Phew! Finals are over *finally* and now I can go back to updating this! These past two weeks I didn't have enough time to sit down and write fully, but I was able to finish adding onto the story plot of this and let me just say that I am so excited for this. However, with that being said, this story will be heavy rated M material. For now, the mood is still light but it will be getting kicked up in the next two school years. Hope you guys will be fine with that. I'm really looking forward to these next few weeks though! Enjoy guys!

Chapter 13:

His knee was bounding beneath the table as he listened to Dumbledore drone on and on, welcoming the new first years and wishing every student their best year to come. If he hadn't known better, like the majority of the students within the school, Tom could see why everyone would admire the old fool as much as they did. Their beloved Headmaster played the part almost expertly as he looked over the crowd before him with that twinkle in his pathetic gaze and the way he genuinely seemed to care about their well being. It was all a facade, Tom knew, but looking around at the other students made his blood boil because they didn't. There was nothing about Dumbledore that deserved any of their admiration. The only ones that seemed to see right through the elder were his own housemates - the rest of the Slytherin population.

He darted a glance across the Hall and internally cursed as he caught sight of Harry nodding his head along with every word that Dumbledore spewed and one look down the rest of the Gryffindor table was all it took to see where Harry had developed his influences from. Harry should know better, he thought with a sneer. His brother knew what type of man Dumbledore truly was - one that turned his back against students in the blink of an eye. The man had no right to sit in the Headmaster's chair. Dippet was surely rolling in his grave, Tom had no doubt about it.

It was sickening, all of it, but it was watching Hermione smile up to that piss poor excuse of a Headmaster that made his insides churn. That man didn't deserve anything from her. She was too good, too smart, for that manipulating bastard.

Tom exhaled heavily through his nostrils and shared an exaggerated eye roll with Warrington as his housemate turned and looked at him questioningly.

One day he would make them all see even if it meant doing it person by person. With a slow nod to himself, he decided that he knew the perfect person to start with. After all, there was a certain curly haired witch in his line of sight that was the source of his overwhelming… restlessness. He needed to talk to her, and as soon as possible.

Harry's eyelids felt heavy as he listened to Binns drone on and on, closing them briefly when the ghost would turn around and point to some chart suspended in the air. Honestly, did anyone really care about the bloody International Warlock Convention of 1289?

For the past thirty minutes, his head had been resting on the surface of his knuckles and after every handful of seconds, his head bobbed towards the desk, begging for sleep, however, a quick jab in his side had him shooting straight up in his chair - over and over and over again.

He darted a pleading look at Hermione but she merely pursed her lips, shaking her head and looking pointedly towards Professor Binns. She had told him long ago that it was disrespectful, and of course he knew that, but looking around at the other students in the class, it appeared that they didn't.

Through his peripheral, Harry longingly eyed Ron as the ginger drooled over his textbook, lost in the dream world that Harry desperately wanted in that moment. He didn't understand how Hermione sat so perfectly, writing impeccable notes and answering any question Binn shot out, all while not yawning or blinking for too long - it was almost as if she were inhuman, he thought with a silent chuckle.

Therefore, when Binns finally released them from class, Harry nearly cried out in relief and hopped up from his stool with much more energy than he thought he had. He and Hermione had just made it past the door when Ron's jaw dropped open, his bright blue eyes going wide with glee.

"Bloody hell," Ron grinned goofily. Harry followed his line of sight and felt a spark of excitement shoot through him. There, in all their glory and gear, was the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, striding down the hall towards the pitch with their brooms clutched in their hands.

Harry's face lit up just as brightly as Ron's and together they watched as the team continued down the hall until they disappeared around the corner.

Instantly, they both lurched forward to chase after the team, however, just as Harry took a step, a pressure was pulling him back. Hermione had reached out and placed her hand on the inside of Harry's elbow, halting him from running off with Ron.

A whine left Harry's mouth, "Hermione."

Ron pulled on Harry's other arm but Hermione didn't budge. Her gaze hardened as she glanced annoyingly at Ron, snapping back to Harry and softening in the blink of an eye.

"We're supposed to joining Tom in the library," she annunciated each and every word, with an underlying bite that he could hear. "Remember?"

Internally, he scolded himself and frowned. How could he have forgotten? He started to nod his head when Ron sighed loudly, obnoxiously.

