Previously: Colin investigates a secret hideaway. A staff meeting passes judgment on a future dueling club. Hermione and Colin break into Headmaster Dumbledore's office, and find an intriguing box. Hermione holds her first Divination class, which reveals an interesting tarot reading. A Quidditch score revelation leads to problems. Riddle confronts Hermione.

Chapter 7

Sunlight flooded through the tall windows, throwing watery patches of color about the room. Dark paneling glowed like bronze in the golden rays. Books lay scattered about the floor and couches as if thrown there by a sudden twister. A corner of the room was jammed with many jars, flasks, and apparatuses containing odd potion ingredients and various herbs. In another corner sat a heavy cauldron. A simmering transparent pink concoction filled its hollow cavity.

Hermione stared out the windowpanes of her sitting room, yearning to stay in that moment until the world rotated fully and everything was set right. She gnawed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Her brain felt like a beehive, with thoughts humming, swarming, and flitting in erratic directions. Her meeting with Tom Riddle the previous day consumed her with a dread she had not felt since the Battle of Hogwarts. His promised observation had left her uneasy and resulted in her toiling into the night, brewing a particularly difficult potion with ingredients pinched from Slughorn's personal store.

The squeaking of the door alerted her to a presence. Whirling around, she drew her wand, just in time to see Colin trip over a book, sending the sack he was carrying flying. It hit a table holding several volatile potion ingredients. They both watched in horror as the ingredients came crashing down, the bottles breaking and the liquids mixing. Upon convergence, an explosion ensued, decimating a nearby plant. As the smoke cleared, there in front of her sat a very bewildered looking Colin.

"I hope you weren't very hungry," Colin said, looking at his mostly ruined bag with disappointment.

Hermione closed her eyes. When she opened them again, sure enough, Colin was still there in front of her, his sky blue robes slightly smoking. Waking from her trance, she rushed over to him to check on any damage he may have suffered. "Oh, Colin. Are you all right?"

Colin rose, brushing dirt and pieces of food from his robe. A lazy grin creased his face, as if being almost blown to bits was a normal daily occurrence. Though perhaps for him it was. He bent down and gathered the scattered objects about their feet. "I knew I should have invested in body armor. Where shall I put these?" Indicating several foodstuffs that escaped the blast. "I hadn't seen you for breakfast or lunch and I got worried."

Indicating the table before her, she helped Colin with the items, transforming the area into a sort of picnic nook. Sighing, Hermione replied, "I had a run in with You-Know-Who and spent the night creating a solution to our problems."

"You-Know – are you alright? No wonder you're on edge. Did he do anything?" Colin gazed at her with concern.

A slight blush infused her cheeks, remembering his proximity and actions that had rendered her immobile. Sternly wishing for a good Obliviate, she fought from coloring further. "No, just a warning." Switching subjects quickly lest Colin question her further, she stated, "That's why I created a modified version of the Fidelius Charm in potion form."

Drawing his eyebrows together in puzzlement, Colin queried, "Are we going into hiding? Isn't it a little late for that now?"

Shaking her head, Hermione spoke, "I've customized it. In the Fidelius Charm, a secret is stored within the soul of the Secret-Keeper. The secret generally pertains to a hidden location and only the Secret-Keeper has the power to reveal the secret. With the potion I have created, you think of what secret you wish to hide; the secret is then locked up, with the knowledge only accessible to you and whomever you shared the secret with. So just like the Fidelius Charm, if someone hasn't been given the information, they won't be able to discover the secret, even if they have an idea of what it may be. In this case, we would concentrate on our journey to the past and our –er incident with Dumbledore."

Colin looked at her a little uncertainly, "I suppose it's a good idea, but honestly, what's the point? Neither of us have any intention of going up to You-Know-Who and saying, 'Guess what? I've incapacitated your biggest enemy. Please make me your right hand man and while you're at it, throw in a few Crucios.'"

Wrinkling her noise at Colin's words, she pressed on, "Well then, how are your Occlumency skills? I admit I feel mine are decent, yet I have no clue how powerful a Legilimens he is. Further, this would prevent us from saying something incriminating even if questioned by Veritaserum."

Admitting the wisdom of Hermione's words, he turned his head toward the potion Hermione had been discussing. Near the cauldron that held the brew lay insect shells, saffron-colored seeds, and pungent leaves. Grimacing, he hoped that the taste would be better than some of the vile potions he was made to try in Snape's class. Grabbing the vial Hermione presented him with, he held his nose and swallowed. Concentrating on the memory he wanted to conceal, he felt cold tendrils surround it before expanding to grip several associated memories. He could feel the thought being wrapped inside an impenetrable stronghold that only he could enter.

