AN: Hello there! Another little update. I'll work on getting another on out as soon as I can.

Hermione was quite disappointed to hear that the detestable former Charms Professor was returning to teach divination. She returned to Hogwarts with nine cases of matching Ravenclaw luggage and a gleam in her eye. The good news was that it meant she and Tom didn't have to take Divination. The bad news was that the woman was a total waste of oxygen.

If the reactions of the other students were anything to go by, Professor Lestrange (nee Green) was just as incompetent at teaching the art of seeing the future as she had been at teaching basic charms. And this time she didn't have the excuse of planning a wedding. That didn't keep her from chattering endlessly about the details of the event. She spent most of her time showing wizarding photographs of her honeymoon, which apparently had been a three month tour of every dreary forest in Europe.

The woman offended Hermione deeply. Her personality consisted of two parts smug superiority in her bloodline and one part vapid pseudo-intellectualism. (How the woman had been in Ravenclaw, Hermione couldn't fathom).

It wasn't as if Hermione had nothing to judge the woman by. Professor Snape had been a borderline sadist in class, especially during her school years. Moody had been a death eater in disguise. Lupin had been out several days each month because of lycanthropy, and Quirrel had been a human vehicle for Voldemort. Hermione vacillated between Umbridge and Lestrange as the worst teachers she'd ever encountered. Even the near-fraud Treleway had been slightly better.

She tried not to let her general irritation take up too much of her time (or be the reason for too much eye-rolling). Her suspicions about the attack on the Divination professor were dampened by Professor Lestrange's return.

Hermione was quite busy with her alchemical studies. The resources available at the school were on par with several private research facilities she'd worked for in her former timeline. She certainly wouldn't have anything comparable during the summer months at the orphanage.

Slughorn was also quite generous with the potions stores (he should have been since they were paid for by the school.)

She and Tom were also moving forward, albeit slowly with their plan to become animagi. It was simply a matter of proper focus and practice at this point. They spent a few hours a week practicing in the Room of Requirement. She felt that their magic wasn't reliable enough to transform just yet, but she was actually excited about the prospect of it. In her last lifetime, she'd been much too busy to study it until she'd felt she was too old to bother with it. Her mind had been sharp until the day she'd died, but her body had been very frail the last ten years. It made her healthy young body more of a pleasure to be in…most of the time.

She'd forgotten about cramps and mood swings. Though how she could have forgotten those, she didn't really know. How she hated being incapacitated days out of every month! Pain potions were worthless. It had gotten better after her first child, but it had been the bane of her early adolescence…perhaps Ron and Harry's as well, though she doubted they knew what caused her moods at the time.

She was curled up on one of the couches trying to study when Malfoy plopped down beside her. She sighed deeply and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Yes?"

He gave her his best angelic grin, which was a sure sign he was up to something. He summoned an elaborate gold box. "Mother sent me a box from her favorite Swiss chocolatier." He took the lid off slowly, drawing out the unveiling in a way that was practically indecent. If she'd been in her late twenties and unattached…

She was glad her eyes had been on the chocolate because look in them hadn't been something she wanted Malfoy to see.

The chocolates were gorgeous, each one a work of art. Some were made in the shape of flowers and charmed to open and close their petals. Others glowed faintly with fillings called 'moonlight' and 'sunshine'. She chose a seemingly plain-looking piece…one with a single swirl of white chocolate over a milk chocolate truffle.

It was fabulous. Her eyes closed as she let the sweet linger on her tongue as she'd done with fine chocolates in the past. The rich chocolate had hints of berry and coffee in the flavor itself, and the filling was a fabulous vanilla bean with a slight crunch from the ground beans. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Malfoy smirking at her.

"That good, huh?"

She would have swatted him, but she still had half a chocolate in her hand and she wasn't about to waste it.

"They are fabulous. I need the name."

He draped one long muscled arm across the back of the couch in careless, elegant ease. She'd dealt with Lucius and Draco quite a bit in her last life. The entire family was ridiculously attractive. Abraxas, with his easy manner and tight, well-muscled frame was no exception. His bulk didn't make him at all less appealing in her eyes. In fact, he reminded her slightly of…

"Malfoy, are you related to the Prewetts?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Of course. We're all pure-bloods. You know how we are. All varying degrees of cousins. Aramintha Prewett was my great-grandmother."

She nodded her head. That's why he reminded her of Ron occasionally. They moved alike, even generations apart.

By this time Tom had noticed the cozy way that they were sitting. She got up. No reason to annoy him.

She turned to Malfoy. "It was delicious, thank you."

He gave her a lazy grin. "Come back any time you'd like another sweetums."

She raised a brow. "Fine, I'll do that pumpkin-britches."

The entire room broke out into slightly hysterical laughter. Malfoy included.

"Minx. Will you never let me have the upper hand?"

She grinned at him. "Never. It's not in my nature."

