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Chapter 11 Rumour has it...

Hermione feared the moment that Riddle would sit down next to her. Would he take her masque of indifference as gospel or look right through her facade? Would he feel her pent-up tension, the cold dread in her heart? Now and then one could still hear some students of her house clapping and cheering which did nothing to calm her down. Quite the contrary. The chair next to her was dragged over the floor, resulting in an ugly, screeching sound that rose from the stone floor, entered her ear and resonated in her head. Her nemesis had returned to its seat.

"I owe you an apology, Miss Warrington!"

His voice sounded soft, his tone abashed, but to her every word felt like a needle, penetrating her skin in a very slow and painful manner. Voldemort didn't apologize to no one. He didn't even see the sense in that.

"I didn't treat you politely, and I'm ashamed of the arrogance I displayed towards you!"

"It's… alright!", she breathed, forcing her damn, tripping tongue to cooperate.

"I would have reacted just the same if someone corrected me like this. I'm so sorry that I behaved so pretentiously. I hope you'll accept my apology, Mister Riddle!"

She met his gaze, saw the friendly flicker in his eyes that obscured the black abyss that was lurking in there, waiting for a chance to snatch and devour her.

"Please, call me Tom!"

He sounded so sincere that her intestines wanted to coil. How could it be that he maintained this perfect masquerade with almost no discontinuities while she was struggling to control hers every other minute?

"Then it's only fair if you call me Gillian, Tom!"

He smiled as if she had paid him a very nice compliment.

"Gillian!", he repeated quietly, savouring her name.

Her stomach revolted.

"I would like to experience more of your competences first hand, Gillian. It seems that", he looked at her schedule that visibly lay next to her potions book on the table, "I have the pleasure to see you in most of my classes!"

Hermione ignored the urge to dry heave. For someone who didn't know what was hiding behind this handsome face his words would have sounded honest. But she didn't miss the sly undertone.

"Indeed? I'm sure we will have a lot of fun!"

"Oh, I'm quite sure, too, Gillian!"

She kept silent for the remainder of the day while Riddle was busy being the proverbial teacher's pet during the remaining lessons. There seemed to be no subject in which he couldn't amaze his professors who in turn heaped praise on him. Only Dumbledore treated him rather neutrally. Hermione couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Dumbledore managed to treat this boy, whom he suspected of being responsible for the death of a fellow student, like the rest of his classmates. Only those who examined him more closely would have seen the distrust in his eyes, shining through whenever his gaze lingered on Riddle. Well, he observed him. Hermione caught Riddle sneering at Dumbledore's back as the old man turned towards the blackboard.

Riddle knew was well as her that Dumbledore didn't buy his act. A fact that seemed to bother the boy immensely.

By the time evening came word had spread about her memorable performance during Potions and as she entered the Great Hall for dinner she was fully aware of the whispering and the surprised faces around her. Her nervosity went sky high and caused her to wolf down her meal rather hastily. She wanted nothing more than to escape the piercing gazes. In a rush she grasped her bag and left.

She had to talk to Zar, had to hear what kind of advice he could give her. Hermione could only hope that the cat wasn't as pessimistic as she currently was.

Zar remained silent which was odd because the cat usually voiced his opinion about practically every topic. She broke into a cold sweat.

"Just say something!", Hermione practically barked at him. Zar turned his head. His ears were twitching.

"Hmph, I can't deny that you didn't think this through!", he began slowly.

"Thanks, I'm already aware of that!"

"But…", he continued, ignoring her snide remark, "It could very well be that you aroused his interest… negatively, mind you. The prat is convinced that he's the best student in school. He despises it when someone tries to prove him a liar on a subject he believes himself to be uncontested at. It would be for the best if you maintained a low profile at least so he doesn't get the impression that you want to challenge or, god forbid, outdo him. Be careful, I know well enough that he is capable of doing terrible things and if you rained on his parade he wouldn't just huff in annoyance!"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. She felt old and worn out.

"You've got no better recipe?", she pressed on wearily.

The cat shook his head.

"Riddle's unpredictable. There's no recipe that helps against a storm, my dear. You either make preparations to decrease its violence or you do nothing and face the consequences with all its possible losses!"

