A/N: Hey guys! Just a super short excerpt on how our dear Tommy boy was feeling about our favorite little Muggleborn throughout the story! I'm on spring break right now, so I might have a few more quick little updates like this, but we'll see!

This takes place around Chapter Four!

Enjoy!

It was her arrogance that got to Tom the most.

Not the sort of arrogance that the Quidditch players possessed; they swaggered about as though they were Merlin's personal gift to the world, as though they could do no wrong. No, Hermione's arrogance was so much more subtle, so much more infuriating.

It was in the way she raised her hand in class; she had absolutely no fear of being wrong. There wasn't any hesitation behind her words, but pure conviction; she believed in what she was saying. She had done too much research to back it up for it to be misguided. Hermione wasn't the sort that would go around spreading falsities, because she only put stock it that of one-hundred percent, magically and scientifically supported truth.

She was not particularly pretty. For some reason, this pleased him. If she had been incredibly intelligent, and as stunning as Walburga or Druella, it somehow would have made her seem less tangible, less real. Her dull brown hair was often pulled back into a very neat plait that reached between her shoulder blades. When he stood, she was about half a foot shorter than him. She had a spattering of freckles about her nose. Physically, Hermione was nothing spectacular.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew why this pleased him. If she were as beautiful as Walburga or Druella, Malfoy, and Weasley, and Thomas, and Smith would fawn over her like they did the other girls; they would ask for her company every Hogsmeade weekend, or offer to walk her to her Common Room every evening. They would sit by her in the Great Hall during meals and tease her for how much time she spent in the library.

She would not be his little mystery, would she?

The defiance that crackled off of every inch of her being was both enthralling and enraging. She didn't not have a shrivel of respect for him. There was fear-oh yes, he could sense it dripping from her being-but she didn't seem to regard him with the sort of reverence that the rest of the school did. Perhaps, being home-schooled, she was not aware how commendable the position of Head Boy was? Surely she knew how hard he had worked to attain such a position?

And despite his internal protests, it did matter to him. He felt like her respect was a trophy, a prize to be won, and he found himself actually making an effort to gain it. He felt like he had back in his first year, when he was just a young man trying to prove his worth to his Professors. But he had not had to prove his worth to anyone in a long time, and the feeling was...strange.

One of the most mysterious things about her was that she was nothing like her brother. Sure, they were close enough, but if he didn't know better, he would think that they were just very close friends. It wasn't altogether surprising that they didn't at all resemble each other physically; he had dark hair and vivid green eyes, and looked pale almost to the point of unhealthiness, while Hermione had plain brown hair, brown eyes, and creamy skin. It was their mannerisms as well. While Hermione exuded confidence in everything she did, her brother seemed almost shy. He had that likable sort of quirkiness about him that drew people to him. He was far too friendly to be a natural-bred Slytherin; if Tom didn't know better, he'd say that the girl should've ended up in her brother's house.

But Hermione was not nearly as vicious as the Slytherin girls in his year. They were not vicious in a clever way, either; Walburga had a tendency of verbally assaulting any girl she deemed social competition, and would not hesitate to spread a nasty rumour that would help her along. Hermione's characteristics suggested that she was far too practical for such an immature approach.

A smile quirked his lips as he momentarily imagined what would happen to someone who got on her bad side. She had never shown any malice towards anyone, but then, she had only been at school for a matter of weeks. He had seen her snap at the redhead-what was his name?-Hurst, several times, but their banter seemed good-natured.

Tom was not foolish enough to ignore the fact that she was a very powerful witch. Female or not, he had noticed almost at first site that she would be an asset, but he could not put aside the fact that she was simply too self-reliant, too in-submissive to ever be one of his followers. Hermione wasn't the sort to go along with something just because everyone else was. She had a very stable moral compass-something that irritated him immensely. How was it that she could possess so much power and not want control? Was she a fool?

No, she was certainly not a fool. Perhaps there was something that he was missing; maybe she was like him, appearing innocent to everyone around her and fooling them all out of their minds, when in reality, she was manipulative. Perhaps she had already gathered a small band of followers at Hogwarts, in the short time she had been here. She certainly would have had an easier time at it than he had, being a Pureblood.

In that case, he should focus on being less curious of her and more wary. It wasn't as though he'd be averse to disposing of her, if the need came up. Certainly, there were plenty of witches like her in the world. He would not let someone who practically fell from the sky get in the way of the plans that he had been constructing for years and year. Even if she was the most intelligent witch he'd ever met in his entire life. Even though she could beat nearly every bloke in the school at a duel in DADA. Even if she could brew a Forgetfulness Draught that rivaled his own. Even if she had soft skin and pretty eyes.

Even then.