Author's note: (Kind of) explicit content ahead.
:::
He knew Hermione wasn't telling him the truth when she said they would go together to see 'the brewing revolution in the countryside.' The girl was buying time. The girl was also a terrible liar. After he questioned her, she literally gulped, her large eyes getting wider as he looked into them. It would be have been so easy just to take the information from her. But something told him Hermione was an Occlumens, or at least would feel the intrusion. He had to play nice, though he had done a shite job of it so far. He had to rein in his temper, be the calm and collected head boy he was known to be.
He was amused when Malfoy practically ran from the library muttering about Quidditch. He was the newly crowned captain and would probably run the team raw that night if only to quell his frustrations over Lystra Alsaesser. Tom noticed her on his way in, positioned in clear view of Malfoy's usual table and trying not to stare. Malfoy couldn't deny his interest in the girl, he was surprisingly friendly with her until fifth year when she grew breasts and made an appearance at the Yule ball in a gown that could only be described as scandalous. Since then, the two were helpless, too helpless to even choose different spots in the library though they always ended up unable to concentrate and spent half their time shooting not so subtle glances at the other.
After leaving the library, Tom returned to the head dorms where Minerva greeted him coldly. He smiled to himself. Over the past few years the annoyingly perceptive Gryffindor had made it clear to him that she didn't approve of his habit of 'preying on innocent girls.' No doubt she was currently moping about his pending relationship with her newest transfer friend.
"Minerva," he called, leaning on his door frame. "My book." She turned around, flustered.
"What do you want, Riddle?" She asked, "Your book?" her piercing eyes dared him to challenge her. She was one of the few people at the school who he could stand toe to toe with, who would dare provoke him.
"The books on the second shelf are mine." He said, looking at the squat mahogany bookcase in their shared common room, the fire flickered off of the dark wood and the glittering golden lettering on the books. "I would hardly think Dippet would stock such tomes as Deathe, Undead and Mortal Transfigurations in the Head dorms." He had been hoping to see if she would take an interest in one of his dark texts, and was surprised to see she picked that one. Dumbledore would have been scandalized, considering he was trying to fight Tom's independent transfiguration study. But Minerva, though she dutifully enforced school rules, was not the type to go running to teachers for every little thing. She often surprised him over the years by more often than not turning her head on his antics. They had a kind of unspoken truce, each turning a blind eye to the other's misdeeds. It was, after all, the foundation of diplomacy. The girl would make a formidable politician one day, but something told him she had no interest. You didn't read about transfiguring inferi if you dreamed of a future of luncheons and press conferences.
"I'm using it." She said through gritted teeth, "You need it now?"
"Yes, I just fancied some light bedtime reading." He smiled as she turned into her bedroom and with a flick or her wand the book flew into the common room straight at the fire place. She slammed the door behind her. Tom was just quick enough to save the book, and Minerva was lucky that she was safely behind her door and missed the brief flash of red in his eyes. She had no idea the trouble he went through to procure the text, and to see it thrown about so carelessly – well, he couldn't be too mad, he thought. She was trying to get back at him for what was essentially a useless show of power. He had no need to read it at that moment.
He sighed, he really was bored. This was a problem. They were barely into the first month of school.
He glared at her closed door before turning into his own room. He enjoyed provoking her if only because she blamed him for things he didn't even do. So what if he was a sort of leader? People were worse off without one.
And then the girls...
He did occasionally feel a twinge of remorse for how he may have treated them, if only because they were never discreet about their heartbreak. Mostly it annoyed him. They were all so naive. They couldn't see how it was never about love and all about power: how he could have someone so firmly in his grasp with a smile, a compliment, a lingering glance. And if a girl dared try to pretend she was over him, all it took was another small comment to make her melt, to see that he could still have her whenever he wanted, thus satisfying his carnal needs and ego in one fell swoop.
