I figured you guys would want another update. Hope I'm not mistaken :)

Chapter 11:

"I heard that Snape made some first year Gryffindor cry," Warrington said with a pleased smirk. "Nott wouldn't shut up about how Snape bullied the Gryffindor so badly over a spell he did incorrectly, that the kid nearly fainted in the middle of the class."

Bletchley and Montague snickered in amusement, darting a grin towards him as if they expected to find a humorous reaction to the news. He merely raised his brows as if in disbelief, trying to look interested in their discussion when in actuality, he had heard all about this the day before. Hermione had been more than eager to inform him of what had happened.

"I mean, he just wouldn't let off," she had fumed. "He could clearly tell that Neville was beyond humiliated and it didn't help that all of your housemates were exploding with laughter."

Tom grinned. "Well, it's not like Longbottom makes it hard-"

She had stopped him effectively with a playful swat to his arm, causing Harry to snort mirthfully at the motion. "Neville," she corrected him, "has only ever performed a handful of spells incorrectly. No matter what he does, Professor Snape is always so eager to jump down his throat! It's as if lives for Neville's torment."

"More like Neville lives to purposefully agitate Snape," Harry mumbled, making sure to not make eye contact with Hermione as she sent a glare in his direction.

Instead, Harry turned to look up at him and the two shared a quick smile.

He held up his hands in surrender when Hermione crossed her arms across her chest, her mouth already setting itself in that sinful pout of hers. "Professor Snape is a git to everyone, Hermione," he pointed out, although he knew she already knew that. "He's just a miserable man who takes satisfaction in giving his students hell because that's the only excitement he finds in life. Perhaps he just wants everyone to feel sorry for him."

Harry raised his brows. "Us? Feel sorry for Snape?" he echoed in disbelief. "Yeah...not a chance."

Tom watched as Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "He's vile on purpose," she frowned. "He deserves no sympathy. If he truly were miserable, it only shows what kind of character he is if he bullies others."

The corner of his mouth twitched as the venomous words spilled from her mouth. His gaze darted onto the table they were at and he used his thumb nail to scratch at its surface. It was like peeling away each layer just as he was doing with Hermione. She wasn't the innocent little flower they all thought she was. She was just as deviant as he was.

The thought sent a rush through his body.

His gaze swallowed her whole. "I couldn't have said it any better myself."

He brought his attention up from the table as he reminisced the day before, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"I mean, Longbottom is supposed to be a Pureblood," Warrington sneered. "You'd think he'd at least attempt to try his best. He can't possibly be that daft, could he?"

The smile vanished from Tom's face. His gaze flashed. "It just goes to show how fucked up those Pureblood beliefs are," he nearly spat out. "They're so quick to dispute our abilities when their own kind can't even perform a Leviosa. There's something wrong with all of them."

The three Slytherins surrounding him nodded their heads.

"I'm the top of our class," he continued in a bored drawl, too aggravated to actually find the energy to boast. It's not like he needed to either. It wasn't a secret amongst the students within his year. "For the second years it's that Ravenclaw halfblood, Edgecombe, and there's no doubt that Granger is the student for the first years." At the mention of her name, he watched them carefully with hawk-like eyes that scoped for the subtlest tick. He fingered the edge of his wand, waiting for them to show their displeasure. But luckily for them, they only seemed to be further agreeing to his words.

They, like him, had come to realize the truth the moment they arrived at Hogwarts. The facts were so obviously out there and at this point, no one could deny them. Purebloods were not the superior bloodline as everyone thought they were. They were nothing more than a dying breed; helminths of the Wizarding World that thought they were entitled.

Bletchley sighed, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. "If only the Purebloods realized it. Imagine how better we'd all…" Tom's attention drifted as he caught a flash of movement walking briskly past the archways. The haze of brown curls flying was all he needed to see.

His hands were pushing himself up before he could comprehend what he was doing, his eyes never leaving her as his feet moved on their own accord. His breathing halted as she reached up towards her face and swiped at her eyes but when she did, it was then that he saw it. Her eyes were red and sliding down the pale skin of her cheeks, were glistening streaks of tears.

His vision blurred. A cold fury wracked through his body knowing that someone had caused those tears. His feet moved faster, until suddenly he was right there, storming up to her and the other two at her side. He forced them to halt by blocking her way, stopping so abruptly in front of them that she collided into his chest.