HGHGHGHG

End of the year testing was not the same cause for alarm it had been her first time around. She did have to study a bit (the curriculum had changed a bit and even she didn't remember everything she'd learned at Hogwarts…) but nothing like the first go around. So while the other students were frantically studying, she had a bit more time to herself. She liked to wander the castle to clear her head.

It was on one of those long walks that she encountered a weeping first year witch with jet black hair and a deep brogue near the Ravenclaw tower.

She stopped and looked around, and then she knelt near her. Minerva had been a pretty child, with large blue eyes and lovely bones.

"Whatever is the matter?"

The girl looked up, obviously surprised that anyone had found her.

Her eyes flew to Hermione's tie and she was stunned when the little witch relaxed. "It's nothing." The brogue was more pronounced.

Hermione dug out a handkerchief and wiped the tears off her face. "I've never seen 'nothing' produce quite so many tears, but I'll take your word for it if you want me to."

Minerva tried to pull away, but Hermione continued to dab with the well-washed cloth. "There…better. I couldn't see the pretty girl under all that saltwater! Where is your wand? I'll teach you a charm to clear the red out of your eyes."

She hung her head and said wretchedly. "I'm no good at Charms. We have it with the Ravenclaws and they all say I'm a dirty half-breed that shouldn't be allowed in school." She pulled slightly away. "You should probably go. You seem nice and being friends with me will just get you hexed. You don't want to be branded a blood traitor like my mother. They hexed Olive Hornby just for speaking with me, right in the middle of class."

Hermione frowned. "In class? I can't imagine Professor Flitwick allowing that."

Minerva's eyes started tearing up again. "They work in groups. One will distract him, and the others are into mischief. He's so nice, but he's no match for them. It's his first year as head of house and they want him gone. They say he's a half-breed too."

Hermione used several very naughty words in the back of her head.

"They are idiots then. Professor Flitwick is a brilliant Charms teacher and you are a brilliant witch. I bet you are the best Transfiguration student in your year, aren't you?"

The little girl's eyes widened. "Um…yes. But we don't have class with the Ravenclaws for that. We're in with the Slytherins and there are only three of them in my year."

Hermione fished out a cookie that one of the elves had given her. "We're going to Professor Dumbledore. He's your head of house."

The little girl scrunched into herself. "Oh no! This isn't important enough to trouble the professor, and he's the only one who likes me at all…"

"Tosh." Hermione smiled, remembering when Minerva had used the same phrase. "He needs to know, so you can help protect Flitwick. He's a very young professor. We wouldn't want those little brats to run him off would we? Professor Green was an abysmal teacher last year."

"You mean Professor Lestrange? The one who teacher Divination?" Minerva shuddered. "She can't stand me."

"Well, she's the biggest idiot of all." She stood and offered the other girl a hand up. "Up you go." Minerva took it and smiled a little.

HGHGHGHG

It took little time for Dumbledore to sort things. An hour of gentle words, a few lemon drops and a cup of hot cocoa later and Minerva was back in Gryffindor tower, with a promise of extra lessons from Flitwick to raise her grade.

Dumbledore regarded her quietly. "I had noticed that he was having a bit of an issue with the Eagles. It is a lot to expect a brand new professor to also be head of house, but Professor Lestrange is temporary…"

"She's the worst choice available in any case."

Dumbledore smiled in a way that made Hermione think about Malfoy's smirk. Were they related too? It seemed likely. It wasn't something she'd had reason to research in her past life. "I suppose she has been somewhat preoccupied the past few years with wedding plans. It's the biggest day of a young witches' life you know."

Hermione snorted but didn't comment. "I'll try to keep an eye on Minerva. The Ravenclaws respect my spell work enough so that they won't do anything overt when I'm near. At least not the ones in our year." And none of them would do it twice at any rate. She'd held back all this time and she could do with a stretch. Perhaps she should start dueling alone to brush up…

Dumbledore nodded. "I believe more than one has noted your friendship with young Malfoy, which is a subtle sort of protection as well."

She shrugged. "He's not really a bad sort. Of course, we'll see what the Slytherins think when they find out I'm muggle-born."

"You've been deliberately keeping it from them?"

"I haven't mentioned it. I'd rather not fight hexes constantly and it's hard to be a force for anything when you are a total outsider. I will reveal it at the right time. When it will make them think about their preconceived notions…"

He gave her an odd look. "Were your parents killed because you were a muggle-born?"

She sighed. "They died running from a wizard that would have killed them…it was simply bad luck that they died." A stupid plane crash of all things. They survived running from the most powerful dark wizard in history and were killed by a plane crash…it was like the universe was laughing at her sometimes.

Something that Minerva had said when she sent her back tickled at her mind. Something about Harry Potter's best friend was not left to chance…Now that she knew what she did about the forces of light and darkness…how much of her life was really chance? What were the odds that Harry had just happened to have exactly what he needed each time he'd faced the darkness. What were the odds of Voldemort managing to come back time after time? Was anything coincidence or was it all due to the machinations of forces unseen?

HGHGHGHG

Hermione found Minerva in the library the next day. Tom was in tow.