His eyes fluttered open when he felt something weigh his hand down. On examination, the object held the appearance of a small misty marble. Looking closer, he was able to make out a sequence of events occurring within. Before he could get a better look, however, the small sphere was snatched from his hands. Releasing a small cry of protest, he watched in shock as Hermione placed the object into her mouth and swallowed. Turning her eyes to him, she grinned before pressing her index finger and thumb against the upper most corners of her lips and dragging them across the pillowy tracks as if zipping her mouth closed. In his state of confusion, it took Colin a moment before he remembered that it was the Muggle signal of locking away a secret and throwing away the key. Grinning, he then grabbed a similar sphere that lay in Hermione's outstretched hand and proceeded to mimic her.

oOo

"Aww, come on, Miss G. Can't you tell us who'd win the first Quidditch game of the season?" a tall, thin boy named Kenny Cork from Gryffindor pleaded.

At this point, another Gryffindor student chimed in, "Yeah! You'd being doing a great service, too." Seeing his teacher's doubtful look, he added, "Uh, in motivating us to do our best."

"And this wouldn't have anything to do with current bets I've seen you take from students?" Hermione looked at them piercingly. At the boy's vigorous denials, she continued, "Even if I knew who would win, which I don't, telling you could change the outcome, since you may not work as hard to achieve the win."

The boys exchanged glances at her words. They rapidly thanked their professor before excitedly running out of the classroom, their voices loud, "Did you hear that, Kenny? Gryffindor for the win! We'll rake in a ton of cash!"

Rolling her eyes, she plopped down on a nearby cushion, weary and wishing for sleep when she felt something pulling on her hair. Bringing her gaze upward, she saw Beeper getting tangled in her curls. Making a face, she painstakingly pulled him from her hair. She was glad that it was her last class of the day and no one would see or question the presence of the nargle.

Placing him on her lap, she addressed him, "Actually, I'm glad you're here since I have a mission for you." Pulling out two photos taken by Colin from her star-patterned robes, she presented the first to Beeper, "I want you to follow the man in the picture. Do you understand?" Observing the photo of the scowling individual carefully, he nodded before grabbing the photo and stuffing it into a tiny bottomless bag that Hermione had made for him. Then, showing him the second photo, she added, "If he ever comes near Dumbledore, let me know, okay? Do what we did in Bolivia."

A mischievous smile of understanding filled the nargle's face before the expression changed and he looked upon her expectantly. Smiling, Hermione replied, "Ah yes, payment." She then pulled a tiny box from her robes that had most likely held earrings at one point. Before she could do anything further, the box disappeared from her grasp, falling into Beeper's possession. Within a blink of an eye, the gift was opened with several squeaks of joy before the nargle fell to the floor in a ball, attempting to place the miniature socks onto his feet. On finally succeeding, he seemed to drunkenly salute her before disappearing once more.

Looking around at the now empty room, Hermione felt a moment of misgiving. What she had Beeper doing was dangerous, but it was the quickest way to gain information. They needed to discover something to change their current ignorance to knowledge and to find what evil fortunes may lie in wait, ready to pounce and engulf them. Riddle's words had frightened her more than she would want to admit. She knew he was planning something. As a woman who spent her life grounded in pragmatism, she knew it was best to be prepared, even if nothing was to occur. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.

oOo

There were some that claimed the end was just the beginning, but Helena Ravenclaw, Hogwart's Grey Lady, firmly disagreed. In her eyes, there was no beginning, middle, or end, just a monotonous continuity, shrouded with guilt and bitterness. Floating down a desolate hallway, her spectral appearance often had others turn the other way on her approach, which was why she was startled to notice an individual about to walk through her as if she ceased to exist at all.

"Pardon me, but I find it the height of rudeness to invade someone's personal space."

Taken aback, the young woman jumped and gazed upon her as if seeing her for the first time. Drinking in the girl's features, Helena realized that this was the new Divination professor, Mirage Greenhorn. The school had been abuzz about her predictions and odd behavior. Everyone seemed to take an interest in her, even the DADA professor, Tom Riddle. The ghost had jealously observed his interest grow in the young professor with every rumor, sighting and conversation. Playing people like puppets, he diligently tried to force chance encounters with the girl. Yet, the girl managed to avoid his woven web and remained oblivious to his attempts, always flitting about up and down the castle or sharing company with the awkward buffoon, Levy.