"What happened?" he seethed. His tone was hard and demanding, shocking even himself as he registered the pure possession that coursed through his very being. Those tears had shattered him, robbed him of his very breath, and demanded he do something about it. Someone needed to pay for what they had done.

Yet, as he looked down at her, he was met with silence. Her watery gaze was set firmly on the wall beside them, refusing to meet his own.

His burning gaze snapped to Harry but moved quickly as his brother's attention thoroughly avoided his. It left him only one other option. He didn't need to say a single word as he rounded on Longbottom until the boy began spluttering like Tom knew he would.

"M-Malfoy called her…" Longbottom's worried stare shot between Hermione and Tom frantically, looking more apprehensive than Tom had ever seen before. "He said she was...He called her a M-M...- not a nice name for a Muggleborn."

Tom's brows rose high on his forehead, his gaze widening as he turned back towards Hermione. Harry too was watching her closely. "Malfoy called her a Mudblood," Harry whispered, briefly meeting his eyes before darting them back onto Hermione.

The air surrounding them stilled with the thickness of Malfoy's offense and Tom immediately felt its aftereffects. The word was foul, much more insulting than anything else he knew, and for someone like Malfoy - nothing more than a waste of air - to have the audacity to address Hermione by that word…

His jaw was clenched hard. The blood beneath the thin layers of his skin was boiling and he felt his possessiveness claw at his chest, more damning than ever. He had never felt that way before, not towards anyone except her. The only familiarity was that day so long ago when he had saved Harry on his first day at Wool's, but this, this was tenfold.

Harry's hand reached out and wrapped around Hermione's shoulder. " 'Mione…"

She shrugged out of his hold. "I don't want to talk about it, Harry."

"But you're upset-"

"I. Said. No," she grit out and without another word, she pushed past them.

Tom watched the back of her head as she darted between the crowds of students, a deep frown marking his face. He sighed heavily. He knew she was hurting, those open eyes of hers were enough for him to know that Malfoy had struck a core. She had already tried so hard to prove herself, to prove her worth, and all it took was Malfoy to ruin everything. At his sides, his fists clenched tightly. Malfoy would pay, that he would make sure of. It would be worse that what he had done to Flint, worse than he had ever done before, and he wouldn't feel the slightest slither of remorse. Malfoy deserved everything he had coming his way.

But first, he had another issue to take care of.

Tom stepped forward in the direction Hermione had vanished, however, his pace died just as it began as Harry sidestepped to block his way. Outraged, Tom narrowed his eyes as Harry shook his head. "I've been trying for the past ten minutes," Harry tried to explain, as if it were to actually mean something important. Tom could only sneer. "If I didn't have any luck then neither will you."

"What's your point?" he bit out. His nerves were all but frayed and splintered in every which way.

"My point-," Harry's tone softened, "-is that if she didn't open up to me, then there's no way she's going to talk to you. And...no offense, but you aren't exactly the consoling type."

That was it. Like a piece of string, Tom felt the last of his patience snap in half. He shoved Harry to the side with a hard push and wordlessly rushed past him. He didn't want to deal with the idiocy of his brother at the moment. He had a witch to find.

He had found her eventually, nestled in a nook on the third floor around a corner that was only used by vapid, snogging teenagers. It was still too early in the day for the lovebirds to flutter about, so it was a relief to find that it would be just the two of them. Not like it mattered. He would have had no qualms with sending stinging jinx their way.

He approached her slowly, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he thought hard. Harry had been right, as much as he hated to admit. When it came to offering sympathy, he wasn't the ideal person to offer his apologies. And more importantly, he would have never volunteered to throw himself on another person either. But this was Hermione, the only girl he had ever actually cared about. He had only known her for a small, handful of months, but the emotions were there; thick and strong. In those short months, she had gone from someone he despised to being the person he thought about the second he awoke. He wouldn't let her suffer alone, not with something like this, even if she screamed at him to leave.