She'd told him a partial truth to persuade him: "Look, she's getting picked on and I'm fairly certain she's related to the witch that helped me so many times. Her mother was a Ross, and from Scotland. If there is something I can do, I have to help."

He wasn't happy about it, but he didn't grumble.

"Minerva, this is my best friend, Tom Riddle."

The little witch smiled at him nervously. "I might as well mention, I'm a half-blood so if that bothers you…"

Tom cut in. "I'm an orphan. So is Hermione, and we're tied for best in our year. I'd say the Ravenclaws are just jealous gits. The best revenge is to obliterate them in your studies. Drives them mad."

She sighed sadly. "I just can't seem to do Charms…"

Hermione put her books down. "That's because you're better at Transfiguration. I'll help you study. Trust me, a little hard work and you'll be right as rain."

Strangely enough, Minerva had real issues with Charms. She couldn't get them to work at all. Which wasn't right. The Transfiguration professor from Hermione's time had been brilliant at them. Hermione's eyes zeroed in on the wand. "Where did you get that?"

Minerva looked down. "It was my great-grandmother's wand, the one I was named after."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, she despised Charms."

Minerva cocked her head to the side. "I am not sure, I never really met her. My mother left the wizarding world entirely you see. We were estranged from the entire family. My father didn't even know she was a witch until I was older. I was quite powerful from the cradle on and he thought he was going a bit mad before she finally admitted it."

Tom nudged Hermione. "I bet he did. Did he not outfit you properly when you came?" The boy's tone was unhappy.

Minerva blushed. "They tried…He's a preacher, so money is always tight…"

Hermione nodded. "And your mother thought they could cut costs a bit when she saw that you could use the old wand. It makes sense." She put her own wand into Minerva's hand. "Try it with mine."

Tom looked at her wide-eyed. Hermione was protective of her wand, like most witches and wizards tended to be.

But Minerva managed to make the books dance across the table with a quick swish. She looked at the wand, delighted. "That was so much easier!"

Hermione took her wand back. "Just like I thought. It's almost the end of the year. You can finish the year with your old one if you have to, but you'd be better off going to Ollivander's and getting a new one. Dumbledore could let you floo from his office I think."

Minerva nodded. "Da won't mind, if it makes that much of a difference in my studies. Mum won't like my marks in Charms. I thought I was just a rampaging idiot in the subject!"

Tom smiled at the girl. "I doubt you are an idiot in anything." Hermione beamed at him for the kind comment.

HGHGHGHG

He had a terrible feeling that she was going to collect people for the rest of their lives, the way she'd collected Malfoy, Dumbledore, and Minerva. (He didn't count himself; she was his, not the other way around). It was a bit like an old lady collecting cats really…

Of course, there was a part of him that was pleased. She wasn't collecting anyone that was useless. He'd had doubts about the girl, but Hermione had identified her issue and promptly found a solution. He didn't doubt that if she came back to school with that wonky old wand, Hermione would find a way to fix that as well. She was rather brilliant at finding solutions to problems.

People were drawn to her…it would give him a pool of brilliant people to manipulate for his own purposes. They did take up her time, but he supposed it was only natural that she would want a few friends other than himself. He didn't like it, but as long as he remained her best friend, he'd tolerate other friends. Personally, he wanted lackeys more than friends, but that would have to wait a few years.

While Hermione was busy with her little side projects, he'd begun several himself. The first was finding a way to be invulnerable as well as researching this elixir of life that the philosopher's stone produced. At first glance, it seemed perfect…but then he'd realized that since the inception of alchemy only seven of the stones had been produced. Worse, six of the seven makers of the stones had died. When the maker died, the stone withered as well. Which wasn't a problem per se. He didn't mind tying his life to hers'. She was his after all.

But he wasn't interested in leaving her vulnerable to spells and curses and typhoons and every other bloody thing either. There were a million ways to die. The elixir was powerful and would heal many ailments as well as seemingly stopping the aging process, but if someone beheaded you, you weren't coming back from that. (Perhaps the reason the French used beheading so much during the revolution? A distinct possibility).

What he needed was a way to make them invulnerable. He wasn't finding anything in the regular section, but he hadn't searched the restricted section just yet.

His other side-project was finding his family. Hermione was doing everything she could do to help them out of their disadvantaged circumstances. He would see if he had family somewhere. He loved that everyone tried to identify her as a pureblood, but if she went through with her idea of admitting her breeding, there was going to be hell to pay. To that end, he'd been quietly shaping the ideas of his classmates. At their age, most of them were malleable.

Still, he'd rather be in a position of strength. Having a family would offer a bit more protection.

The only problem was, he didn't find any Riddles…

AN: So…a little more Tom POV…I can't tell how much of attitude is because he was raised in the orphanage and how much of it is because he was 'born in darkness'…and I have a bad feeling about that last bit. My muse kind of tries to slide around it and not talk about it, which is never good. I'm not sure I want to know exactly what had to be done to hijack his soul to the Gaunt line in the first place (My Muse actively keeps bits of the story from me…anybody else have that problem?)