Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.

Chapter Ten

September 23, 1937 — First Year

"Episkey."

"Bozoar."

"Skele-Grow."

"Pepper Up Potion."

"Blood Replenishing Potion."

"Chocolate."

He glared at her. "That's not a wizarding medical remedy."

"It is," she said, laughter in her eyes. "It's the most common remedy after an encounter with a Dementor. Even Healers recommend it."

She wasn't lying.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sober Up Potion."

Her honey eyes pierced him. "That doesn't count."

The violet eyed boy looked smug. "It does. A Sober Up Potion can cure a headache when you're drunk."

She shook her head, her curly hair bouncing on her shoulders. "No. That's a common misconception. A Sober Up Potion doesn't really cure headaches or hangovers. It only sobers up the drinker or wake them up from their hangover state. That's why it's called Sober Up. However, the Anti-Hangover Potion can cure hangovers."

"The Anti-Hangover works when you drink it before ingesting alcohol," Tom pointed out. "However, if you drink it after, it is ineffective. That's why the drinker uses the Sober Up Potion instead. It might not be as effective as an Anti-Hangover Potion but since the human mind thinks that the Sober Up Potion can cure them, it would create an illusion that would make then think that they're not in a hangover state anymore. That's usually the reason why the Sober Up Potion is effective. If it doesn't work, they can always use a Pain Relief Potion."

"Fine, I admit defeat," she finally conceded, making him smirk. "How many points do we have?"

Tom looked at the parchment on the table between them. "You have fifteen points while I have seventeen now."

Hermione's put-upon expression had Tom chuckling behind his hand. She narrowed her eyes at him and he only cocked his head to side, face the image of innocence. He knew that she didn't believe his seemingly friendly and good boy façade. While other people would've easily dismissed it, she would call him out of his masks. She might as well be the only person who could see him for him — aside from her father, of course.

"Hermione!"

They both turned towards two Gryffindor and one Ravenclaw first years approaching their table. Lips pulled tight into a polite smile, Tom silently seethed when Poppy Pomfrey — the only Ravenclaw — Franklin Longbottom, and Fleamont Potter began stealing Hermione's attention from him. Hermione, ever the affable one between the two of them, smiled at her Gryffindor friends. Time and time again, he had to remind himself that Hermione had other friends, inside and outside of Gryffindor and even in the higher years. The reminder didn't make it any easier.

Tom wasn't jealous. Jealousy would only happen if he considered her other friends as his rivals and he didn't consider them as such, especially Potter, the poster child of heroism and idiocy. He already had Hermione so there was nothing to be jealous of.

In his opinion, he didn't think that they deserved her. They didn't understand her like he did. They always dissuaded her from studying or reading in favor of Qudditch or gossip. He didn't like the resigned look on Hermione's face whenever she had to put her book down, unable to handle peer pressure and he especially hated the fake smiles. With him, Hermions was happier. She would read in her heart's content and it wouldn't bother him because he would be likely reading as well. They would engage in multiple debates and games that would light up the fire in her eyes and make her soft voice raise into a shrill.

So, no, reminding himself that she had other friends — a title that he had a very low opinion of — didn't change the fact that he didn't like them.

"We were looking for you everywhere!" The chubby one who lost his toad the train ride to Hogwarts, Longbottom, exclaimed.

Tom gritted his teeth. Had the bumbling fool forgot that this was the library?

"Shh," said the dark haired one with crystal blue eyes. This one was Pomfrey. "This is a library, Franklin. We have to keep our voices down."

Longbottom blushed. "Oops. Sorry."

"What are you doing with a Slytherin, Hermione?" Asked the messy haired brunet with hazel eyes that was Potter.

Hermione casted a glance at him before giving a small smile at Potter. "I told you about Tom, didn't I, Fleamont? He's a friend."

Tom didn't react but inwardly, he made a face when he heard the word friend. Hermione considered them friends no matter how many times Tom said that they weren't. Friendship just seemed too benign, too shallow of a term considering that he didn't believe in that. He certainly wasn't using Hermione to fill in a void inside of him or to gain something for himself. As for Hermione, she was too kind, too good to even think about using someone.

In Tom's opinion, they were more than friends.

Potter frowned, looking skeptical and disapproving, but Tom kept his polite smile even though he wanted nothing more than to storm off, preferably with Hermione with him. But, knowing the bushy haired brunette, she would probably demand to return to apologize to them for being rude and Tom had no choice but to follow her.

"I don't know why you're friends with him," Potter said with a haughty sniff that reminded him of Aris Avery. "He's a Slytherin. My father told me that they're Dark wizards in the making."

Hermione seemed stunned by his accusation while Tom's nose flared in response. Longbottom looked nervously at the three of them while Pomfrey seemed as surprise as Hermione was. With his fist trembling as he fought to control his temper, Tom slowly stood up and started gathering his books. He didn't spare Hermione a glance, knowing that her honey eyes were pleading him to stay. Staying would be a bad idea because he was severely tempted to curse Potter's tongue to stick it above his mouth — it would do them all a favor if he finally shut his mouth and stopped speaking — but Hermione would undoubtedly be upset when that happened.