He leaned against the wall that rested parallel to her and replicated her action of staring out the window. Snow had began to fall days prior but now the storm was getting thicker; a heavy blanket of white was all that could be seen for miles. Watching the snow flurry through the window was hypnotic as the minutes passed in silence between them. There was always something unspoken between the two of them that Tom always recognized. At first he had thought that it had been their intelligence that filled the void, but with each time he was with her, he doubted it less and less. It was almost as if they simply understood each other, as unbelievable as that seemed.

Finally, however, he broke the silence and turned his head towards her. "May I sit?" his voice was but that of a whisper but with the two of them, he knew she heard him crystal clear.

Rather shakily, she nodded and folded her arms tightly around her legs as she brought them up to her chest. He wasted no time occupying the space across from her. His back was smooth against the stone wall and instead of bringing his legs in like she had, he left them out, crossed at the ankles and flush against her. He was so close that he could feel her warmth seep into his clothes, tingaling against his skin as it juxtaposed against the frost covering the widow. He regarded her carefully, seeing the obvious sorrow still twisting around in her soul. She still had yet to look at him.

He, however, hadn't tore his gaze away once it had landed on her. "We don't have to speak, not unless you want to" he continued, watching her face as it twitched from her fighting to control her emotions. He supposed for someone like her - a girl who cared about every bloody being in this school, the sole person who forgave and sympathised toward everyone; foe or friend - what Malfoy had called her was a hard, devastating pill to swallow and accept. He felt for her, truly, but the more he dwelled on it, the more he could feel his rage peak to new and dangerous levels and he didn't want his anger to be unleashed until he was standing in front of the person who had caused her pain. He didn't want to take it out on her, anyone but her.

Tom waited patiently, something that he knew had it been other than her, he would have stormed off and not once had a pang of guilt for leaving them on their own. At first he had found it annoying as hell that he had developed an attachment to her, a mere first year that had started off being nothing more than his brother's unfortunate friend. She still boggled his mind from time to time, more often than not, but in a way, it's what he lived for. Those odd quirks of hers had him from the very first word they spoke because what he had soon realized, was that she, in a sense, was him. They were one in the same. They were driven by their hunger for intelligence, craved their self proval, but were condoned due to their blood status. They wanted so much more in a world that offered them next to nothing

"Why did he call me it?" her voice was so soft that if he had not been focused on her breathing, he would not have heard. The voice he had come to cherish was so broken and beaten that he felt his temper flare. When he was done with Malfoy, it would be lucky if the boy would be able to take a breath on his own ever again.

She finally, finally turned to capture his gaze. A fresh stream of tears had managed to escape her eyelids and he could feel himself breaking apart as each droplet slid down her cheek. His feelings and emotions were doing horrible things to his insides, frightening him as if he were on the cusp of dying. "Why me and not...Harry?" she asked.

He didn't miss a beat, knowing the answer since the very beginning of the term, when Malfoy, heir to one of the wealthiest Pureblood families in the world, never stopped talking about her. The answer was simple, in a twisted and devastating way.

"Malfoy is intimidated by you." There was no doubt in his voice. He leaned forward, lessening the distance between them. He was so close that he could feel each of her breaths lightly fan against his skin, could count the scarse freckles that were barely visible against her skin. "Do you know why?" his baritone voice seemed to vibrate against the small space between them.

"He hates me."

It sounded more like a question to him.

He pressed on. "Why?"

She leveled a blank look with him as if she found his question the most idiotic thing she had ever heard before. "My blood."

"If that were truly the case, Malfoy would be screaming that foul word at every muggle born in this school," he told her with a pointed look, one eyebrow raised as she stared at him because he knew that she knew he was right. "There's something about you that makes Malfoy tick." Something that makes me tick.

Hermione eyed him skeptically. "So, what, there's something wrong with me and not the others? Tom-" she took a deep, shattering breath, leaning away from him with tired expression but he was quick to follow.

He captured one of her hands and held on. "I'm serious, Hermione," he looked her dead on. The air around them turned momentous.

His fingers were against the pulse at her wrist, relishing in its steady beat as he continued. "You are different than the rest. You go against every pureblood belief that's ever been spewed. You refute each and every one of those bigotry views and they can't stand you because of it. Malfoy wouldn't waste his breath on Harry because...because they don't see his potential yet. They just see him as a useless muggleborn." That thought was frustrating enough to dwell on so he quickly moved on. "But you," he emphasized with a nod, "you have bested them all and this is only your first year. Imagine what you'll be capable of by the time you graduate. That's what sets you apart."

