Hermione quickly read through the third page of the 'Missive', sighing a deep breath of relief.
You have been provided rudimentary Occlumency shields. It will not protect against a direct, full frontal attack, but it will provide good defence for any passing inspection. Meditate, organise your mind, and discipline your emotions to build on these foundations.
Well, that saved her a massive headache.
Metaphorically, of course, as she still had a physical one from her meeting with Professor Dumbledore.
And wasn't that a real kick in the teeth? Her own Professor felt the need to use Legilimency on her!
He isn't your Professor here, another voice pointed out, and this time it sounded like Ron's. Besides, haven't you learned to approach authority figures with more scepticism by now?
But… it's Dumbledore! Hermione replied, dismayed. He's the most powerful wizard alive!
And he's only mortal, the voice replied in what Hermione had dubbed Ron's 'surprisingly talking sense' tone, and she could almost feel the eye roll. Stop putting people on pedestals, and figure shit out yourself.
Hermione bit her lip in thought. She knew that the inner voice was right, and she knew that if Harry were here, he would be agreeing. As much as Harry loved the old man, he would be the first to take charge and figure something out rather than relying on an authority figure.
But it just wasn't in her nature!
Whenever she had a problem, the first thing she would do is go to her parents, or her teachers! As long as she could remember, her mum and dad had emphasised the importance of 'letting the grown ups handle it', and Hermione had kept to that principle steadfastly.
And what have adults done for me over the years? Harry's voice asked her coldly.
That… that's a good point , Hermione thought weakly.
Just because adults have been there for you, does not mean they're reliable, Harry's voice said matter of factly, his voice still cold. Or do you want me to list all the times they've let us down.
There's McGonagall in first year, with the Philosopher's Stone, Ron's voice listed. Lockhart, Snape, McGonagall again-
No! Hermione cut the voice off, gripping the Hospital sheets. No need to remind me, thanks.
When Madam Fletcher came by an hour later, Hermione had already committed 'the Missive' to memory, as well as the letter and transcript addressed to Dumbledore. Apparently, 'Fortune' had also given her sharper instincts. She had felt insulted at first, but then compared her own intuition to Harry's, and was grateful for the little bump up. She did well with logic, with set rules and pre-set guidelines. Unfortunately, thinking on the fly with limited information was not one of her strong suits.
The first thing she did in that hour was to write a To-Do list. It took her all of fifteen minutes; with the limited information she had, there was only so much she could plan for.
I need to go to the Library .
Another fifteen minutes passed, and Hermione settled her resolve.
I definitely need to go to the Library , she thought as she twiddled her thumbs. She began to count the number of arches in the Infirmary, then the number of beds, then the number of bookshelves-
Eventually, she had managed to tick off the first thing on her list.
Check, she thought as Madam Fletcher placed a bowl of soup and a few slices of bread on her bedside table.
She ate quickly, mentally scanning the rest of her list for the fiftieth time.
Find the Prefect and thank them. Talk to Tom Riddle - how to do this without raising suspicion? Save Myrtle? Save Hagrid? - GET RID OF ARAGOG Research 'Isaiah', 'Time', 'Fate', and 'Fortune' - check history books first. Find housing for the summer. Decide on NEWTs. Find out who Elizabeth Welch and Winky Roland Crocket are.
She had an insane number of questions on who - or what - exactly 'Isaiah' was, but that was going to have to wait until afterwards. Figuring out what to do with Riddle's homicidal tendencies was her priority, unfortunately.
A flash of an unidentifiable colour appeared before her, and Hermione groaned as a piece of paper fell onto her lap, just in front of the tray holding her food.
Just because it's not a fixed event, doesn't mean you have to change it.
Hermione stared at the simple note, wondering exactly how they knew what she was thinking- How did they 'gift' her Occlumency shields? How did they drop a note off to her when she was behind some of the strongest wards in Britain?
And what did it mean? That she didn't have to interfere? That it was up to her discretion whether to get involved or not…? It was an awful amount of responsibility on her shoulders, they could not have meant that!
She was getting a headache, and getting nowhere.
With her list more or less complete, Hermione settled in for a quiet evening of counting stone floor bricks.
The next day, she set her plans in motion.
"Excuse me, Madam Fletcher," she asked politely to the woman handing her the awful potions she had to drink to heal, "But do you know who brought me to the Infirmary?"
"Of course, dear!" the Matron replied. "He's coming to visit you after breakfast, in fact! Seeing as it's a Saturday, he should be here soon, actually…" She trailed off, looking towards the door.
Sure enough, not five seconds later, the door cracked open, and a tall boy with green lining on his robes strode into the Hospital Wing. Hermione absent-mindedly noticed his attractive face, but she was more focussed on his uniform.
Lord, that looks stuffy, was her first thought.
At least he knows how to tie a proper Windsor knot, was her second.
"Good morning, Madam Fletcher," the boy said in a melodious voice, an upper class lilt to his words. He came to a stop a few metres from her bed, his tall frame casting a long shadow behind him. "I hope I find you well today?"
Hermione watched with mild disdain on her face as Madam Fletcher giggled .
"Good morning to you too, dear!" she replied, and to Hermione's everlasting disgust, she had a blush high on her cheeks. "I'll leave you two to it! Just remember to say goodbye before you leave!"
"Of course, ma'am," the boy nodded back, his polite smile never wavering, even as the Matron batted her lashes at him as she left. The boy turned to her, and Hermione noticed his neat dark hair and tidy cloak, all finished off with a shiny pin with a glinting P on it. "You must be Miss Graves," he said, reaching forward with a hand. Hermione quickly tried to clear her face, but going by his amused smirk, she had failed to hide her contempt towards the Matron.
