Hermione hurried down the corridor – she was late for a class.
This would have never happened to her back home, she reflected miserably, but here everything was all thrown off. She'd managed to get herself lost in a castle she'd spent several years learning the ins and outs of. It wasn't technically her fault, of course, rather it was that the paintings weren't all in the same places as they were in her own time... which had caused her to make a few wrong turns.
She'd gotten back on the right track, but somehow ended up near the dungeons.
That was how she'd nearly run into Tom Riddle and another boy conversing in the corridor outside a portion of the wall she knew was the Slytherin common room.
Gasping, she explained, "Oh, sorry, I got turned around."
After a moment, she realized by the look on the boys faces that she'd interrupted something very private. Perhaps even something very dark... Tom looked thunderous, the black pits of his eyes sparkling with more malice than she'd seen them with before, and the other boy was pale and shaken – possibly a Lestrange, if she remembered correctly.
"Hermione," Tom greeted, schooling his features instantly, though he couldn't quite make his tone as breezy as he meant to.
She looked between them, wondering if she should intervene, and asked, "Are you two alright?"
The future Dark Lord smiled at that, as if he were grateful for her concern, and she knew that he was probably wishing she'd bugger off. The other boy was smiling, too, but it was badly forced; he wasn't near as good a liar.
Sweetly, Tom replied, "We're fine, but it's nice of you to ask."
Lestrange added, "Yeah, thanks."
Hermione looked at Tom and narrowed her eyes knowingly. "Right," she drawled skeptically, "I'll just be on my way then. Later, Tom."
She strode off, barely resisting the urge to run or to look back, and wondered when she had developed a taste for provoking the most feared wizard Britain had ever known.