It was a cycle where he would find himself again and again swooping in on a guileless someone with a pretty face, who made a witty remark, who captivated him somehow and made him think she was almost an equal...until said girl would open her mouth and make him want to fake a case of spattergroit. But it was getting boring. Repetitive. Six years at Hogwarts and endless, mindless girls and he often decided he would rather read than spend any time with a female. Malfoy had made the case at the end of their sixth year that they spend their seventh year celibate, focusing on their studies and dominating the future of the wizarding world. They had agreed.
But June was so very long ago. In between, Tom had had a long summer of blissful solitude. The return to Hogwarts was jarring, the hordes of students, the girls who showed too much leg and those who buttoned up too much all provoking him the same and with it came a sort of hunger that heightened as the days passed and he still had not slept with anyone.
He wasn't sure if he really believed that Hermione could be an agent of Grindelwald. It seemed the most likely explanation. He thought about it often in the short time since he had met her, going back and forth, wondering again if he was just bored. Though the possibility of having access to a powerful dark wizard, one that Dumbledore himself seemed to fear, was so tantalizing he could not shake it. He could learn from him, take over the wizarding world by his side and when he had finally usurped all the knowledge he could: kill him and take his place.
And the witch in question? Sure, she was a new plaything, had already in her short time at the school displayed promising skill and knowledge of magic, and was quite beautiful, but that did not alone explain how he felt drawn to her. And though she denied it, he could tell she felt something too. Hardly an emotional connection it was...something more animalistic.
He shed his school robes, leaving his wand on the dresser, he wandlessly steamed the fabric and hung them in a wardrobe and walked naked into the bathroom off his impeccably clean and frighteningly sparse bedroom. He felt powerful without clothes on. Though his Slytherin robes did give him a feeling of prestige that he cherished over his hated muggle clothes, there was something about being able to walk across your room naked that he liked. Sometimes he would fantasize about walking down the great hall naked, nothing but him and raw power emanating from his skin, his wand in one hand, his horcrux in the other, arms raised as the school bowed down to him, crowned him master of the wizarding world. He stalked to the bathroom wearing nothing but the Gaunt ring, imagining his room as the great hall, and at the end of it, Hermione there, on her knees, her eyes full of desire.
He studied himself in the long mirror in the bathroom, his towering frame, cold eyes set in a face that made him so strangely likeable, he had to laugh thinking about it. He looked at his broad shoulders, the pale skin and the line of black hair that trailed from his stomach down to an already hard member. Turning on the shower he continued his thoughts about a curly haired witch. He entered the stream of hot water and touched himself, with each stroke imagining her there with him, thinking of how she looked smirking down her nose at Malfoy over his stupid French fairytale, wondering how she would sound if he could touch her, if it were her hands wrapped around him; thinking of her singular fury as she pelted Ranke and her lot with enough dark spells to make his head spin; as she looked defiantly and somewhat tremulously at him as he questioned her about her supposed master, Grindelwald.
:::
Hermione found herself paired with Tom in Potions. She was confused when she saw Oliver Wood and Minerva sitting together and even more confused when the future Dark Lord took Wood's usual place. She gave him a quizzical look as he sat down next to her.
"Didn't you realize?" he said, brushing his hair from his face, "Since the N.E.W.T. level Potions and Herbology classes are complementary, we are keeping our same pairings. Only reason we didn't follow our previous potions pairings in Herbology is because of the little accident you caused last week, it caused some more students to drop the two classes." So Hermione was stuck with Tom for the rest of the year in two highly involved classes. She grimaced as she unpacked her books. "Just us four," he continued and then quirked his head at Malfoy and Nott. "Boys, I wonder if we have found our fourth musketeer?" Malfoy rolled his eyes.
Indeed the two pairs joined together to start making a potion that would not be completed until the start of winter break. It was a simple blood replenishing potion, but an ancient version of the potion which, when brewed over the course of multiple moon cycles, instead of the more modern version's hour, created a much stronger result. While the three boys started collecting materials from the supply cabinet and taking notes on the instructions, Hermione appeared with a heavy pewter strainer filled to the brim with dried fireberries.