She gazed at him unblinkingly for several long moments, her eyes boring into his as if reading his very soul. He had to fight the urge to bristle.

But, his words had done their magic.

Her body relaxed against the wall; those tearful honey iris' of hers brightening, subtly but enough for him to know he had succeeded in cheering her up even if only by a smidge.

He knew her words before they left her mouth. Her apprehension had him stiffening in defense as she locked onto him. "Has...anyone ever called you that name?"

"No." His jaw was set as the word escaped him because the sheer thought of anyone ever daring to call him by that name would be dead in a heartbeat. He had been ridiculed before, yes, but it had always been small things he could handle. Looking back onto his own first year seemed laughable as he recalled - in vivid recollection - of all the shite he had to go through but it was all child's play in the end. Words had only been words in the end, and he knew now that fear of actions and spells controlled much more. So damn much more.

"Is it because you're one of them - a slytherin? Is that why?" Her thirst for answers never failed. "You're smarter than me. You're loved by all of the professors including the heartless Severus Snape - I mean, that alone is telling enough," she said in disbelief.

All but one, he thought, but he didn't bother correcting her.

"Snape only tolerates me because he was a Slytherin," he grinned. "But I'm sure you're right about the behavior of the other Slytherins towards my blood status. I suppose they feel that without me, they wouldn't have a chance at being awarded the House Cup." However, he knew otherwise. He had heard of the whispers that had began to float around. He had seen those looks the others had given him, as if sizing him up to prepare themselves just in case. Many of them knew though, that the possibility of actually beating him up in a duel was next to none unless the challenge was coming from one of the seventh honor students and in reality, none of them would be caught dead risking to ruin their outstanding records. The world would absolutely end if they didn't get that lackluster position to work in the Ministry. It was that, that unsettled them because unlike the halfbloods and the purebloods, he had nothing to lose. He didn't have the connections like them nor the money nor the reputation. All he had was his talent.

She let out a noise that was a mix between a scoff and a laugh, bringing a smile of his own to grace his features. It was one of those rare moments that he chose to let his emotions show.

Just as fast as his smile had shown, however, he dropped it. This wasn't the time to get too at ease. He needed to for her to see.

"It's sickening, isn't it?" he stared at her, his eyes wide and dark.

Her brows furrowed.

"It's how all the purebloods are; it's how they all think," he tapped a finger against his temple. "They're disgusting, all of them."

She swallowed thickly, diverting her gaze onto her lap. She was uncomfortable with the turn of conversation but she needed to understand. He needed her to understand.

"Malfoy is the only one who's ever said anything to me-" his brows raised in disbelief and she caught his look with a grimace.

"Well, okay, so there's been more than one but it's not like they're all calling me that stupid word. They're just being typical jerks, that's all. One of the sweetest people I know is a pureblood," she raised her brows as if telling him to refute it.

He could have easily dashed her spirits by telling her Longbottom hardly counted as a real pureblood but the argument hardly seemed worth either of their time. But as much as he wanted to curse Longbottom's name through hell and back, he hid a pleasing grin when he realized he could use her argument to his advantage.

"That's just it though, Hermione," he forced his face to go as soft as he could make it. "Just as you will always see him as a pureblood, he will see you as a muggleborn. No amount of...niceties will change that. He will always see you as different than himself. Blood always comes first in this world."

He could see that she heard the truth in his words. She was too smart to argue otherwise.

She tilted her head to the side. "Is it really that...bad to be seen as different?"

"Of course not," he was quick to agree. "But it is, whenever no matter how much you prove yourself, they will never accept those differences. They will always have their doubts about you - and about me and Harry - because they see our difference as something inferior to themselves."

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to dissect his words, but he stopped her and with a sly grin he said, "Weren't you the girl who said us muggleborns have to stay together?"

Her mouth snapped shut.

His grin spread.

"You were right when you told Harry that," he assured her. "Truer words have never been spoken."

Silence stretched between them. Her mind was working in overdrive, analyzing and picking apart each word he had said, searching in desperation and panic to find the smallest flaw in his logic. She could chose any sentence he had said to her but she could find none, none that she disagreed on. He watched her accept defeat with admirable grace.