"Oh, come on mate," the redhead rolled his eyes. "If we don't learn their plays, how are we supposed to try out in a few weeks?

Hermione let go of him and crossed her arms over her chest, her brows raising. "Since when have the two of you decided to try out for the quidditch team?" she asked the both of them, but was facing him only. "Better yet, does Tom know what you plan on wasting your time on?"

He opened his mouth to reply but Ron beat him to it. "Does Tom -," Ron mocked in her voice, "- have to know everything he does? For Merlin's sake, he can make his own decisions you know."

Harry looked at Ron with wide eyes. Did he...did he just suggest… Harry was ready to shake his head in protest at Ron's words but he stopped before he began. His mouth snapped shut.

He blinked once, then twice, almost as if he was beginning to see for the very first time and in a sense, it was as if he really was. Ron's words had been the wake up call he didn't know he needed. In reality, Ron was right. If he wanted to watch the quidditch team, then he could. If he wanted to go rot away in the library, then he could. He didn't need to get anyone's permission, least of all Tom's.

Slowly, he nodded his head and shared a grin with Ron before he focused on Hermione. However, before he said anything, her arms dropped to her sides and she was looking at him with such surprise and disbelief that he almost took back his words before he actually said them.

"Tom will understand," he said, ignoring the twinge of doubt that knotted itself in his gut. "Besides, it's just one quidditch practice." Ron tugged on the sleeves of his robes once again, causing Harry to turn and start walking in the direction the team had. "You can come if you want," he shot over his shoulder before they got too far away. It was pretty far fetched considering she absolutely hated anything to do with a flying but he wasn't not going to invite her.

But as he knew she would, Hermione scrunched her nose. "I'll pass."

And before either of them could say anything else, he and Ron were gone.

"Where's Harry?"

Tom eyed her with feigned concern, the very moment she sat down in the chair beside him. The corner of his mouth twitched as he watched her bristle at the mention of his brother's name. In truth, he had seen the whole debacle between the two and that worthless shite Weasley. He had seen Harry run after the quidditch team like a wet-behind-the-ear first year and the very moment he did see his brother, he wasn't going to refrain from telling him so. The quidditch team? Really? As if Harry could do anything more embarrassing.

He wondered when the change for Harry had happened - when his brother had so incorrectly assumed that pursuing the skill of quidditching could overweigh anything academic. He had heard Harry tell Hermione that he'd understand, but really, he was far from it. Tom had been close to grabbing Harry by the collar and dragging him up to the library before forcing his nose down into the book. There was nothing - absolutely nothing - that his brother would gain by watching twits fly around on stupid brooms. But, with a strong will power of his own, Tom had let him go.

However - it wasn't as if he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart. Even if Harry had arrived, he had planned to send him off the very moment he could. There were other times he could talk to Harry and now was not the time. He wanted the witch beside him all to himself for the next hour, and it wouldn't have been possible if his brother had shown up.

Hermione sighed, "Harry's not going to be joining-"

"Good."

Her brown eyes snapped to his and he could see the questions swimming beneath her honey iris' as he leveled her stare.

She cocked her head to the side slightly, stilling her movements and he took that time to pull her book out from his satchel. When he placed it onto the table, her gaze dropped to the novel before shooting back up to him. The questions brewing through her mind doubled, he could tell.

"I read through your notes," he explained as he began to flip through her book, gently just as he had seen her do time and time. Tom glanced at her and watched as understanding began to sink in. "You left them between the pages. Leave it to you to use muggle post-its," he grinned up at her, enjoying the deep crimson that began to taint her cheeks.

Her mouth opened and closed, gaze hardening as she prepared to defend herself. "There's nothing wrong with pursuing knowledge."

A scoff escaped his lips. "Oh, I know that," he replied silkily. "But-," Tom's hand stilled as he found what he was looking for. In sinister letters that seemed to lick against his skin, read the tantalizing words, The Chamber of Secrets. His gaze snapped up to her. "- too much knowledge can take you to dark, dangerous places."

Her eyes darted from the page on display, to the dozens of notes, to his awaiting gaze. She licked her lips and swallowed heavily. "Well, I don't see it that way."

His brows rose mockingly. "Oh you don't?"

"No," she said, stiffly. "It's the wizard that decides if knowledge is dark or not. The same goes for magic."

He hummed as if he was considering her words, fingers trailing across the words on the pages. Leave it to her to have such an...enlightening view. His sweet, naive Hermione.