"Why have you brought them here," said Malfoy, "We have to remove the skins and seeds outside or it will burn the rest of the ingredients, including our books and desks." He moved to levitate the strainer out of the room but Hermione countered his spell angrily, her temper getting the best of her as she was already annoyed at being stuck with the three Slytherins. It fell back over the cauldron with a loud thud that shook their table and the supplies that had been stacked on it, causing everyone in the class to look over at the group with alarm. A few students ducked under their desks. She saw Slughorn flinch violently and knock over a row of empty glass vials on before looking over at the group fearfully, but he could not see anything as Malfoy and Nott was blocking his view of the desk.
"Everything alright?" Slughorn called over nervously, "boys, Miss Payne?"
"Nothing to worry about, exercising extreme caution as always, professor!" Malfoy replied, a fake smile plastered on his face. He turned to Hermione his expression transforming. He opened his mouth, but Hermione cut him off before he could start.
"If you think you're about to give me instructions or possibly even scold me, I will make such a huge scene that we will all be removed from this class." Malfoy glared at her but closed his mouth. "And if I must remind you, I did not cause the accident last week, I did not lift my wand at all in that class." Nott looked on with what Hermione was surprised to see was amusement. She looked at Tom and he raised his hands as if in surrender.
"You don't need to extract the juice outside," she said bossily, "I know a spell. It's a tad bit complicated but I've perfected it over the past year. Look here," she said, and before they could stop her she made several figure eights with her wand and pointed at the pot of berries. "Surtrocainas," she hissed. The dried berries shrivelled up neatly, the liquid rising to cover the skins and just as quickly as it rose, drained into their cauldron.
The boys all froze. Tom quickly looked around in alarm before fixating on her with a strange expression.
"Are you completely unable to function in polite society?" said Malfoy. The usually stone faced Nott, surprised her once again as he covered his mouth as if to hide laughter.
"What?" said Hermione, confused.
Tom raised his eyebrows. "I've never seen anyone use such a violent blood letting spell to extract fruit juice. I've actually never seen anyone use that spell at all. You could literally get sent to Azkaban for using it."
She could feel blood rushing to her ears. She had been out of school for so long she didn't have a good memory of how strict they were at Hogwarts about using certain spells. Of course she had never used it on a person, she hadn't even made that connection for so long, but Tom was quite right. If used on a living being it was just a calmer looking version of Snape's infamous Sectumsempra spell. "Oops." She shrugged sheepishly.
"Oops?" hissed Malfoy, "Are you next going to frolic in the Forbidden Forest to play with the dementors and grindylows? I admit," he choked, looking quite like Lucius Malfoy for a moment as a vein clearly throbbed at his temple, "I am impressed by your control over that spell - but are you bloody serious?"
Nott was shaking with silent laughter now, as if Hermione getting sent to Azkaban was the funniest thing to happen all year. Malfoy shot him a dirty look. Tom looked at the pot grimly, as if he was plotting how to cover up a dead body.
"Look," Tom whispered calmly, levitating the strainer out of the cauldron and into another pewter bowl without holes in it. "let's just discard the skins and seeds and pretend we did it the way were supposed to in the book. We just have to dissolve them with the bluebell flames before putting the ash in the compost so they disintegrate properly."
At that moment, Slughorn arrived, sticking his head in the cauldron and then strainer in only the way a master would, his experience making him seem fearless as he handled potentially dangerous substances. "What an interesting technique, how did you manage to keep the skins so perfectly in tact while extracting the juice? You know we have so many uses for the skins if they're in good condition." He started listing the uses for fireberry skins as the four students looked at him nervously. He looked around at them smiling as they all avoided eye contact, faces taut with worry.
Tom opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off. "I used the Sutrocainas spell professor," she blurted out, "I apologize. The boys just told me it's illegal here, I swear I didn't know."
"Oh dear," said Slughorn, looking quickly around to see if any other students heard, and appearing like he would rather not have known that information. "Oh dear."
"I used it all the time back home – never on people of course - I didn't think it would be a problem."
"Oh dear," repeated Slughorn, swallowing thickly as he mopped his sweating brow with a handkerchief and staring at Hermione, then the fireberries, then Hermione.