"So you're the one who is rumoured to have the sight," the ghost bit out harshly.

The witch, however, remained silent as if weighing what should be said. After a long moment, she finally spoke, "My sight is no different than any other. Only my perspective and experience makes it seem otherwise."

Like a temperamental wind, the Lady Ravenclaw suddenly shifted her tone to one of comradery; allies fighting their oppressors. "Indeed. The perspective of youth, something elder individuals fail to understand. Instead they bolt them to the ground, preventing their wings from spreading and taking flight, so they may seek their own wisdom." Concluding her speech, she took in the black loom of the still castle around her and the yellow speck of light steadily burning in Miss Greenhorn's clutched hands.

Noting the ghost's wistfulness, Mirage hesitated before replying, "She loved you, you know."

"Oh." The ghost fixated her gaze upon the professor. "Who might that be?"

Biting her lip briefly, the girl plunged forward. "Your mother." She then flinched as if preparing to be struck down.

Silence pervaded for many minutes before the ghost spoke again, her tone bitter. "And what would you know about my mother?"

Gaining courage, Mirage continued, "I know Rowena Ravenclaw was a wise and kind woman. Protecting you... refusing to tell others the true location of the diadem. She loved you... up to and including the end."

A ghostly tear made its way down the specter's face, her smile melancholy. Helena moved closer, outstretching her hand and placing her palm on the speaker's cheek. Her touch was as cold as a block of marble. "Hmm, a different perspective indeed, there are few that are aware of my story and even fewer who would be willing to share it. It is something I find myself appreciating. So now, I will share something with you."

Pausing, she reflected on how much to tell. "Men often do not believe even what they see…. many secret chambers and compartments lie beyond these walls, containing things that should never be sought. Long ago, there was a map created by a young girl who searched for wisdom in these walls, a map that noted all its precious secrets. Of course, secrets are not meant to be told nor written down, but locked away." At this point, the Grey Lady's tone took a bitter turn. "So the map was taken by the so called 'wise' and since it could not be destroyed, it was placed in an impenetrable box, then tossed away as refuse. The secrets are now past down through word of mouth with some being forgotten completely. So the gates crumble."

At this point, Miss Greenhorn interrupted, "Gates?"

"The gates of knowledge, gates to the future, the seven gates that once were an intrinsic part of Hogwarts. Take your pick. Truth and knowledge shine a light on lies and ignorance and so repair many faulty visions, allowing the mind to move from its perpetually blank state. In that moment, everything lives and breathes until corruption seeps into the foundations once again. Decay begins and doors close to avoid the stench. Facades are built around the cruel ugliness of despair. So society suffers once again. Crumbling. Crumbling into pieces." At her final words, the Grey Lady began to drift away, mumbling more words under her breath, leaving a very thoughtful Hermione Granger in her wake.

oOo

Stumbling slowly along in the cover of darkness, lost in thought, Hermione's mind flitted over the Grey Lady's words once again. Never in all her readings of Hogwarts: A History had she encountered anything resembling what she was told. First the mysterious pit, now a possibility of further hidden chambers and compartments? Hermione suddenly shuddered as she remembered the Grey Lady's warning. The Basilisk was most likely one of those things that should not be sought. Her eyes widened as she realized the creature may be slithering beneath her very own feet. At this thought, her pace increased. Faster and faster, her heels clicked upon the floor below. The hushed whispers of the portraits she passed only lent to her growing fear. Her thoughts brewing like a storm, she failed to watch her steps and tripped over a loose stone.

Falling to the ground, she heard someone utter "Lumos." She turned her head ever so slightly, as the individual's low tone seemed hauntingly familiar.

"Lose something, Miss Greenhorn?" the voice of Tom Riddle spoke silkily. Glancing up, she saw him standing over her, fondling her wand. His stance imperial, he looked down upon her with an expression of delight, like a carnivorous beast that finally caught its prey. Rising quickly, she held out her hand expectantly.

Gritting her teeth, she spoke, "Yes, thank you. How kind of you to find it."

His eyes briefly ran over the smooth skin of the outstretched hand. "My pleasure," he confided. Yet still, he did not relinquish his grasp on the wand.

"Tell me, Miss Greenhorn, why you insist on creeping around like a naughty schoolchild planning mischief. Certainly you are aware how to cast a simple Lumos?" Riddle questioned her, as he continued to fiddle with the wand in his hands.

