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Chapter 12 If you only knew...

"How very interesting what you can report about me, though I can't recall having said any of this."

Hermione's own voice sounded icy, brusquely and so foreign that she almost had to wince herself.

Her opponent paled abruptly. Meanwhile the crowd of attentive listeners backed away, waiting tensely for their friend's response.

"I… uh…"

The student gulped nervously, avoided Hermione's gaze and looked imploringly at her friends. These however, didn't seem all to keen on supporting her. More than a few of them bashfully pawed their feet, some even began to slink away.

"I don't know the reason why you did this, and frankly, I don't even want to know, but one thing should be clear: Those who spread lies and get caught won't be trusted anymore, even if they eventually tell the truth. I can only hope that you have the decency to admit that your little story is nothing more but far-fetched nonsense.", Hermione spat snidely.

"Is it true, Edith? Did you make this up?"

The reproach uttered among the group of friends made the girl wince. With each passing second her confidence seemed to shrink until it was no more.

"I… yes…"

The girl's answer was only a whisper, but on account of the icy silence still clearly audible.

"Thanks for the rectification.", Hermione hissed quietly.

Then she spun on her heels and walked down the corridor towards her classroom.

Despite her anger about the girl's audacious assumptions, she didn't want to witness the undoubtedly embarrassing moment when her friends addressed her contemptible behaviour.

Of course Professor Merrythought wasn't exactly pleased with her being late. She'd been busy writing down today's agenda when Hermione entered. The moment she became aware of the newcomer the old witch stopped, raised her head and sized her up.

"How kind of you to finally grace us with your presence, Miss Warrington. Did you get lost on your way to class?" Hermione opted for a short apology. She simply wasn't in the mood to indulge in a lengthy report about the cause of her absence. With a sincere "Please accept my apologies, Professor. It won't happen again." she scurried to the only empty seat left, trying as quietly as possible to produce her school book from the depths of her school bag.

"What happened?", Abraxas murmured next to her while she was laying her book, a piece of parchment, and her ink bottle in front of her.

Hermione waved her hands in a dismissive gesture.

"Nothing but a barking dog that I had to muzzle.", she explained while flashing her teeth at him with a smile as false as Riddle's kindness.

Abraxas reacted with a frown, but to her relief he didn't press her on.

Meanwhile, Professor Merrythought had turned her back on the blackboard and was now looking invitingly at the assembled students.

"As you know the war raging in the muggle world isn't the only one we should be worried about. Disaster looms, should our world be dragged into a conflict that is currently restricted to the European continent. There are some that may criticize me for painting a dark picture, but I'll say it, nonetheless: Gellert Grindelwald is a danger we cannot underestimate, and we can't just lean back and assume that this danger won't reach our borders. As your teacher for Defence against the Dark Arts, I see it as my duty to thoroughly prepare you. Even for the worst case."

She pointed her boney fingers at the blackboard.

"You might have noticed that I wrote down the aims of the next lessons. We will deal profoundly with the spells related to each topic listed and examine their deployability in practice. At the end of the first unit, you'll get the opportunity to put your prowess to the test on the basis of a simulation. Any questions? No? Then we'll start with our group of themes' first subtopic."

Hermione's gaze wandered to the blackboard. Most of the spells Merrythought had written next to each topic she'd already used during the battle against Voldemort. It wouldn't be difficult to apply them. But what did Merrythought mean by simulation? Something like that ridiculous duelling club Gilderoy Lockhart had originated during her second year?

Or did the professor really want to put them trough the extreme exertion of a serious conflict? Hermione shook her head almost imperceptibly.

She just couldn't believe that the old woman would go that far.

Well, one thing was for sure: Whatever Merrythought had planned it held the promise of being something interesting.

Her eyes began to search for Riddle.

She spotted him sitting in the front row. She couldn't see the look in his eyes, but Hermione was pretty sure that he was yearning for showing off his competences.

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth. Hopefully, Merrythought's plan wouldn't lead to her having to face Riddle in a simulated fight.

God knew if she was able to restrain herself from seriously hurting him if she were to duel the git.

She had tried really hard to prevent Edith's lies from spreading, but it soon became apparent that not all students were convinced of the girl's confession. To her horror some students began to insist that the girl had been forced to amend her statement and before Hermione could have reacted people began to talk behind her back. The tip of the iceberg, however, was reached a week after the incident.

It had already been late as she left the library. The corridors lay deserted. Here and there the darkness was lighted by the moon whose light shone through the huge windows, painting white, large spots on the grey stone floor. Hermione took a look at her wristwatch and sighed. Only twenty minutes until curfew would start. She quickened her pace. The clatter of her heels resounded from the stonework, and for a fleeting moment she had the strange feeling that the background noise wasn't her work only. She stopped dead in her tracks. Nothing moved. With a shrug of her shoulders, she continued to walk, and… stopped anew. Indeed, someone was following her.