"I suppose the creator of the killing curse wanted nothing more than to bestow peace on the world, no? Or perhaps, the unforgivables aren't really unforgivables and should be taught to first years. Maybe, they should even practice the curses on one another...as long as they aren't doing it to be sinister, of course."

Hermione's lips pursed, eyes narrowing at him. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Riddle."

"Do you really think that is sarcasm?" he challenged her, not missing a beat. "Don't you think it would be beneficial for students to master the most ruthless curses at such a young age? From the very start you could see which of those that are worthy of their magic and which are not - a magical form of natural selection, if you ask me."

He regarded her carefully, seriously, and watched as her face fell; the way her brows furrowed slightly, her lips dipping at the corners as she frowned at him, those orbitals drowning him by the second. With every heartbeat that passed between them, he could see her closing off from him as realization and understanding dawned on her. And then her panic began to creep in, softly mingling into him as well.

He forced a laugh and smiled, flashing his teeth. "I'm kidding, Hermione."

Tom didn't move as she continued to eye him, searching for something that he didn't know. However, as the seconds ticked by, she sighed as if in relief and eased back into her chair, stiffness long gone and forgotten.

"That wasn't funny, Tom," she mumbled.

He hadn't found it funny either, instead, he found it quite...stimulating. The idea wasn't that bad, it would surely sort through the talented quicker than seven long years of boring tutelage and hours of classes that taught spells that should be learned within a handful of minutes. He tilted his head to the side in consideration of the major flaws that would need to be corrected. Surely the professors would have to be carefully selected and- Tom shook his head. Now was not the time for insignificant matters.

"Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" he raised an arrogant brow, grinning slyly at her because they both knew he wouldn't even if she did say yes. It was enough, however, as her mouth stretched in amusement.

Her gaze shifted back onto the pages beneath his hand. "I forgot I had left them in there," she confessed. "I would have taken them out before I had given the book to you."

"Why were you so interested in Salazar's Chamber of Secrets?"

"Why not?"

His lips twitched. "This isn't casual reading," he motioned to the numerous notes littering the pages. "This is weeks of researching." He stared unblinking at her as she tried to appear unbothered, but he could see straight through the act. Gryffindors were so bloody pathetic at trying to be deceptive.

He leaned closer towards her, his shoulder pressing flush against her own, his breath moving the curls framing her face. "You were looking for it." It wasn't a question and she knew that.

She met his gaze steadily, defiant nearly. Such an open book, he mused. So young and already she was so much more than the other students around them. She was like him; hungry for knowledge and power, to discover the unknown and not give a damn about quidditch or what's on the cover of Witch Weekly or lowering herself in the presence of those vile purebloods.

If only his brother could be the same.

Hermione blinked. "It's not like we would want to open it anyways."

It was all the confession he needed and he readily pounced on it. "Why not?" he pushed. If they were the ones to find the proclaimed Chamber of Secrets, he could already see their names flashing in the prophet, witches and wizards lining up down the sidewalks just to ask them how they did it. The success of two Muggleborns, besting all the arsehole Purebloods within the castle. It would be a victorious day.

She scoffed. "Why not?" she echoed in disbelief. "We're Muggleborns, Tom. Whatever monster is guarding the Chamber, it would kill us the very moment it saw us. Salazar Slytherin hated our kind, remember?"

"What if we found a way to defeat the monster," he asked. "What if we killed it? Can you imagine the amount of respect we would receive? There would be no doubt that we weren't the most powerful students in this school. Dumbledore himself couldn't find it."

"Finding it and opening it are two different things."

"How would you know if you found it unless you opened it?"

She eyed him for a long moment before slowly shaking her head amazement. "Tom, you truly are as deranged as they come."

He laughed at that, before saying, "As we muggleborns like to say, 'Deranged, is my middle name."

Her soft giggles filled the air around them before abruptly cutting off as she spun towards him, brows furrowed. "I don't know you middle name," her voice whispered, almost as if in horror. "I know Harry's, Neville's, even Ronald's," she grimaced, "but you...you are as mysterious as they come."