Riled, Hermione reached for her wand. "Of course I do, I just simply like the dark. Now please hand over my wand." She slightly cringed at how foolish and desperate she sounded and that just served to incense her even more.

He looked at Hermione and lifted the wand out of her reach, amusement flitting across his features. She angrily tried to grasp the wand without making contact, as if he was repulsive. However, her efforts were simply pointless and ineffective and only made him goad her further. Hermione's fury increased with each attempt she made to grab the item out of his hand. The wand dangled directly above her, held in the serpent's coils and resembling bait used to lure unsuspecting victims into the predator's lair.

Unarmed, her options were limited, but she refused to turn her back and walk away, however sadistic his game was. Noticing that he had taken no steps to use her wand or draw his own, she halted her backward movements and regarded him suspiciously. His eyes never leaving hers, he raised one arrogant eyebrow challenging her, daring her to touch him while holding her wand just above his head. Hesitating, the tip of her tongue crept out and pressed on her upper lip before she looked at him again. He stared back at her appraisingly, a malicious smile curling his lips, as if he thought her incapable of meeting him in battle. Seeing her rub the exposed flesh on her arms, he gave a look of triumph as if he had already won the wandless duel. Irritation flared through Hermione. Trepidation melting away, she rose to meet his unspoken challenge. Firmly resolved in her next course of action, her hand made its ascent past his firm chest and hastily brushed by his cheek and lusciously soft locks, wary of the serpent's strike as she tried to reclaim what was rightfully hers.

Her touch caused shuttered eyes to open, changing from their normal unfathomable depths to something more. It was as if the mask of masquerade had fallen. Shifting, he slipped the wand out of reach once again. Bringing his mouth closer to her ear, he hotly whispered, "Do you really like the dark, Miss Greenhorn?"

His look became primal, consuming, demanding.

"Do you like its illicit thrill, knowing that it can bring much satisfaction in many different ways?" His voice was like a spider's web surrounding her with an aim to capture and conquer. "If you just surrender yourself."

His tone was laced with innuendo. A sense of déjà vu kicked in. Her apprehension increased. It reached inside the dark crevices of her mind, touching on a chain of casualty she refused to acknowledge. Eyeing his wand that peeked out of his robe pocket, she sought to regain a bit of power. A step forward, a step back, their feet glided round the echoing stone floor, turning, moving, circling - their body and mind in a tango-like battle for supremacy.

Endeavoring to nourish the conversation in order to predict, and in effect grab control of, the situation and what would occur next, she dragged her eyes away from his wand and met his gaze. "Why should I surrender myself to what I find lacking and incapable of truly satisfying anyone fully?"

His eyes narrowed, "Such a hasty assumption. Perhaps the morsels you have been fed were displeasing. I'm certain a taste of what I could show you would leave you thirsting for more."

Danger loomed, Hermione's heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest despite herself. Nonetheless, she had no intent of abandoning her plan no matter how ill conceived. She placed a hand on his chest and leaned forward, closing what little gap separated them. It was a dance choreographed for them alone, their bodies melding into one another. She was so close she could make out the fibers in his robes. She caught a whiff of sandalwood and orange, knowing intimately from whence it came. Her voice soft, she spoke, "An unquenchable thirst does not speak toward satisfaction."

His eyes darkening, the timber of his voice became deeper as he pretended to consider her words for a moment. "True, I suppose it is closer to a pleasurable addiction." His insinuations clear as she felt a warm hand gently run down the slopes of her robes. Her hips swiveling, she directed her attention to obtaining his wand, but he tormented her by shifting their positions again and denying its capture.

The friction between their bodies generated a sweltering inferno. Beads of sweat began to develop upon their brows, their breathing erratic. Gripping his arms, Hermione futilely attempted to still him, resulting instead in only becoming more entangled in his clutches. It was an embrace of a devastating passion, a duel for dominance.

Another step back, then another, soon Hermione's back hit the stone wall of the corridor. The walls' contact quickly forced the reality of the situation upon her. Now, not only was she still wandless, but trapped. Their dance had left her cornered and him in total control. She felt him with every part of her, from her shoulders to her knees. All hard masculine muscularity. She felt suffocated, engaged in a battle that no one told her the rules to.

Reaching toward his robe pocket, she attempted to get a handle on his wand. "All addictions end in self-destruction."