"I can go collect more and use the spell recommended in the text, if you'd like. I don't mind at all." Hermione said, moving to gather the bowl with the discarded skins and seeds. Tom put his hand gently on her arm.
"Don't worry, professor," he said, "We'll dispose of the skins and seeds with bluebell flames and make sure Hermione doesn't do anymore of the casting." Hermione's mouth fell open and she glared at Tom in betrayal.
"Yes m'boy, bluebells. Leave no trace, no trace at all," Slughorn nodded, as if in a trance, and walked away quickly.
The rest of the class progressed without incident, though Hermione noticed curious glances in their direction as the other students, all of whom had left to prepare their potion, trickled back into the classroom, probably wondering why the four students did not venture outside. Hermione also noticed that while many other students had a potion that looked like murky purple water, theirs was a creamy, deep lavender, with a rich aroma wafting off of the top.
Professor MacDougal, the Herbology professor, made an appearance in the potions classroom to see how the NEWT level students had fared with the fireberries they had picked and set out to dry in her last lesson. A tall, heavyset woman with thick graying locks and a perpetually amused expression on her face, she wandered the classroom, peering into students cauldrons, asking questions, ladling out bits of the liquid and feeling the texture of the potion between two fingers.
When Professor MacDougal approached Hermione and Tom's group, they were mostly done with their work. Nott and Malfoy were deep in discussion about something to do with a case their fathers were reviewing on the Wizengamot while Hermione stirred the potion listlessly, trying to avoid looking at Tom who was pretending to finish an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but whose eyes she could feel boring into the side of her head.
MacDougal peered into their cauldron, and slapped Tom on the back in what she probably thought was an amiable gesture, causing him to leave a streak of angry ink blots on his essay. "Alexi!" she trilled, "How did you manage to achieve such a gorgeous lavender hue? I feel like cutting my own arm off just to taste this!"
"Tom," he said very quietly, a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes plastered on his face, and looking like he would also like to cut off her arm. "It's Tom, Professor." Professor MacDougal made no sign that she heard him as she looked almost lovingly at the bubbling cauldron.
Slughorn appeared swiftly at her shoulder, looking nervously into the potion, "These crafty students!" he exclaimed shrilly, "we shouldn't embarrass them with our praise, it looks like they are busy preparing for their next classes, let us leave these overachievers," he said, attempting to pull her toward another group of students. She looked at his hand and then at him with ire. Catching her expression, Slughorn removed his hand, as if burned, and grinned a bit sheepishly.
"Well, if you think that an appropriate use of your class time," she said, disapproval in her voice, and made her way to the next group of students, Slughorn hurrying after her.
"Alexi?" Hermione asked incredulously. Tom did not acknowledge her comment, but grimaced at his essay as he siphoned off the spilled ink.
"She's been calling him that since first year," said Malfoy, not bothering to suppress his glee despite Tom looking up to glare at him, "Apparently he looks just like this Russian student she had once. She either calls him that, or Timothy...or like twenty other names."
Hermione looked at Nott who was strangely still. At least one of the two had some self preservation. It was shocking to see that Tom allowed people to openly make fun of him. This wasn't the Voldemort she was expecting, even though he was just a teenager, he was still a sociopath who had already committed multiple murders. Malfoy continued making fun of Tom by asking him to pass him things and calling him by the wrong name each time. Tom just glowered and silently packed up their supplies. Nott joined Hermione to ladle the base potion into six glass bottles.
When they were done, Tom shoved Nott aside and joined Hermione to bring their potion bottles to the front of the room so that Slughorn could label and store each group's work. She placed her bottles on Slughorn's desk and turned to leave, but Tom grabbed her unceremoniously by the back of her robes and dragged her back. "Hey!" She exclaimed, shoving his hand away. She looked to Slughorn but he was busy levitating the students' bottles into the storage room and noticed nothing. Tom ignored her complaints and grabbed her arm, holding her in place.
"Oh, professor," Tom called out, "Are you still having your first Slug Club party this evening?" Most of the class had cleared out by this time, leaving Tom and Hermione and his two minions waiting in the back.
