Hermione grimaces, annoyance clear in her pasty features. Potions. Whilst Slughorn might be a valuable ally and a good way of making connections, he's quite an incompetent potions teacher. At least to her. Some other pupils still struggle with potions Hermione could do in second year.
The professor leads them inside the classroom, and Hermione takes her usual spot. It's right at the back of the classroom, hidden by the shadows that dance along the cold stone walls. Hermione grins. It's also right next to the potions cupboard, where all ingredients are kept. Occasionally, when she needs it, her hand only has to reach out...
Neatly, she arranges her own ingredients and her cauldron, ready for the lesson. She watches Professor Slughorn clap his hands excitedly. "Students!" he calls, his unusually cheerful voice booming around the classroom. "Today, we will be brewing the Draught of Living Death. Now, can anyone tell me about it?" Keenly, his gaze musters the students.
Hermione's hand shoots up almost immediately, and a millisecond later, Tom's does too. Slughorn rolls his eyes at their eagerness, and searches the classroom for any other hands. "Anyone except Mr Riddle and Miss Granger?" He asks, his voice rising in pitch at the end, sounding hopeful.
No one moves. Slughorn sighs, and nods at Hermione. "Go on then, Miss Granger."
Hermione stands up, and recites her knowledge in an expressionless, almost robotic way. "The Draught of Living Death brings upon its drinker a very powerful sleep that can last indefinitely. It is an almost deathlike slumber, hence the name. It is made by adding the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood. An antidote and a way to break the slumber it induces is the Wiggenweld potion."
A bright smile lights up Professor Slughorn's face. It is such a strange contrast, the dark dreary dungeons and the cheery chortles and laughs that so frequently escape Slughorn's lips.
"Correct as always. Mr Riddle, do you have anything to add?" Slughorn gestures to Riddle, who shakes his head, his sea green eyes inspecting Hermione. Strange, she thinks. Normally, Riddle uses every opportunity to harass or humiliate or simply best her. Tom, although it is hard to admit, is better at potions than her. Only by a miniscule amount, but surely he knew something else?
Professor Slughorn looks at the class, waving his hand to the black chalkboard hanging from the wall. The instructions are written on it in Slughorn's flamboyant scrawl. "Now, I want you to work in pairs for this."
A few students smile, already throwing pleading glances at friends they want to work with. Slughorn must have seen, as he shakes his head. "I chose the pairs." He says, and a simultaneous groan escapes the class.
He pairs up the pupils one by one, and when he reaches Hermione's name, he grins widely. "Miss Granger, you can work with Mr Riddle. You two are my smartest students, and I want the work you produce together to be exceptional."
Hermione's brown eyes widen comically as his proclamation. Silently, she curses to herself. Tom Riddle. As if potions wasn't already bad enough. What did teachers always pair up the two of them? If there was one thing that was clear, it was that she had absolutely rotten luck. Forcing a smile that flashes her pearly white teeth, she moves her stuff to Riddle's desk with a short flick of her wand. It floats through the air elegantly, before settling onto the wood gently.
Following her things, Hermione takes a seat next to Tom Riddle. Instead of the expected snide remark, he murmurs a quick greeting, tilting his head at slight angle. "Granger."
Hermione nods at him curtly, quite civilly for their usual standards. "Riddle." She replies in the same icy tone, and abyss of frost, shifting her chair slightly further away from him. Tom raises an eyebrow. "Look Granger, I know you don't like me, but I don't bite." He drawls, and Hermione glares at him.
Riddle looks vaguely amused, but refrains from the mocking chortle he mostly adopts in Hermione's company.
"I know. Right, you're correct, I don't like you. But you heard what Slughorn said, our work is shared. If you sabotage my grade, you're sabotaging yours too." She points out confidently, wearing a sneer, arms crossing in front of her chest.
"Do you think I haven't thought about that? You might think me stupid, Granger, but I'm not that foolish." He retorts, green eyes staring at Hermione, his tone cold. Standing up, he glances at the board. "I'm going to get the ingredients. You start the fire." He commands airily, and saunters off to the other side of the classroom, to the supply cupboard, near her old seat. Oh, how Hermione wishes she would be sitting there instead, away from Tom Riddle and his stupidity.
Lighting the fire with a quick incendio, she then fills the cauldron with water. By then, Tom is already back, carrying a few ingredients carefully.
Tom smiles approvingly, his focus drawn to the cauldron. "So, first instruction, boil the water. Well, we're doing that, so we have to wait a little until the water reaches the right temperature."
Unlike other times when they had to work together, he's actually talking to Hermione, not pretending she doesn't exist. It baffles Hermione, and angers her that she can't figure out why. Patience is a virtue, she chides herself mentally. You'll get to the bottom of it soon.
The rest of the lesson proceeds in relative silence, except for a few offhand comments Riddle makes about the potion. However, when she gets to cutting the Sopophorous beans, Riddle intervenes hurriedly. "Granger!" He taps onto the table with his nails, trying to get her attention. "Crush the bean. You'll get more juice out of it."
Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes at him. "What do you think I was doing, you imbecile?" She snaps back angrily, voice brimming with vexation.
Riddle throws his hands into the air defensively, inspecting her carefully. "Hey! Just making sure. You don't need to call me an imbecile." His calming, serene voice is the final straw for Hermione. He would have made some stupid jibe by now. But he hasn't. He's been acting so strange...
As always, Tom Riddle remains an enigma.
"Riddle." She hisses at him, her brown orbs sparkling in muted fury, voice raspy. "I don't know what you're up too, being all nice. But I intend to find out. And by the way, I can call you an imbecile. You've been calling me enough names the past years. Hmmm, let me think." She pauses, putting a light finger under her chin, pretending to think. "Like mudblood." She tells him mockingly, a sneer taking over her face.