His hand tightened around her own, her smooth flesh sliding against his. "Don't ever waste your tears on them, Hermione," he commanded her. He had never demanded her of anything until that very moment but from the look on her face, she had no problem accepting it.

"One day they will see your worth, even if you have to force it upon them. Do you understand? Do you see what I'm trying to tell you?"

She nodded her head, a newfound determination in her eyes. It may have been minuscule, a mere glimmer in those orbitals, but it was there nonetheless.

He sighed in relief. It had felt as if he had been holding a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His chest felt lighter, like the tension and stress was no more.

Their stare was broken when her gaze dropped down, and absentmindedly, he followed her line of sight without a second thought. With a jolt, he realized that her focus was on their intertwined hands still clutched together as if they were second skins to each other. He released her instantly and brought his hand to himself, awkwardly crossing his arms when no other idea popped into his head.

He had forgotten that he had still been holding onto her.

His face flushed; another first that he was adding onto his quickly expanding list when it came to her.

He turned his head to look out the window.

Outside, the snowstorm was worse than ever before.

When Tom passed him in the hall, Harry leaped up from the bench he was at. It had been nearly an hour since Tom had stormed after Hermione, and since then, Harry hadn't seen either return. At first he had figured that Tom had at least tried and failed, returning to the Slytherin's common room but then he had realized that in order to go to the dungeons, his brother would eventually have to pass him. There was no other way for Tom to go except through the hall he was currently standing in.

So he had waited, and waited, and waited, resorting to counting the cracks in the stone walls to sate his boredom. And then finally - finally! - he caught the sight of his brother walking down the hall. Harry noted immediately that he didn't look pissed, in fact, he looked almost…

"What happened? Where's Hermione?" Harry rushed up to Tom.

Tom raised an arrogant brow, not stopping his strides. "I'd reckon she was in the Gryffindor tower by now. You're supposed to be her best friend, so shouldn't you know?"

He exhaled heavily through his nose. Leave it to Tom to be in one of his moods.

Harry reached out and grabbed onto Tom's arm, successfully stopping him. "Tom. Is she okay? What happened?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Of course she's okay," he ripped his arm from his hold. "She's better than what she was when she was with you."

"So she's okay?" He mentally took a breath of relief. The past hour had been utter hell for him, knowing that she had been hurt and all he had done was shoved Malfoy. He should have whipped out his wand and sent the nastiest hex he could have thought of.

Tom's dark gaze flashed. "I wouldn't know, would I? Since apparently I have no abilities when it comes to consoling others, right?"

Harry's head sagged back, groaning loudly. "You can't seriously hold that against me," he hissed. "You have never - never - consoled a person in your life."

"Oh really?" A smirk slithered across Tom's face. "Well, to prove you wrong, brother, go look at her yourself and tell me that she doesn't look...consoled."

His eyes widened, disbelief clear on his face. Tom had gotten her to talk? What, in the name of Godric?

"How did you do it?"

Tom shook his head. Like Harry, he had disbelief and amusement written all over.

"I have no blithering idea."

The two busted out into laughter.

Tom had let days pass before he had decided to act. He wanted Malfoy to think he had done nothing wrong, which the arrogant arse did believe, but Tom wanted him to get comfortable. It would only add to the fun when he would confront the boy. And also, the more he thought about what he wanted to do to Malfoy, the more darker and the more sinister his brainstorming turned. He wanted to inflict as much pain as possible to make sure he would learn his lesson. He would have to act carefully too. Torturing someone, magically or not, left marks and evidence of what had happened and the last thing Tom needed to deal with was getting caught. He had no plans on getting expelled from school, not when things were going so well.

Therefore, when a particular idea had popped up, the more he thought it over, the more he couldn't resist. He wasn't going to act alone and he happened to know three other Slytherins that would be just as eager to give a pureblood a piece of their mind. It would be a gutsy move, but it was a chance he was willing to take.

He had waited until most of the students had left the Great Hall after eating their lunches

before bringing the issue up. At the very mention of Malfoy being taught a lesson, all three of his housemates turned giddy. The simple thought of getting even with a pureblood - one of the worst ones that never failed to make it an hour without bragging to the world just how superior he was - was too desirable for any of them to turn down. The only one that voiced any concern was Warrington.