"Even knowledge, Miss Greenhorn?" he questioned as he tilted her chin upwards to look upon him.

Her stomach twisting with nerves, her hands wrapped around the base of his wand. "Especially knowledge, Mr. Riddle."

Whispering, his lips neared hers, "Then you should know how dangerous it is to handle another wizard's wand." His hand wrapped atop hers, preventing her from maneuvering his wand in any manner.

Blinking in confusion, she attempted to get him to loosen his grip, but it was useless.

"Tsk, tsk. That's not very polite." He looked back coolly, completely in control, no evidence of the desire from before on his face. Forcing her fingers off the wand, he drew the instrument from his pocket and traced its tip along her cheek.

Glaring at him defiantly, she spat out, "Funny coming from someone who holds my wand."

Running the tip of his wand down, he drew her attention to her own robe pocket. "You mean the wand in your robes? Honestly, Miss Greenhorn, such accusations." The realization left her both stunned and disgusted to find that she had not been even aware of him returning her wand. Riddle continued to speak, "Would you like my advice?"

Infuriated at being shown up in such a way, she eagerly wished to wipe the grin from his face. It was the smile of a politician - expedient, watchful, and non-committal. It did not reach his eyes. "No, I wouldn't care for your advice at all." She paused briefly, absently noticing little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were like tiniest grains of dust, so insignificant, whirling around and gathering in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. Inspired, the corners of her mouth lifted in a grin. "I doubt your advice is even worth the dust the wind blows in your face."

He smirked, but before he could respond, Professor Kettleburn rounded the corner and hobbled toward them.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle, Miss Greenhorn. You didn't seem to notice a mouse run past here recently, did you?"

"A mouse, Silvanus?" Riddle boredly inquired.

Realizing how unusual his request may have sounded, he elaborated, "Hmm, well, a mouse-like creature in any case. A very unusual specimen." Seeing the negative shakes of their heads, he sighed. "No. Ah well. The night does tend to play tricks on one's vision, but I'm tickled to have run into you, Tom." Pulling Riddle closer, Kettleburn began chattering about conducting some sort of experimental trial.

Noticing Riddle's brief distraction, she quietly excused herself. She was anxious to be left alone so that she could give her whole mind to the events that had taken place. Hurrying her pace, she noticed Beeper sitting atop one of the armored knights. Quickly realizing that her furry friend was the reason for Kettleburn's timely arrival, she shot him a grateful wink before disappearing up several stairs.

oOo

Though the hour was late, the Hog's Head was still bustling with activity, some not as scrupulous as others, since the dinginess of the tavern lent itself to the more sinister trades.

On Tom Riddle's entry, customers swirled around him. Grimy drunks brushed past him, but his sober figure gave them no notice. His eyes were locked on one of the inhabitants at the far side of the bar.

In the glow of the tavern's light, the other man's face slid into view and the scar at his jaw gleamed with cold brilliance, offsetting his other aristocratic features. He was a tall man swathed in a heavy, caped robe. His eyes were brooding, their silvery depths a glint in the firelight. On seeing Riddle, he nodded his head in acknowledgment.

On arrival to the table, Riddle sat down with his hands resting on the carved wooden arms of the chair, giving off a dominant air before stating, "I assume you have the necessary information."

The man nodded. Feeling weary, he attempted to gauge Riddle's response before making his request, "The investigation I undertook was no simple task and will need greater compensation."

"Indeed? Compensation for effort?" Riddle chuckled humorlessly. "I assume this a poor attempt at humor." His tone turned harsh. "I believe I have stated to you, I award solely for results. I do hope you didn't bring me here to discuss your efforts, for I'm certain that will only lead to awkwardness and I do despise awkwardness among colleagues."

The man was saved from addressing his blunder as a portly waitress arrived to take their orders. An opportunist at heart, she pounced hoggishly at ever opportunity, collecting rumors greedily and treasuring gossip. She was alert for every signal and sensitive to relations and situations that did not exist. Gazing at the two men, she mentally concluded that they must be of great wealth and power and was thus eager to be of service to them. "Well loves, what can I get for you fine gentlemen this evening?"

Exchanging glances, it was a moment before Riddle replied, politely inclining his head and dismissing her, "Nothing, my lady."

Eager to wrack up a sale or attain some gossip, the woman heedlessly plowed on, "Certainly there is something on the menu that interests you, or perhaps something off the menu?" She batted her lashes coquettishly. "We have many exquisite items that would interest you."