He sat there, frozen underneath her inspectious gaze, like a puzzle she had yet to figure out, like she truly...cared to know. What was it about her that was so damn different than anyone else? There were other people that were nice, there were even people that were warm and inviting towards strangers and anyone that they didn't know but it was always an act. People were nice because they wanted to be known as nice people; they were warm and inviting because they wanted to be those people that greeted strangers and welcomed them willingly, open arms waiting for a false embrace. He hated those people, just as he hated the Purebloods and Dumbledore. There was nothing more vile than a two faced person, with one hand outstretched to shake another while a knife is hidden behind their back and a smile is on full display, ready to capture their prey. But she had no knife. She had no deceiving smile, no agenda that she could possibly play him as a fool. She willingly cared about him, for him, even when no one was around. Warmth seeped deep into his bones as he gazed back at her waiting expression.

"Marvolo," he offered. The name sounded foreign to him, so rarely had he ever said it. He couldn't remember if he had ever told Harry, or if Harry had ever bothered to ask.

A soft smile played at her lips. "Marvolo," she repeated, the name rolling off of her tongue like an enchantment. Hermione repeated it a second time, this time he watched as her lips curved around each syllable, accent crisp. "I like it."

"It's...odd," he treaded carefully. He was rather uncomfortable, if he was being honest. It wasn't normal that he was given compliments especially on something as trivial as his name and to come from her, nonetheless.

"You say odd, I say unique," she nugged the shoulder that was still against her own, pushing him teasingly. "It's much more creative than Jean."

He wondered if she only said her middle name because she thought he hadn't known it. Of course there was no way that she would've known that Slughorn had let it slip when Tom had asked one too many of the right questions last year. He figured she didn't need to know that.

"Well, as far as names go, you can't get any more basic than Tom." If he had a galleon for every Tom there was, he'd be richer than all the purebloods combined. "There's not that many Hermione's in the world," he continued. Before he had met her he had never heard of such a name before. He doubted there was another Hermione in the world that was magical like her, the chances were slim to none.

She tilted her head to the side as if considering his words. "True, but there's only one Tom Marvolo. Sounds a bit magical, if you ask me."

Tom briefly turned his head to the side, breaking eye contact with Hermione, as a motion caught his attention. He watched as Draco Malfoy rushed past their table, keeping his head bowed and eyes everywhere except on them. Tom grinned at the sight. Since the term began, the blonde git didn't make his presence known as much as he had in the past. Usually, the Malfoy heir was arrogant when he strided into a room, nose held high in the air and sneer plastered on his face, but now, the pureblood barely made a peep. It was so glorious to see Malfoy cower at the sight of him and essentially be knocked off his pedestal and thrown into the dirt like a mere servant. As far as Tom was concerned, it was where the blonde belonged.

"How strange…" Hermione muttered. His attention fixated on her instantly, searing into the side of her face as her head turned and watched Malfoy rush towards the exit. When the blonde was gone, she turned back around, lifting up a brow at him.

He shrugged off her concern with ease and pretended to be just as confused as she was. Honestly, Draco Malfoy was the last thing he wanted to ever talk about. It would've been mere breath wasted.

They both turned into their books simultaneously; her divulging into a thick tome about charms and he, skimming the pages of the Chamber of Secrets for the thousandth time to look for new information that he knew wasn't present. At that moment, he could probably recite the handful of pages by memory - that's how many times he had read and then re-read it. He darted a glance at one of the numerous notes that contained a list of novels that mentioned the legendary Chamber and allowed his thumb to trace over the letterings of Hermione's handwriting. He wondered how many times she had ever written his own name, apart from the handful of last minute letters she had sent during the summer break. He wondered if she took her time with each letter she scripted, or if she rapidly swept across the parchment like he had seen her do with her essays. He wondered how his full name would look, now that she knew it.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. He tried to imagine it, saying his name out loud within his head. Her own voice was drifting through his skull.

Sounds a bit magical, if you ask me.

His dark eyes stared into the pages of the book, lost in his thoughts, as one word played over and over.

Magical.

He hummed so softly that it fell upon deaf ears.

Harry had to admit that he had expected Tom to approach him much sooner than he had. It had been weeks since he had decided to skip their daily sessions in the library to spend with Ron and the other Gryffindors to watch the quidditch team, and he had known that Tom would be anything less than pleased. Tom had never taken a liking to the sport- finding it a complete waste of time- and in the beginning he had too, but now, the longer Harry watched and learned, he had never seen anything more exciting. It was mesmerizing, all of it. It got his blood rushing at the mere sight. The way the players zoomed around on their brooms - all different colors and styles, different speeds and agilities- and the way they made the sport seem so effortless, as if they were born to play it. It made him crave for the opportunity to jump on a broom and fly off into the sky; all homework and study sessions and commanding brothers being left behind and forgotten. If only…

Therefore, it wasn't much of a surprise when he rammed straight into his brother after leaving the quidditch pitch with several of the others. Tom didn't spare any of the others a glance and chose to stare at him, unimpressed, with his arms crossed over his chest. Harry barely contained an annoyed groan, and wordlessly nodded his goodbye to Ron, Dean, and Seamus.