The thought had only just assumed shape inside her head as the first sloppily executed curse whooshed past, discharging its power in a portrait at the far end of the corridor whose occupant instantly began to scream bloody murder. Alarmed she began to run, turned around a corner, and took cover behind the statue of a medievally dressed wizard that looked rather grimly. Carefully she risked peeking around the corner of her hideout. She heard footsteps approaching, and then Hermione could spot three hooded figures, speeding along the corridor, heading right for her statue, Another curse zipped her by, missing her head by several inches.

Whoever these hooded figures were, they aimed without having a target and probably just tried to hit her somehow. Hermione didn't waste another second. The instinct that her time in war had brought with it took care of her thought and conduct. Still, she stayed reasonable enough to not use any too harmful spells. She wasn't on the battlefield Hogwarts would turn into 50 years in the future and these were no aspiring death eaters. Riddle would never have tolerated such sloppy wand handling anyway.

Her whispered Langlock forced one of her persecutors to his knees with a choked gurgle. That one was definitely unable to utter any further kind of spell. Unless he was capable of performing non-verbal magic, though that seemed rather unlikely judging from the way he was now frantically reaching for his throat. The next persecutor became a victim of her Incarcerus. Bound with ropes he wriggled on the ground, screaming loudly. Now, there was only one opponent left. Unfortunately, whoever hid under that hood wasn't nearly as untalented as his friends, and Hermione understood with growing discontent that she had underestimated him. To make matters worse he seemed to know where she hid. She jumped out from behind the statue. Just in time to avoid getting hit by a furiously screeched Furunculus. In the meantime her persecutor escaped her leg-locker curse by leaping aside. In the blink of an eye he had raised his wand again.

"Densau-"

There was a loud cracking sound and her opponent's wand flew through the air. Spinning past Hermione it landed straight in the hands of none other than Tom Riddle.

"What is going on here?", he bellowed, visibly enraged. Behind him another person approached the scenery: Charlotte Beauchamp, a Ravenclaw and this year's head girl. Hermione lowered her wand.

"I was attacked.", she said truthfully, hoping that Riddle would fulfill his duty as a head boy sincerely enough now that Beauchamp was with him.

Riddle first focused on the person he'd disarmed himself, then his gaze landed on the one still wriggling on the ground before it swept over to the third that was uttering excited mmmph sounds in the semidarkness.

"That isn't true, Tom. She ambushed us, started to cast curse after curse. You can see the evidence. Look what she did to Maisie and Joanne! Does it look like an attack we started? I had to defend myself. Otherwise, she would have hurt me.", Hermione's unscathed opponent piped up.

Since the hood didn't hide her face anymore, she could easily identify the girl as Catherine Linton. A fifth-year student from Gryffindor. Hermione bit her lip, shocked to the core. She had been attacked by a member of her own house!

Trying to keep from crying and feeling utterly betrayed, she turned to Riddle. The young man took a deep breath while scrutinizing Catherine intently. Hermione's heart began to beat wildly and almost painfully against her rib cage. What decision would he make? Seconds passed…

"Follow me, Warrington!"

The iciness inherent in his voice made her fear the worst.

"We'll see the headmaster immediately. You are not allowed to hex, let alone curse your fellow students. Accordingly you'll have to suffer whatever consequences headmaster Dippet will decide on."

She stared at him, absolutely flabbergasted. Her mouth opened, but there was no sound.

Lost in thought Edith Walsh stared at the opened book. Normally she liked to read, but right now she just couldn't find the leisure or the concentration to spend her time on the novel. The meaning of the printed words didn't reach her mind, even after reading them for a second time. With a frustrated noise she closed the book and put it on her bedside table. It made no sense. The attempt to distract herself with something that normally brought her joy had failed miserably. All that just because her thoughts kept coming back to that stupid cow Warrington. The girl had humiliated her in front of all her friends and thus had ensured that some of them didn't even want to talk to her anymore. Edith chewed angrily on her lower lip. She hadn't even defended herself, had been too bewildered to react with a counterattack in time. Her best friend had vowed to take revenge on the stupid bitch in her name, but Edith didn't think that she would succeed. Even though Maisie kept her word and left for her vendetta half an hour ago. What could someone like Maisie accomplish? Nothing!

Stressed out she cracked her fingers. Her jealousy would one day get her into hot water, but how could she stop being jealous if Tom seemed to watch that stupid girl whenever she entered the Great Hall while he didn't even pay attention to her, Edith. From the moment she first laid eyes on him, Tom had captured her heart. A fate, as she was well aware, she shared with many other girls at school. However, Tom had treated all these girls, including herself, with politeness and an unfortunately obvious disinterest concerning any kind of relationship, and she had been okay with that. If Tom wasn't interested in any girl, she would still have a chance to draw his attention. All the worse that he had begun to pay attention to Gillian Warrington now. Attention that should have been reserved for her, Edith. She had watched him for years without him noticing. She could see when something interested him, when he was happy, when he didn't feel well. She knew each and every small trait of his character, and it infuriated her that Warrington, the insipid newcomer, was capable of catching his gaze.