The professor looked up at what was most likely his favorite student. "Yes! You best not miss it!" he said, delightedly.
"Of course, not for anything," Tom drawled, his tone suddenly warm and charming, "I was wondering, is there any room for a new student? I feel like Hermione here is such an exceptional transfer - I know you've been busy and might not have had the opportunity to notice, but I thought it would be a tragedy to exclude her."
Slughorn's eyes darted to Hermione, as if just realizing she was there. "Oh," he said almost in a moan, eyes darting to the potion they had just deposited on his desk. As Slughorn turned to levitate their potions to the back Hermione took the chance to whisper to Tom while keeping her eyes on Slughorn, "What are you doing? I don't want to go to the Slug club."
"Why not? What are you so busy with tonight?" he murmured into her ear, leaning so close she could feel his breath on her skin. She shivered, her body betraying her. She went to reply that it was none of his bloody business but Slughorn had already turned back to face them.
In the end, Slughorn reluctantly extended an invitation to Hermione after Tom intimated how wonderful and inclusive his professor would seem by inviting one of the new transfer students as the club was full of mostly purebloods, didn't he notice, and didn't he want to present the best pictures for the school, set an example for the other students?
Tom had to drag Hermione from the Potions classroom after Slughorn mildly suggested she leave her wand in her dorms. The professor, as usual, distracted with his work did not notice the murderous expression on the Gryffindor's face or the ungentlemanly way she was removed from his room.
They had a Herbology class that same day, and despite the unfortunate pairings, Hermione could already see the class and the Herbology professor becoming one of her favorites. Professor MacDougal specialized in many different subjects, potions, charms, arithmancy, and divination, and used Herbology to bring them all together. It was a fascinating take that Hermione had never experienced before. While she liked the professor, she also feared for the woman's life. She remembered every student's name but Tom's, calling him Timothy, Alexi, Warren, and a long list of other names, each having no discernible attachment to the last.
Despite her fears for her professor, it gave Hermione deep sense of joy to see the thinly suppressed rage at the teacher calling him names. She turned to Nott and Malfoy and saw once again Nott strangely still while Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows struggling not to laugh, tears welling in his eyes.
"Timothy!" called the Professor, from the front of the class. "Please come get me this pot! It's too delicate to levitate."
"Tom," he muttered getting up.
As he reached to a high shelf for what was indeed an absurdly ornate flower pot, MacDougal complimented him on being such a tall, helpful young man. Tom's expression as impassive as ever, he pulled the pot off of the shelf, and began to place it on the table nearby, "No Lorimer! On my desk, please." At that there was a loud bang from Malfoy and Nott's table. Hermione looked over to see Nott on the ground, a terracotta pot smashed on his chest as he shook with silent laughter.
:::
Hermione walked to dinner in the Great Hall with Minerva, laughing about Herbology. She was in a better mood than she had been since she could remember. Perhaps the class had reminded her that the Dark Lord was still just a boy and Hogwarts was full of good people. A bubble of happiness was growing in her chest. One which quickly deflated as Minnie mentioned Slug Club later that night.
Hermione slumped onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, putting food on her plate barely touching it. "Riddle, that twat, guilted Slughorn into inviting me this evening."
Minerva raised her eyebrows as she shoveled food onto her own plate. "Consider yourself lucky. If you aren't famous or well connected, it's near impossible to get a golden ticket. Sluggy only picks the shiniest. He didn't give me an invitation until fifth year when Dumbledore nominated me for some transfiguration award, I got to go to America and meet lots of brains from all over and when I came back, there was my first note requesting my presence at Slug Club."
Hermione glowered into her soup.
"You don't have to go," Minerva continued, eyeing her, "but refusing an invitation like that, after the Ice King himself had to pull some strings for you - I wouldn't recommend it. You're already on thin ice as far as Hogwarts politics goes."
"Fine line?" Interjected Lou through a mouthful of beans and potatoes, "You've blasted down the boundaries of decency my dear! And I'm thrilled that I've started on this journey with you."