They left without hesitation, all briefly glancing towards Tom with worry clear in their gaze but none of them bothered to say anything. Harry was sure none of them would ever willingly speak to Tom, unless they absolutely had too, but he did nothing as he watched them leave.

It was only when their footsteps could no longer be heard, that Tom broke his silence.

"You're an idiot."

Harry rolled his eyes. He had thought he was prepared for this fight but all his planned excuses and retorts went flying out his brain.

"Did Hermione tell you to say that?" he asked. It was no secret that although he had chosen to skip out on the library sessions, Hermione had not. There was no doubt in his mind that Tom and Hermione whispered their disapprovals about him to each other.

Tom scoffed. "No," his brother barked out. "But if she had, would you have listened to her? Since, apparently, you absolutely refuse to listen to me." Was Tom serious right now? He couldn't possibly actually believe that!

His face scrunched in disbelief. For Tom being so bright, he was surely dumb as well. "I always listen to you. I've obeyed every word you've said since the day I met you."

Harry watched as Tom's brows rose high on his forehead. "Really? Then please, by all means, explain why you are wasting your attention and time on something as useless as quidditch and not on things that really matter? Are you truly that dense?!"

Why was it that Tom thought his opinions were always right? It was as if his brother could never bare to listen to anything else that contradicted his logic. Tom couldn't always be right. Or at least, Harry assumed he couldn't...

"I don't want to waste away in a stupid library, Tom," the words were flying out of his mouth before he could think them through. "I made high marks all year last term and now I want to do something else."

Tom's stare narrowed. "What are your marks now?" he shot out.

"I don't know," Harry answered with a careless shrug. Of course he knew what his marks were but he didn't feel like they would help him in any way with this argument. "They're not...bad. I'm doing better than Ron."

When Tom's glare hardened even further, Harry nearly slapped his forehead at his sheer stupidity. Knowing Tom, that wouldn't make the slightest difference. If anything, simply bringing up Ron's name would make everything worse by a tenfold.

"Well, I would certainly hope so, Harry. That friend of yours makes a troll look brilliant."

He could feel a headache starting to spike. Hastily, he rubbed at his temples. "I was just watching, Tom. You act like I ran off and became Gryffindor's seeker!"

"Watching means that you're interested. If you're interested, then what's keeping you from trying out to be like those thick headed idiots that have suffered one concussion too many?"

He didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say that would make Tom change his mind, absolutely nothing.

Tom, however, didn't relent. "How can a quidditch player rule the world? How can quidditch possibly take you anywhere in this world?"

Harry darted his attention towards the ground. Well, he thought, it was now or never.

"Maybe… I don't want to rule the world."

It felt as if every lifeform on the planet died, with nothing more than static vibrating against the membranes of his ears. He could feel the anger in the air, could feel the wild magic lashing out of Tom as he stood there, not daring to even breath. It felt like hours until Harry brought his head up, slowly and hesitantly as if Tom were seconds away from exploding. He swallowed heavily at the harsh glare Tom sent him. It was more cruel than ever before. Regret swallowed him whole.

Tom leaned slightly to be eye leveled with him. Somehow, Harry had failed to realize before, just how much taller Tom was now compared to him. It made him feel small, made him feel insignificant.

"Do what you want, Harry," Tom hissed. "When we get out of this school and you are nothing more than an infirm, everyday wizard, don't come to me complaining. I won't give a damn."

Harry released a tired sigh, "Tom-"

"No," Tom stormed past him, his shoulder shoving into Harry's. "I'm done."

With no other choice, Harry watched as Tom disappeared down the corridor. His brain was screaming at him to run after him, or to at least bloody say something, but Harry stood rooted in his spot. He decided that it was best that he wait until tomorrow to hunt his brother down. That would at least give Tom some time to cool down first.

Harry nodded to himself. Come tomorrow morning, all would be as it was.