She had had to do something. If Warrington's reputation was ruined, Tom would stop obsessing over her, wouldn't he? Especially if he heard what sheprobably thoughtof him. So Edith had waited. She used the rumours about Warrington as her base and jumped at the first opportunity without even thinking about possible consequences. Edith groaned inwardly. Warrington had branded her as a liar. What if Tom heard about it?

"You won't believe what happened."

Edith turned her head towards the source of the voice that had interrupted her train of thoughts. In the doorway of the girls' dormitory stood Maisie, a mischievous glint in her eyes and a broad smile on her plump face. Gleefully cackling the girl stepped forward, ignored the interposed questions of the other girls present in the dormitory, and sat on the edge of Edith's bed. She leaned over and began to whisper into Edith's ear so that the other girls had no chance of eavesdropping.

"Tom Riddle sent Warrington to the headmaster. He wasn't convinced when she swore she had been attacked. So, our vendetta might didn't go as planned, but nonetheless the result exceeds the expectations."

For one or two seconds Edith simply stared at Maisie in confusion. Then, all of a sudden, she pulled her into a tight embrace. Maisie had really done it. Maisie had revenged her.

Riddle didn't speak. Riddle didn't even deem her worthy of his attention. Hermione had to practically hurry after him. Inwardly she was boiling with rage.

"You labour under the misapprehension that I'm the culprit, Tom.", she insisted on her point of view for a second time.

"I didn't attack those girls. They attacked me."

Fed up with the bugger's dismissive behaviour she stretched out her hands, caught his arm and surprisingly enough, succeeded in stopping him. He angrily shook her hands off, but to her relief he didn't walk on.

"To my knowledge I'm not mistaken, Gillian.", he snapped icily.

"Those girls were afraid of you. It was evident."

"Afraid? Of course they were afraid, but not of me. They were firmly convinced that you would hold them at fault for the attack, and rightly so. Didn't you notice that they were hooded?"

Riddle's eyes widened in disbelief.

Hermione blinked, confused by his reaction.

"Hooded? None of those girls were hooded, Gillian."

Hermione was shocked at his answer. He'd seen it with certainty, he just couldn't claim that…

Oh, but he could… He was Tom Riddle. And he could do whatever he wanted.

They walked on in silence. Hermione glumly shook her head. There was no sense in convincing Tom of the truth. The git had made his decision, and if this was his revenge for what she had done during Potions she should be glad that it had only resulted in her having to see the headmaster. The Lord Voldemort that she knew wouldn't have gotten her off that lightly.

However, she was a new student that didn't belong to his set of sycophants who he could torture as much as he pleased. If he were to take the revenge that he truly and undoubtedly had in mind, it would mean trouble. Whereas no one would hold up an almost unverifiable misdetermination against the head boy.

Utterly lost in her thoughts Hermione nearly reacted too late to the strange feeling in her head. It was as if boney fingers were reaching for her mind, trying to leaf through it like the pages of an open book. The scales fell from her eyes. This bastard had gotten inside her head! Horrified she noticed that she didn't have enough time to close her mind to him while simultaneously managing to think of something insignificant. Hurriedly she took the first image that went through her head as her emergency plan…

Riddle was leaning on the wall next to the gargoyle that guarded the way to the headmaster's office entrance. To his discontent he hadn't been able to hand Warrington over to Dippet himself. Instead, it had been Dumbledore who had to attend to the matter. Dippet had been in the middle of a meeting with a representative of the school board and thus couldn't receive him. Riddle gnashed his teeth. Dumbledore would never appropriately punish a student of his house! Whatever the old fool decided on today, it wouldn't make Tom happy. Which brought him to the next unpleasant circumstance: The damn bint hadn't only felt him in her head, no, she had actually used Occlumency on him! He'd only tried to validate the rumours that had reached his ears. He'd wanted to know if the bint had truly assumed the right to regard him as some lowlife that didn't deserve to breath the same air as her. Tom clenched his teeth so tightly that his lower jaw began to hurt.

Instead of an answer he'd been met with even more questions.

Whatever she had thought of as he'd entered her head, it had flooded his mind with images he hadn't been able to make use of.

That strange, black clad figure, the scared boy clinging to some kind of scaffold. Lights blinking in the background, a shaft that separated the black giant and the boy, the bizarre breathing sound whenever the strange figure inhaled. Repeatedly he heard their words in his head, like an echo that bounced uncheckedly off the walls of a cave, its intensity increasing, seemingly without ever dying down.

"He told me enough. He told me you killed him!"

"No. I am your father!"*

*Quotes taken from: George Lucas: Star Wars. The Empire Strikes Back, 1980.