Rolling his eyes at the woman impertinent assumptions, Riddle questioned her, "And what would you know of our interests?"

She smiled, revealing several decayed teeth. "Enough to see you're men of opportunity, with interests in the darker things in life."

"Do we now? I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken. You would do well to be careful in what you say next time. Insinuations such as these can lead to ... undesirable consequences." At the hardness of his tone, the woman took a step back.

"Of course. My...my mistake. Well then, I'll be off. Clearly, you're not in need of me." She then proceeded to retreat sheepishly with an abject and humiliated air.

The men then turned back to each other, continuing their conversation as if no one had interrupted. The man with the scar then flashed Riddle a dragonhide case and a crooked grin, "Within lies the information you seek. I had to utilize my charms."

Eyeing the man coldly and with a clinical indifference, Tom replied, "Then, it seems that they were charmed more slowly then they should have been."

Ignoring the jab on his talents, the man continued, "She seems to be quite valuable. I had to cast several Obliviates, which I dislike doing."

"I fail to see how such a trifle concerns me. I wish to hear discovery and not your predilections."

Sniffing at his words being dismissed in such a way, he bit his tongue. It would not do to argue. He was too well bred for that. Continuing on, he stated, "There was no photo to confirm the identity, though the physical description matches: early twenties, brown hair and eyes. It turns out Mira Greenhorn, as she is better known as, is a runaway pureblood heiress. Family was eager to quell the rumors of her 'loose morals' and so arranged to marry her off to some 80-year-old wizard. Disappeared about a month ago. They figure she's run off with one of her lovers. They've narrowed the list to the last twenty."

Raising an eyebrow, Riddle cast his eyes off to the side in thought. The woman sounded like a harlot. The words in the file contrasted greatly from his observations of her at Hogwarts. The blushes that stained her cheeks in their encounters spoke of a more innocent being. That meant nothing, as he himself knew just how deceiving appearances could be. Still, he disliked being connived in any shape or form. If what he was being told was true, perhaps a more interesting fate will lie in store for both Miss Greenhorn and Mr. Levy.

The man was cut off from his speech by Riddle, "You've the list, correct?"

At the man's blank look, he narrowed his eyes, "You do recollect I requested information of her associates as well?"

The man's heart constricted. His head felt as if it was wrapped in a vise, the pressure increasing. Riddle sighed, "And here I had hoped to avoid such uncomfortableness. A simple yes or no will suffice."

Gazing into the Riddle's eyes proved frightening. Remorseless, tinged with black humor. Gulping, the man stuttered out, "No. I mean, yes! The information is all in the case." The pressure immediately receded and he gave a breath of relief.

Gesturing, the Dark Lord gave an impatient wave. "Very well. You may proceed."

Speaking more hurriedly now, the man continued. "Turns out they are exceedingly eager to get her back, as it seems she's run off with Merlin's Book of Prophecies from the family vault. Other interesting tidbits I discovered include: Arrested twice for Dark Art Dealings; one count of assault, which was dropped, as it was a house elf; masterminded the "Thestrals Con" of '52 at the age of 17, got away scot-free with $1.2 million galleons after blaming the whole thing on her partner, Ron Otter; and finally suspected of torching Condition Alley in Iceland when she was ten." He handed the rest of the documents to Riddle. "Why is this so important anyway?"

There was no answer from Riddle who sat in the shadows. He only frowned, studying the paperwork in front of him. As he flipped through the pages, he muttered several words that could not be heard through the din of the tavern.

Realizing how foolish his question sounded, the man spoke again, "I hope I have provided you with the results you desire."

At this, Riddle looked up, his face revealing none of the malice his words held, "Quite. After all, to know our enemies' minds, we rip out their hearts. It seems I have all the information I shall need for now."

At this point, a fight broke out within the tavern. During the chaos that ensued, nobody noticed the two figures slide out of the shadows and slip through the door.

oOo

Colin's upper lip was dewy with nervous perspiration. His eyes locked with those of suspicion - ones that were searching for signs of deceit and itching to escort him to Azkaban.

flashback

The task was supposed to be simple: slip in while Deputy Headmaster Rugen was away from his office, get the box, and slip out. Instead, on his journey there, whom should he meet but Rugen himself accompanied by a bitter Auror Hastings and another man.

The man was tall, slim, clean-shaven, with flaxen hair and a lean-jaw. He appeared to be between twenty and thirty years of age, dressed in red Auror robes. Scrutinizing him, Colin was startled to recognize him as Mad-Eye Moody.