"What makes you think Malfoy won't go running to one of the professors?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at the possibility. "He'll at least inform his father; he never shuts up about him."

Tom, however, knew differently. He shook his head, giving them all a deviant smirk. "He wouldn't dare breathe a word to anyone," he reassured them. "What would he say? A group of half bloods and a muggleborn got to him? Could you imagine Malfoy's embarrassment to even consider telling it to the world? He'd rather die."

"How can you be so sure though?" Warrington asked.

All three of the Slytherins had their curious gaze glued to Tom's face, all thinking the same as Warrington.

He fought the twitch of his mouth as it threatened to show. Flashes of what he had done to Flint were flashing through his skull, the sounds of bones breaking and a body falling from a staircase was all he could see and hear.

In all seriousness, he inclined his head subtly towards an older Slytherin several tables away. The three followed the motion.

"Flint?" Bletchley's brow was raised in confusion.

"Why do you think he stopped talking to me?" the question hung between all four of them. "You all saw how he treated me in our first year, the way he treated all of us with a lesser blood status. I had to put it to a stop."

Montague leaned forward, eyes wide in rapt attention. "How did you manage to convince him to leave us alone? Why would he ever listen to a word you told him? He'd rather curse you than give you the time of day."

"If there's anything I've learned-," Tom moved his gaze to land on each of them, "- it's that you can control people by fear much easier than asking them nicely."

The three of his housemates shared a look and after a pause, Warrington grinned. "I say we put it to the test then."

Tom brought his goblet up to his mouth, allowing the warm liquid to slide down his throat. His smile was hidden from their view.

Tom twirled his wand through his fingers as he stared down at Malfoy; Warrington, Montague, and Bletchley crowding in. They had only began to cast cruel hexes and curses mere minutes ago and yet, Malfoy was there trembling before them like the coward he was. He was a pathetic excuse of a wizard, the very words the blonde had sneered at anyone lesser than him. The sheer power Tom felt was overwhelming as it flowed through them, shooting from the tips of his fingers to the toes on his feet. It was addictive.

"I-I-I swear!" Malfoy held his hands up in surrender. "I won't do it ever again. I p-p-promise!"

Tom tsked, stepping forward with a faux look of sympathy on his face. "I'm confident that you will keep that promise, but it doesn't matter what you do, Malfoy." His eyes flashed dangerously. "It's about what you've done."

He turned away and jutted his chin out towards Montague.

With a determined nod, the Slytherin stepped forward, wand clenched in his steady hand. Graham took a steady break before training it on Malfoy again.

Howls of anguish echoed against the abandoned classroom walls once more.

Harry and Hermione were sitting in front of the fireplace when Ron plopped himself down into the chair beside them. He had a chocolate frog in one hand and a truffle in the other, taking turns biting from one then the other.

Hermione shot him a look of disgust, silently turning her head away from the redhead as he nearly consumed his fingers that held his sweets.

"Did you hear that Malfoy's in the Infirmary?" Ron asked between bites.

Harry's brows rose in surprise but beside him, he heard Hermione hum, clearly disinterested as if she'd rather talk about anything else.

"What for?" he asked. He at least wanted to know what happened to the arsehole.

He caught Hermione's eye roll but ignored it as he waited for Ron to come up for air once again.

Ron shrugged. "Don't know. I heard Fred and George talking about it," he informed them. "They said he looked pretty rough...all pale and bleeding; some were saying he was poisoned too."

"Wow…" he frowned, darting a glance at Hermione but her gaze was set on the roaring fireplace. He looked back at Ron. "He seemed fine at dinner," he distinctly remembered Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe pointing and making fun of Filch as he went running down the rows of tables. "I wonder what happened to him. Is it only Malfoy that's in the Infirmary?"

Ron nodded his head.

"Well-," Hermione pursed her lips, "- if he were anyone else, and I do mean anyone, I would say that's horrible to hear. But since it's Malfoy…"

"It's what the git deserves," he finished for her with a grin.

Hermione's head tilted back, a laugh escaping her throat. "Merlin bless whoever did it to him. He's had it coming since the first day of term."

Ron snorted.

That was the understatement of the year.