle's dead, so follow me." He turned back to Professor Vector, "I will have someone take you two down to Mr. Potter's vault. You can come back to pick Ms. Hermione after that. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Professor Vector and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall, leaving Hermione alone with the teller.

The teller lead Hermione into a room that was past the fifth door from the back. Inside was a dark marble room with a bowl and a knife on the floor. The only source of light other than what was coming from outside of the room was a strange grey light emanating from the bowl.

"Cut your hand with the knife, and let some of the blood drip into the bowl." The teller said, "Speak Riddle's last name, and your tests will start. I will be outside of the door."

He left.

Hermione picked up the knife with a shaky hand. The whole effect kind of creeped her out, like one of those horror shows the girls at the orphanage had often spoke of. She knelt by the bowl, discarding her emotions and cutting a small nick in her palm. She watched the blood slowly dribble into the bowl.

"Riddle." Hermione whispered. And that's when it started.

It hit her full - on. The nervousness came back, except this time, it quickly transformed to fear. It washed over her, and for the first time, she felt caustraphobia. She shivered on the floor. She had no idea where it had come from. All she wanted to do was to scream, to run - but yet she had nowhere to go. The door's lock clicked shut as she began to drag her way to it. Then she couldn't move - she couldn't scream for help, because it was so terrifying that her body froze -

"Please. Not that book, not- no!".

Lindsey had torn off a page.

"Please, please..."

"NO!" Hermione's shreak ripped through the room at the memories that had started. She breathed heavily. I'm not scared. This isn't my fear…

"Please, please..."

Deserve-

STOP IT! STOP IT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

There was a silence in the room, where the fear suddenly stopped and Hermione could take a few breaths of relief. But she was now angry. Angry at the room, angry at the goblin, and ever so angry at Tom Riddle for putting this test here in the first place -

"Who are you?"

The voice had come from behind her. Hermione spun around to see a tall boy - about seventeen or eighteen years old - with pale skin, jet black hair, and dark eyes standing behind her. Hermione stood up, immediately knowing who it was. She flicked her hand at him, her eyes smoldering in anger, and Tom Riddle was blasted backwards, eyes comically wide in shock. He stood up slowly, his eyes flashing red. He stepped forward.

There went another page.

Hermione looked at Lindsay, and for the first time, anger bubbled up inside of her. Lindsay tore another page.

Deserved it deserve it deserve it-

"NO!" Hermione shouted, and her hand grabbed the older girl's arm.

There was a sickening crack and Lindsay dropped the book. Hermione immediately let go, grabbing the book, holding it protectively and glaring at Lindsay. The girl had taken to moaning while looking at her hand, which was bent completely the wrong way.

Hermione was shocked at herself. Had she done that?

She deserved it. They all do.

Deserved it deserve it deserve it-

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Hermione screamed, and this time, she pushed. The foreign presence that had been messing with her mind was thrown out. The artificial fear left her so quickly she thought it had torn a part of her chest out. Tom Riddle stumbled backwards, and then smiled. Hermione stared at him with confusion.

?One lassst tesst? Tom hissed in the language Hermione had come to know as the snake, ?What isss your name??

?I am Hermione.? Hermione hissed back, some of her anger subsiding to the tides of curiosity and excitement that she had found someone who could speak snake.

Tom, once again, looked surprised, and then he looked almost… excited. He walked closer to Hermione.

"You are worthy of being my heir," He said, "Hermione Riddle."

"Thank you." Hermione said, all of her anger having vanished. She grinned at her new name. It had a nice ring to it. She then frowned. What if she wasn't what Tom thought she was? She hadn't even started her first year, and she, as much as the appeal was, didn't want to trick her way into a name she didn't deserve, for the consequences that followed.. Well, Hermione could only guess that they would be deadly.

Tom seemed to read her face (something Hermione would later scold herself for letting him).

"You deserve it." He said.

"I haven't learned much." Hermione countered.

"I can help you."

Hermione looked up at that. A private tutor? That would be awesome. Think of all the possibilities it could bring -

"How?" Hermione said, realizing something - "You're dead."

"I am a memory." Tom said, "It's advanced magic. I'll teach you it, someday. You just need to let me connect to you."

"How?" Hermione asked, eager to learn advanced magics.

"You just need to accept." Tom said, "I'll be always with you - not in your mind, but just outside of it. We'll be connected - we could talk to each other telepathically."

"You won't be able to read my thoughts? Or do what you were doing before?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Not unless you let me." Tom assured.

Hermione was opening her mouth to reply when she cut herself off, for an idea had sparked within her brain.

"Tom? I-I have no friends."

She hadn't meant for it to sound so weak, so desperate - she'd meant to cover that all up and just ask, but it all came out in that single sentence - Lindsay, the orphanage, Emma Thames, her fight with Harry, - it was all there. She was horrified for a moment, but, at Tom's look of empathy, Hermione knew it was for the best.

"Hermione," Tom replied softly, "I'll be your friend."

"Than I accept." Hermione said happily.

The last thing Hermione Riddle saw before it all went black was a familiar bushy haired girl with red eyes.