Rugen's eyes alighting upon Colin, he spoke, "Ah, Professor Levy, how wonderful to see you. We were just coming to find you. I'm sure you have a lot to report to these men here. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have several troublemakers waiting for me in my office." He then dismissed himself, leaving the young man with Moody and an irritated Hastings. Once Colin's lifeline was out of sight, the Head Auror dragged him to an empty classroom for interrogation.

end flashback

"I will not tolerate impertinence." Hastings glowered at Colin with swollen fury for a moment. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Colin gulped, passively wondering how Dementors were as bunkmates. "Yes, sir."

Hastings scowled at him, "Then tell me why precisely did Rugen commend you to me and said that you'd fill me in on your activities? I can tell you right now that I have no interest in hearing about your day, teaching idiotic, sons of banshee* children something so simple a flobberworm could do. So I will ask you now: do those activities include murdering Professor Dumbledore?"

"Sir… attempted murder," Moody whispered as he stepped closer, trying to politely correct the grumpy Head Auror.

Hastings slowly turned toward Moody and bit out furiously, "Step. Away. Now."

Mody was quickly silenced, retreating to a corner of the room.

Turning back to Colin, Hastings continued in a harsh tone, "Well Professor Levy, tell me then of your involvement with the attempted murder of Professor Dumbledore."

The words took away his breath for an instant; a glance at the raging face warned him that he must tread carefully. Figuring he had nothing to lose since he would probably be carted off to Azkaban either way, he gave a brief prayer to Hermione before leaning forward. "I see nothing can get by your keen eyes, which is just as well. I have been hired on behalf of Hogwarts to investigate the Dumbledore incident. Investigator Cicerone Levy at your service, gentlemen."

"Investigator, eh?" Hastings was not convinced, "Then why didn't Rugen just say so? Why all the secrecy? Tell me: where is your identification? What department do you work for? No, Levy. I suspect you are a liar and a fraud. I suggest you come quietly, you lollygagging lemur."

Though anxious, Colin retained his steady tone, "Tell me, Hastings. How would it look to arrest an innocent fellow law enforcement official, especially one in the Minister's favor?"

This time, the man's pupils noticeably dilated. "Poppycock," he snorted.

"Would you like to test that fact? I'm sure the Minister would enjoy having the man who saved his life behind bars." Disregarding the narrowing of Hasting's eyes, Colin continued on, getting into his role. He swished his robes dramatically as he spoke, "Who do you think sent that owl warning him of Bandito Slaughter?"

Hastings's hands moved restlessly over the oak table. Colin saw a speck of sweat break out along his brow as he pondered the implications. Colin mentally sighed. He hoped it would be enough. The information of the assassination attempt would not come out until 1971, so he was certain the department kept it under tight wraps.

Finally, Hastings spoke, a tight smile across his face, looking as if he would rather have limbs sliced off than talk to Colin, "Welcome on board, Investigator. Why don't you fill me in?"

oOo

The staff library at Hogwarts was surprisingly large and spotlessly clean. Decorated with a blend of house colors, it contrived at one and the same time to be both gloomy and a touch exotic. Books lined most of the walls except the one where a fire roared. Above the fire hung an enormous portrait. It showed a woman in a delicate muslin dress with a silk scarf, sitting and reading to a blind man, whose face was radiating happiness. They sat among piles of treasure so bright, it seemed to send small sparks flying in every direction.

Hermione was anything but happy. The Twinkle's trunk with its ingredients still eluded them. The only thing they possessed was the liverwood. In addition, Dumbledore's condition lay unchanged, sending her into another research frenzy for a cure that may never be found.

Additionally, yesterday had been like a nightmare, as if she had dropped from reality into a parallel universe. Riddle's look of want both frightened and confused her. What did he want? Did he believe her a true seer, like the others? No, otherwise he would not have frightened her. Perhaps he still held a grudge against her for spitting at him. If that was the case, she was certain he would have exacted some sort of revenge. Maybe he was biding his time. Maybe it was not her he was after. There was a good chance he recognized that it was Colin who followed him that one day. Numerous ifs, whats, and maybes filled her mind. She moaned in frustration. Why did evil have to be so complex?

Turning back to the books in front of her, another moan exited her mouth. Having sat in her seat for the past two hours, she had looked over numerous magical history books to no avail. There was not a crumb of information in regards to the gates or additional chambers the Grey Lady referenced. Chambers that might hold the key to all their problems. She hoped Colin was having better results attaining the box from the Headmaster's office.