HGTR

The fire in the fireplace had dwindled to a red gleam that wasn't able to oppose the growing darkness. She had come insidiously. First she conquered the corners, then she rolled down the walls until she chocked the light without resistance. The room was hers and she would rule it til morning came. With black, velvety fingers, she reached for the nightmare, sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, wrapping herself around his body like a cloak. He didn't move, kept staring unwaveringly at the last few spasms of the dying fire. The darkness didn't scare him, for in his soul ruled an emptiness so much more oppressing and frightening than the darkness could ever have been.

The nightmare stretched his long, pale fingers and cupped his chin, lost in thought, trying to unravel the mystery that had dared to step into his territory unsolicitedly. Gillian Warrington, pure-blood from a decent family, mostly inclined to the dark arts. Distantly related to Abraxas Malfoy, fraternised through centuries with the Blacks and Lestrange. Only another, unspectacular part of the high society he so loved to keep under his heels. Only another small light on the horizon that belonged to him. Well, that's what he had thought when she put the sorting hat on her head. But it wouldn't be him if he hadn't questioned his first impression. After all, wasn't he the best example that one could nurture a false impression and perfect it until even the last man on earth would fall for the shimmering illusion? With one exception perhaps…

An annoying exception that dared to try and thwart his plans whenever he could. Hatred flared up inside him and he angrily tried to avoid thinking about the senile, old fool that bore the name Dumbledore. He would address this matter later on. Gillian Warrington was the riddle that was keeping his attention now. How could it be that a girl like her didn't fall for his charm? Girls like her who had grown up well-protected, naive, and raised in the belief that a husband meant happiness and a firm social status had fallen for him one after the other and without putting up any kind of resistance. A friendly word, a smile and they got caught in his net like dense flies. Eagerly eating out of his palm, always trying to get his attention. He'd used girls like her for all kinds of purposes, had made new contacts with their help and acquired black magical and very rare objects. So why did she stiffen when he touched her? Why could he see disgust flashing in her eyes? All hidden underneath a facade of courtesy that dim-witted people would have surely bought off her without batting so much as an eyelash.

Her eyes fascinated him. If he were to believe Abraxas and Aplhard the girl had had a childhood like most children of her status. Overwhelmed with wealth and a small pinch of rigour to incorporate the accepted values and traditions like the air to breath. So how could it be that her eyes showed a steeliness he only knew of World War One veterans? Eyes that had seen dreadful things and had had to accept them. What had lead to it? What traumatic incident was waiting to resurface? Riddle inclined his head. She was like a book os seven seals. More illusion than reality.

It aggravated him how she looked at him because the disgust he had noticed remembered him of his first year at school. The same disgust the members of his house had reacted with when they learned about his muggle background. A no-good, worth nothing halfblood that dared to besmirch the noble house of Salazar Slytherin with his presence. Well, the worthless halfblood had made them pay for the humiliations, had chained them and now he held their fates in his hands. Riddle gnashed his teeth. Today's memories rained down on him, eating their way through his thoughts like acid.

That stupid, stupid brat. The lioness had unwittingly hit the snake with its claws. He wasn't used to being corrected. Not he whose knowledge surpassed that of all the other students. Gone had her stiff demeanour. Instead, she had revealed a new side of her unfathomable existence that visibly contradicted the way she had reacted to him the first time. Or not? Maybe… He felt his face redden with sudden anger.

Maybe she'd heard what blood status he had? It wasn't impossible… If she knew, it would explain her disgust and her haughty, blatant display of knowledge. A worthless halfblood could never obtain optimum performance when competing with a pure-blood. An attitude his classmates had let him feel over and over again during his first year. Well, he'd corrected them with violence. Their stereotypes might apply to the rest of the vermin with a muggle background, but he was more powerful and stronger than the whole wizarding community. A fact even Gillian Warrington would have to learn. He snarled while his heart was burning with fury. The imbecile girl would pay for her impertinence. Sooner or later…

HGTR

She followed Zar's advice the best she could and didn't challenge Riddle a second time. But that did nothing to hinder the gossip factory around her from working overtime. By now the course of the original dispute had run through so many different versions that every student could have told another story. To her horror she noticed that some of them had begun to hold the firm conviction that she had blamed a lack of knowledge on Riddle because she just couldn't bear the thought that someone with his background could be top of his class. It was utterly ridiculous. She of all people would have never taken it in her head to humiliate someone for his background! It was unfair that they accused her of being a racist while the true one was being glorified as the poor, humiliated boy. Of course there were others who, tired of Riddle's permanent triumph, praised her for her intervention during Slughorn's lesson, but that was poor consolation compared to the fact that people accused her of condemning muggleborns. Thank God that Harold and Alicia weren't inclined towards believing this slander! Without their support she would have felt quite lonely.