To her surprise, Tom Riddle flinches back. Her eyebrows furrow as she observes him. No, she convinces herself, he's just a talented actor. He looks at her with those deep green eyes, jaded, almost emotional. Hermione resists the urge to chortle. Tom Riddle. The logical, emotionless husk with no concern or empathy for others? Who was this person and what had they done with Tom Riddle?
Turning away from him, she gets on with her work. Suddenly, she has little desire to further this confrontation, in fact, it's making her rather uncomfortable. Apparently, Tom feels the same way, and he too returns to cutting the valerian root with violent yet precise chops.
This time, they stay silent. No comments. Even at the end of the lesson, when Professor Slughorn congratulates them on their excellent potion and pats them on the back, already inviting them to the next Slug club meeting, they both simply nod, not looking at each other, avoiding each other's gazes purposefully.
When the lesson ends, Hermione flees from the classroom rapidly, keeping her head bowed to the ground. It'll be lunch soon, so she makes her way towards the great hall.
As she charges through the imposing oak entrance, she quickly rushes to the slytherin table. By now, the whispers of mudblood have ceased to exist, now, they just ignore her, haven gotten used to mudblood shadow that stalks the corridors of Hogwarts.
She sits down, filling her silver plate with a small portion of food, hiding her brown eyes behind her bushy mane of hair. Suddenly, a gentle, yet direct tap to her right shoulder startles her out of her trance. Hermione turns around, ready to scowl or snort at someone, yet instead, comes face to face with Georgia, who looks positively frightened at Hermione's wild grimace.
"Sorry." Hermione mumbles under her breath.
Georgia brushes some of her auburn locks away, blushing furiously. "No, it's fine. I just wanted to ask you if you want to go the library to revise with me. I have a charms test tomorrow." She glances at Hermione almost pleadingly. "Would you please come?"
Nodding curtly, Hermione responds bluntly. "I'll consider it."
The tension hangs in the air like fog, so thick Hermione could slice through it with a knife. Georgia looks down at the ground, having regained a sudden interest in her footwear, and smiles apologetically. "Having a bad day?" she asks, her voice cautiously prodding Hermione.
A loud groan escapes Hermione's mouth. "You could say so."
Georgia grins almost knowingly. "Let me guess, Malfoy?"
"No. Riddle." Oh, how Hermione wishes it were Malfoy. At least she can read him, pierce his soul with her inquisitive stares, know exactly what he wants and thwart his plans. But Tom Riddle is forever a mystery. Unsolvable. And Hermione hates that with a burning passion. Because everything has to have an explanation, but Tom Riddle doesn't.
"Oh. Well, do you want to get going? We only have half an hour left to revise." Georgia reminds her softly, staring at her sleek leather watch worriedly.
Later, Hermione revises with Georgia quietly, giving her small tips and pointers that leave Georgia, normally regarded as the smartest girl in her year, quite flustered and murmuring about how she didn't think about it.
The subject of Tom Riddle is not breached. Hermione's grateful for it. Thank goodness Georgia possesses some tact.
The day passes with an odd sense of normalcy. That night however, Hermione sits in the deserted common room, slung across a deep green armchair covered in fur, comforted by the crackling fire. Her quill sketches lightly across the white, fresh parchment, as she writes word after word. She's almost done with her Astronomy essay, when a soothing voice interrupts her.
Hermione glares upward. A second ago, she could have sworn the common room was empty, most people already sleeping soundly in their four poster beds, but it appears Tom Riddle is still awake. He looms over her, head tilted, observing her. "Granger."
"Riddle." She snaps at him, the spark of annoyance starting to burn brightly inside of her.
Tom only watches her keenly, eyebrows furrowed as if she were a mystery he couldn't figure out. In a way, it satisfies Hermione, that she isn't the only one struggling to read another person. It appears Tom is struggling just as much as her.
He peers over the top of her paper, and instead of snorting derisively, he skims over it quickly and comments, "Your Transfiguration essay? I've already finished that. Do you need help?"
Hermione explodes, jumping up furiously, her papers and notes scattering everywhere. "I don't need your help!" she shouts at him, eyes narrowing furiously, anger combusting inside of her.
Riddle takes a step back, biting his lip as if he knows he's made a mistake. "Look." He hisses sourly at her, face twisted into a grimace. "I'm trying to be nice here, and you're making it difficult. I was offering you help."
"I don't understand you." Hermione slams her foot into the ground, hand going for her wand instinctively. "You're trying to be nice, but why? You've bullied me for what, five years?" she pauses, before staring at him, chocolate brown meeting jaded green. "I don't understand. Why? I'm just a mudblood, after all. Why are you bothering? Why have you had this sudden change of heart?"
Tom walks towards her, reaching for her hand, attempting to sooth her. "I-"
"Don't touch me." Hermione warns him, fists curling. "And I'm going to tell you one thing, Tom Riddle, and you do best to remember it. I've hated you for as long as I've known you. You ruined any chance of friendship the day you walked into my compartment."
She takes a deep breath.
"I hate you. More than anything in the world. You've bullied me, you've humiliated me, you've abused me. And I'm going to say one thing." Closing her eyes, she swallows the lump in her throat.
"No more. Play your petty games with others, manipulate them, break them. But you can't break me." She opens her lids slightly, spying on Tom through her lashes.
"No more." She vows to herself, to him, and to the world.
"No more."
A/N Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was definitely fun to write. Also, I thought it would be worth mentioning that we have reached 25,000 words (Yay!). If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider giving a vote.
Also, just a question: would you like to see us do a cast? And what do you think will happen next?
Also, let us know if you like our version of Tom. Hit or miss? Is he to OOC?
As always, thank you for reading and constructive criticism is welcome!