"Potus threatened a month's detention for that stunt you goaded us into," added Leo, grinning broadly, cutting his steak into tiny pieces and taking delicate bites. "But Dumbledore talked him down, he likes to win Quidditch matches, you see. Speaking of, I owe you a broom – You better collect it fast. All the seventh year Gryffindors have been eyeing it."
"How much detention did you end up getting," Hermione asked guiltily.
"None!" Lou practically shouted in excitement, spraying potatoes as Soraya grimaced next to him, Audrey and Peumona crinkled their noses and shielded their plates. Lou continued, oblivious to his audience, "But we have quidditch practice every night this week!" He patted Hermione on the back, "couldn't do it without you!"
Minerva narrowed her eyes at Hermione, "what does that mean?"
Hermione grimaced. She had forgotten that she agreed to give them homework for a week. She only shared two classes with the twins so she didn't feel too bad, but she wasn't sure if she should test McGonagall's tolerance with this one. "I just said I'd help them study Minnie, nothing to fuss about."
"Yeah!" said Lou, winking exaggeratedly at Hermione as Minerva's lips became thin.
Slug ClubHermione wore her travelling cloak and brought Alphard's broom to Slug Club, it was a balmy evening but there was a promise of cold in the wind. She was hoping to sneak off to Hogsmeade after making a brief appearance. The first club of the year was a casual affair held in the largest greenhouse near the Herbology classroom. She entered the crystal doors and deposited her cloak and broom near the entrance, feeling fresh and windswept from having taken the broom for a test ride around the Quidditch pitch.
Looking around at the space, she was quite taken aback by the beauty. The high domed ceilings were made transparent, giving a clear view of the night sky; the Hogwarts castle, lit from below, shone in stark relief against it, looking as stately and handsome as ever. There were floating orbs in the open space where MacDougal would sometimes hold classes but now held the handful of Slughorn's favorite students. The orbs gave off soft yellow lights but left the space in semidarkness so as not to disturb the thick foliage that lined the winding greenhouse paths that led to the dark shadowy far end. There was a table with grapes, cheeses, meat pies, and large glass decanter filled mead.
She picked up a goblet, and the decanter rose into the air and tipped over to fill it. Taking a sip of the honey mead, she shivered slightly in pleasure, it was deliciously cold and only slightly sweet. She sipped her drink and looked around the greenhouse. Professor MacDougal was the only other professor present. She noticed MacDougal deep in discussion with Slughorn and a tall, wiry Hufflepuff who was gesturing at a towering plant behind them. It had broad leaves that shot straight into the air. The green striped stalks ended at pointed tips that were oozing an amber colored substance. MacDougal was nodding thoughtfully and looking at the plant, her head tilted while Slughorn's overly zealous smile made him look like he'd already had a few glasses.
Hermione was shocked to see Hagrid arrive, looking rather awkward and hanging on the edge, nibbling on an entire wheel of cheese and small mountain of grapes. Minerva introduced them, glossing over the grizzly story of expulsion. Hermione beamed with finally being able to meet the young Hagrid, and they got to talking about magical creatures and he even invited the two over that weekend to help him brush the fuzzy Loping Bakaris.
It was probably due to the excitement at talking to an old friend that made Hermione forget that the crystal goblets kept refilling themselves, and so she was unsure of how much she had drank by the time she found herself between Malfoy and Riddle as Slughorn bored them with a long list of people he thought the promising young students should meet until he mentioned someone that made Hermione almost spit out her drink. Instead she snorted a bit out her nose so it dribbled down her chin and she mopped it up quickly, though not before she saw Malfoy wrinkling his nose in distaste. She felt like sticking her tongue out at him.
Recovering, she turned to Tom with wide eyes, "You've met Glinda Hopkirk?" she exclaimed. Hopkirk was a staunch advocate for goblin rights, and a preeminent legal historian. Ginny was having such trouble finding someone with the right texts to start building a case for wand equity. Hopkirk would surely be able to point them in the right direction.
"Met? They're practically old pals by now." Slughorn said merrily. "Tom has been in correspondence with her since last year, she is advising him on an independent study." Hermione was so impressed she had trouble hiding it.