Clearing his throat, he slung his bookbag over his shoulder and gave Hermione a tight lipped smile. "I'll see you later," he murmured to her and after giving a nod to McGonagall and Longbottom, and a cold stare at Potter, he left.

He spent the rest of day all by himself outside the grounds, cooling his temper by studying for the next week's lesson and trying new hexes and curses that he read in the library — all for academic purposes of course. If he was thinking Potter's face while casting a Reducto on a broken tea cup, then it wasn't his fault that Potter's face was just the most favorable target, was it?

At the end of the day, once he was certain that he wouldn't draw his wand on Potter, he approached Hermione as soon as dinner ended to escort her back to her dorms. He enjoyed the scowl on Potter's face when Hermione joined him instead of them and he couldn't help but flash him a triumphant smirk as he led Hermione out of the Great Hall. He felt pleased that she was relieved to see him and he even felt more pleased when she grabbed his hand — all the while Potter and the rest of her Gryffindor friends were watching — and held it while they were walking back to their own dorms.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked with a sidelong glance and a squeeze of his hand. "You're unusually quiet."

Tom snorted. "I am quiet. You're the one speaks enough for the both of us."

Hermione laughed. "Well, that's because you don't know how to start a conversation."

Tom scoffed. "I do know how to start a conversation. I just don't think it's important enough."

"And why is that?" He could tell from Hermione's tone of voice that she was merely humoring him.

"Well, I can achieve a lot by not conversing. I don't care about other people's opinions, only my own, so starting a conversation with them, no matter how trivial, is not important since I don't care," Tom said with a dismissive voice. "I'll likely forget about what they said, especially if the information they imparted doesn't help me gain anything."

"Does that mean that you don't care about my opinions as well?"

"Don't be stupid," Tom chided her, stopping to face her. "Aside from the fact that whatever you say is never less than important, you are also my," he couldn't help but grimace, "friend."

Thankfully, Hermione didn't take it as an insult. She merely laughed and jested, "Try saying that without a grimace this time."

Tom rolled his eyes. "You know how I feel about friendship."

"Hmm. We can agree to disagree, Tom."

They continued walking — or, in Hermione's sake, limping — their hands swinging between them as they debated about the merits of friendship and what it entails. In the back of Tom's head, as he argued his point to her, he observed that Hermione's hand was softer than what he had expected, warm and small in his hand. It was the first time they held hands. Hermione hadn't touched him ever since that time in the library which was strange since Tom was convinced she would start touching him once they established their 'friendship'.

They arrived at the moving staircases and Tom was about to leave to go down to the dungeons when he felt her squeezing his hand.

"What is it?" He asked, seeing the troubled look on her face.

"I'm just wondering, Tom." She looked away. "If you don't care about what other people think, why did you leave earlier today in the library after Fleamont implied that you were going to be a Dark wizard in the future?"

Tom contemplated what to answer. He couldn't very well tell her that he left to prevent himself from cursing Potter into next week, could he? Frankly, he didn't care about Potter's beliefs but rather the fact that he said that in front of Hermione. Tom didn't want her to get the idea that he was a Dark wizard. Although knowing the bushy haired brunette, she must've given Potter a tongue lashing as soon as he left. He was almost sorry that he missed it.

"You do know that Fleamont is just being stupid, right?" Hermione added, looking quite worried about his supposedly hurt feelings. "He's a child and his opinions are still dictated by what his parents think. You're not really a Dark wizard."

"Are you sure, though?" Tom raised one eyebrow — something that annoyed Hermione greatly because she couldn't do it herself. "We're still first years. We have plenty of time to determine that."

"And prove Fleamont right?" Hermione gave him a look. "I don't think you would want to give him the satisfaction."

Tom's lips twisted, thinking of Potter looking proud that he was right. "No," he spat venomously. "I won't give him that."

"Right." Hermione nodded primly. "Besides, there are no such thing as Light or Dark wizards. However, there was wizards with good and bad intentions. The problem is knowing which is bad and which is good." Then she smiled. "Anyway, thank you for walking with me, Tom. Take care of yourself, alright?"

Tom nodded and watched her limp towards the moving staircase which just so happened to move back into place.

He wondered what Hermione would think if she had gotten wind of his thoughts. Would she still debate which was good and which was bad once she glimpsed the surface of his mind and saw how much he wanted to hurt Potter because of what he said?

"Oh, Tom?" Hermione looked at him over her shoulder. "I know you don't like talking because you think it's unimportant but..." She gripped her staff tighter. "I like to hear you talk. I hope you do it more often and not just when we're debating. I love your voice. It's smooth like chocolate."

Tom didn't know what did it. It was either her words, her earnest eyes, or the demure smile on her lips. Maybe it was the way she said it, shy and unsure but still pushing it forth for him to know or the way she looked while saying it.

He wasn't really sure but it made him nod his head anyways.