The days passed and while some students were still busy redecorating the old tale of how she bested Tom Riddle, the latter treated her with the utmost politeness. She was wary, nonetheless. Not even in her dreams she would have believed that he had just forgotten about the incident. Whatever forms his revenge would take, it would come. She didn't delude herself in this respect. Especially not if he chose to believe the rumours. Riddle had always despised his background, but should he become convinced that she discriminated against him because of his status as a halfblood… She didn't even want to imagine how he would react…

Four days after the incident she retired to the library during the early evening hours to write an essay about theoretical approaches concerning the transformation of animals into objects. While she had initially thought that working with Harold Potter might be a good idea, it had become abundantly clear that the boy had lost his vigour somewhere during the first twenty minutes and was now eagerly paying attention to Hermione instead of working on his essay. Almost desperately he tried to engage her in a conversation about the upcoming quidditch match Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. Which resulted in her literally begging him to just leave her be. Harold consulted her wish by packing his things and huffing off.

After his diva-like departure she had worked intently and in quiet for a while, before she got the feeling that she needed to consult one last, promising source. Stifling a yawn, she stood from her chair and began to scour the bookshelves for the tome she needed. Hermione had just found it when suddenly a slender hand appeared in her field of view, pulling the book from its shelf.

"That's the book I wanted to lend!", she snapped irritatedly and without thinking. She turned her head to eye the insolent thief, only to look at Riddle's face. He stared at her with raised brows.

"I'm sorry!"

Riddle turned the tome in his hands, seemingly lost in thoughts for a moment.

"I do need it rather urgently, though!", he added sheepishly.

"Would you mind if I gave it to you later, Gillian? It won't take long, I promise!"

Hermione bit her lower lip. She had wanted to finish the essay within the next ten minutes. She was already tired and craved nothing more than her bed. It wasn't foreseeable how long not long would be in Riddle's definition. Grinding her teeth, she looked him straight in his eyes.

"It's alright!"

She practically choked on the words.

"You can have it!"

Hermione turned on her heals, left Riddle in the aisle, swept around a corner and past a girl from Hufflepuff.

The next morning found her frantically trying to get to Defence against the dark arts on time.

The corridors were packed with students and she was already beyond the usual hour. Somewhere ahead the mass of students had slowed down causing a tailback. Restlessly she tapped her feet on the ground. She wasn't in the mood for sitting in the back of the classroom. Her hopes lay on Alicia and Harold who had gone ahead and might have been able to save her a place. Hermione released an impatient huff. She was about to curse the person responsible for the tailback to the moon and back. Class would start in three minutes, and she was nowhere near the classroom. In over six years as a student at this school, she had never been late.

Well, there's a first for everything, she thought cynically.

"… and then, upon leaving the library, Warrington muttered that he could keep the book because she didn't want to catch a disease, now that he had touched it!"

Her head turned slowly towards the source of the voice that had spoken while her mind was still busy trying to decipher the meaning of the words she had heard.

Within spitting distance stood the same Hufflepuff girl she had met during her hasty departure from the library. Horrified Hermione opened her mouth. Stiff as a statue she listened to the girl who was telling blank faced lies to the attentive crowd surrounding her.

"… despises him because he isn't a pure-blood. What a dreadful person! Poor Tom, he doesn't deserve being treated like this. After everything he's done for our school.

"… she better watches out, that trull. Only been here for a couple of days, and now she's acting like she's a queen and everyone else is just dirt under her heels!"

It couldn't be. It just couldn't be!

Gobsmacked and feeling rather numb Hermione stood rooted to the spot while the crowd around her began to disperse. How dare this girl slender her like this? What had she done to her that she saw the need to tell lies?

Hermione took a shaky breath, realising only now that she'd held it for quite some time. Her sweaty hands balled into fists. It was high time to pull up the weed and prevent it from spreading. With an icy expression on her face, she moved and walked towards the awful blabbermouth.