Tom raised his eyebrows. "I can tell her you'd like to speak, sometimes she comes to Hogwarts for tea with Slughorn and I meet her for a chat as well." Hermione beamed. How could young Voldy be interested in someone who cares so much about Goblin rights? A tiny hope expanded in her that maybe a young Riddle had aspirations that had to do with something other than world domination. She shook herself. That was a thought. She put down her goblet and noticed it was still filled to the brim with the amber liquid. She had to leave fast or she would hardly be able to walk, let alone fly. She said her goodbyes, pulled on her travelling cloak and had just grabbed Alphard's broom when Riddle appeared in front of her.
"Let me walk you back to Gryffindor tower, Hermione." He said, grabbing his own cloak and following her out of the greenhouse.
"Well, thank you for the offer, but, I think I'm not going back inside just yet." She mounted the broom and faced Hogsmeade, feeling slightly unsteady. She tried to take off, but couldn't bring herself to kick off into the air. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes to counted to three but couldn't muster the courage. Was she about to repeat Ginny's blunder from the day before? She gripped the wooden handle and looked at Tom with a slightly frightened expression.
"Fear of flying?"
"No," she said, unmounting the wooden death trap. "To be quite frank, I am not sure how much I've drank tonight. Good night, Riddle," she said flippantly, walking towards the gates, the broom in tow. She was level headed, thinking clearly, she reminded herself. She wasn't going to crash into the Weasley's house nor skewer herself on the front gates.
Tom caught up to her again. She sighed, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
"I am happy to leave you to what will surely be an epic reentrance into the castle, but I suppose I have incriminated myself by leaving Slughorn's early and with you. You're now my responsibility." He said.
Hermione scoffed, stopping in her tracks. She was about to tell him off when he added, "and you should be nice to me, now. I don't only have the threat of telling the board of governors about your antics, but isn't there a certain Hopkirk that you're hoping to get in touch with?"
Hermione contemplated him, narrowing her eyes shrewdly as he smiled down at her. "Fine, come along, Alexi." She turned toward the front gates but he spun her around to face him again.
"Very funny, Payne," he said, to her surprise, he actually did look amused. "now it seemed to me like you were hoping to fly down to Hogsmeade village. Why not continue with your original plan."
"If you have not noticed, you half wit, I feel steadier on my feet."
"But walking is so boring," he said, taking the broom from her grasp and examining it with interest. "Where are you heading to anyways?"
"The Hog's Head, just leaving this with the bartender and coming back. A quick trip."
"Well, that's not too far," he said, swinging his leg over the broom. Before Hermione could protest, in one swift movement he pulled her sidesaddle onto the broom and kicked off. Hermione shrieked, one arm on the broom and the other clawing onto his robes. The terror morphed into a controlled, low level panic, but she was too scared to move, to protest. Looking over the lake, as Hogsmeade drew nearer, she felt the notes from a whole new world coming to her head. She imagined Riddle watching the muggle cartoon that she had seen with her cousins when home one winter break. A laugh escaped her mouth.
"Something funny," he said.
"Don't worry about it, Riddle."
"Well since you seem to have composed yourself, would you mind, I can hardly breathe."
She realized she was clutching at his tie so tightly it was probably strangling him.
"Oh," she let go of him, but it caused her to nearly lose balance, she swayed dangerously before Tom grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to him with one hand, the other guiding their flight. She was leaning into him, perhaps more than she needed too, perhaps she was more inebriated than she had thought. She tried not to think of the way he felt so solid and warm, or the way he smelled like fallen leaves and fresh grass. She thought of a red eyed snake faced monster. Or tried to. When he landed in front of the Hog's Head she leapt up as if burned, and didn't make eye contact as she took the broom from him and walked into the Hog's Head to see Aberforth behind the bar in the empty, sullen pub.
"Good evening Hermione," he said cheerfully, "you here for the meeting?"
"Meeting?" asked a smooth voice from behind her. Hermione froze, turning to see the Heir of Slytherin in the doorway looking strangely like Ron after he won a game of Wizard's chess.