Drumming her fingers against the mahogany table, she considered making her way down two floors to investigate the books found in the main library. Her face grew melancholy recollecting the rest of her friends and how far from home she really was.

Feeling a nudge against her hand, she looked up and saw a ball of brown and white looking at her with an expression of concern. Pasting on a weary smile, she stroked Beeper's soft fur, eliciting a purr from the nargle. Sensing her sadness, he opened his little bottomless bag and shuffled through it. She looked on, curious as to what he was looking for. Finally, he pulled out the most gorgeous ring she had ever seen, a gleaming silver and green one, and held it above him as an offering to her. Pursing her lips, she wanted to scold him, as he most likely stole it from some Slytherin student, but seeing him look at her so hopefully, she could not bring herself to refuse his gift. Placing it on her finger, she decided she could figure out who the owner was later. Giving the nargle a smile of thanks, she finally spoke, "What are you doing here anyway?" she asked. Beeper looked faintly guilty before he disappeared as quick as a blink.

"This is a staff library and I am staff." Hermione shivered, knowing the voice was one that had whispered suggestive intimacies into her ear just the day before.

Summoning her courage, she stood and turned in Tom Riddle's direction. Shadows clung to the corners of the room and teased his tall figure, braced at the mantel above the dancing fire. Always wary of his intentions and roving eye, she shivered, unnaturally cold as she stood before him.

His presence unnerved her. "What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything?" His chuckle contained a decidedly devilish sound. "I do believe you're not a very trusting woman."

"You're one to talk. You know nothing of me, yet insist on examining my motives. Now you're questioning my trust in you? Considering you have given me nothing to trust, I find your assessment laughable," Hermione huffed with a righteous rage.

His lips rising marginally in amusement, he spoke, "Defensive as well."

"I am not defensive." Though she spoke the words, she knew her defensive instinct could never be denied in his presence. No amount of persuasion would force her to take her gaze off him.

"Aren't you?" Again the lazy smile, which was growing quite infuriating. Again the shrewd consideration. He awaited her response.

Hermione glared at him. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing comment, then realized it would only serve as confirmation.

"I am a better person then you'll ever be." Her tone was ironclad.

"Just a matter of perspective. You realize, Miss Greenhorn, lies and trickery have a way of catching up to people, affecting their future in a monumental way."

Hermione felt her heart clench. "I don't know what you're talking about." She met his gaze and feigned nonchalance.

Riddle's POV

He assessed her face with an unflinching regard, his expression hard, taking in the way her eyes flitted away. He studied the slim line of her jaw and noted the way she fiddled nervously with the quill in her hand. He knew she was lying.

One corner of his mouth curled upward. "What say we play a game?"

He watched as her eyes widened, uncertainty darkening their beautiful coffee-colored depths. A fine tremble in her hand thwarted the smooth gesture of straightening the snarls of hair clumped around her shoulder. Focusing his attentions on her ring encased hand, he raised both eyebrows in an expression that could surely freeze grapes on a vine and cause ruination of a harvest for a whole year. His lips became tight and flat, all traces of gaiety leaving his shoulders. He looked at her with a heavy depth of venom and contempt on his face.

Approaching her, he closed the distance between them and captured her hand into his possession. Her fingers twitched and she shifted her head ever so slightly, her lips parted and her mouth upturned. They stood so close that he could feel her warm breath upon his throat, steeped with a spiraling thread of terror.

He voiced himself after a long moment. "What an interesting ring. Tell me, Mira. Do you make it a habit of stealing from others?"

.

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*credit goes to the Potter puppet pals in wizarding swears (which I found most informative). :-)

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(1) A/N: First off, I would like to thank all my readers and my fantastic reviewers, including Vinz112, Charlotte232, RJLupinFan, charlemagnebrat1, pstibbons, the-quiet-girl, misqette. A thank you also to cursed21, I hope I did your idea justice.

I would also love to send a wonderfully big thank you to my two betas, Hajnalmadar and SerpentInRed, who inspired and greatly aided me in forming the beautiful sequences in this chapter. This chapter would not have achieved its amazing finishing flare without the both of you. *hugs*

(2) A/N: To all my readers, I would love to hear your opinions in regards to the plot or character development, or anything else you wish to comment on. Reviews help fuel my writing and my muse as well. Many thank you's in advance!