"Yes! Hello!" she said quickly, reaching forward herself. Before she could shake his hand, he had turned her hand in his own, before leaving a polite kiss on her knuckles. Right , she thought with a light blush, different decade. "I heard that I have you to thank!" she said after pulling her hand back, trying to discreetly wipe her hand on the sheets. He was a stranger, and she didn't appreciate his saliva drying on her skin, thank you very much. Even if he did place a very chaste kiss.
"I suppose so," he replied good naturedly, his eyes creasing as his smile widened. Funnily enough, his eyes were flat, similar to a shark- "Tom Riddle, at your service."
Hermione froze.
Then she moved again.
She smiled back at him tightly, even as her mind spun quickly over all the information she knew.
Myrtle- June 13th tomorrow- He found me- Could have died- Did this affect his plans-?
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Riddle," Hermione replied, somewhat stiffly.
You're Lord Voldemort! she wanted to yell. She wanted to take her wand, press it against his jugular, and end this before it even started-
"And yours," Riddle replied, and boy was he laying the charm on thick . He even had fake sympathy on his face, his brows drawn in 'concern'. "How are you feeling? If I recall correctly, you had a rather serious injury."
Now that Hermione knew who he was, she couldn't look past his pure sociopathy. As good of an actor as he was, he was only human. And right now, every cell in her body was telling her to leave, to run , because this was a predator-
And he was clearly fishing for information!
"I'm feeling peachy, thank you for asking," Hermione replied politely. She couldn't help the hand that reached up to touch where she felt the scar. The damage was mostly internal, so she didn't have a large scar, at least. Not like how it had been right after she was injured. She looked up just in time to see a greedy glint in Riddle's dull blue, almost grey eyes, and she mentally scoffed. "And no," she said bluntly, "I don't know the spell that was cast on me."
She saw the flicker of surprise, before it was overtaken by faux-concern.
"Oh, that's not why I'm asking," he replied smoothly. "I'm sorry if I came across so callous, but really, I'm just here to ensure your health is as good as can be."
She almost believed him.
Instead, she just smiled politely.
"Is there anything else I can help with, Mr Riddle?" she asked.
He seemed taken aback by her frankness, but he smiled nonetheless.
"No, nothing to worry yourself over." He straightened his perfectly straight robes, his charming smile fixed on his face. "I'll leave you to rest, then," he said, and with a small nod, he turned on his heel-
"Wait," she called after him, and Lord, why the hell did I just do that?
"Yes?" he responded, turning back. Hermione once again regarded him, scrutinising his politely confused face, checking his neat robes down to his shining shoes. She looked back up, and noted that he had a straight nose, high cheekbones and defined, dark brows.
"Do you happen to have any books in that bag of yours?" she asked eventually, with a sigh. "I've only been awake here for less than a day, and I'm already losing my sanity from boredom."
A soft noise left his mouth, and Hermione was floored to realise that he was laughing.
Granted, it was clearly a practised laugh, but still.
"I'm afraid I only have a book on Matrices and Advanced Numerology," Riddle replied apologetically, shrugging his lithe shoulders softly.
Bullshit , Hermione thought. I know a fellow bookworm when I see one. You just want to test me.
"That's perfect!" she replied truthfully, a small smile playing on her lips. It widened when she noticed his surprise. "Arithmancy is easily my favourite subject."
"Really?" he asked, his tone curious, and surprisingly exempt of condescending disbelief. "Not many people take Arithmancy, let alone enjoy it."
"I'm not most people, Mr Riddle," Hermione replied easily.
"Perhaps not," he conceded just as easily, taking a few steps closer towards her bed. He removed the thick hardback from his bag, his eyes boring into her. Hermione resisted the urge to squirm, meeting his gaze head on stubbornly instead. "Take good care of this, Miss Graves. I will be most displeased if I discover that it has been damaged in your possession."
Hermione nodded once, her mouth set in a determined line. "Of course. I take good care of my books, I promise."
Riddle looked at the neat stacks of parchment, the carefully ordered bottles on her bedside table, and smirked slightly. "I can see that." He placed his book carefully on the shelf beneath the main table, bending his knees to reach down. "I will come back to collect it in a few days?" he asked in an inquisitive tone, looking up from where he was still crouched.
"You can come back sooner, if you want," Hermione replied with a shrug as he straightened up. "I'll probably be done with it by tonight or tomorrow morning." At his raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "I wasn't kidding about the boredom thing."
"I'll come back tomorrow morning then," he smiled. "In the meantime, I wish you a speedy recovery."
"Thank you, Mr Riddle," Hermione said. "For your initial help when I arrived, for the book, and for the ten minutes of interesting company."
"You're very welcome, Miss Graves. Good day." With that final greeting and a short, well-practised wave, he walked away from her. Hermione watched his tall frame weave through the people in the room, waving and greeting people as he did. She couldn't help the scoff coming out of her mouth, watching with raised brows as he played the Perfect Prefect immaculately.
She looked away just before he left, reaching down for the book he left behind. She stroked the spine of the book reverently, her fingers tracing the gold lettering carefully. She cracked the book open to the first page, her eyes scanning for any clues on Mr Mysterious, or the real owner of the book. She knew for a fact that Riddle was a penniless orphan, so he didn't have the kind of disposable income needed to buy first hand copies of expensive, rare hardback books. Arithmancy books were relatively scarce, especially advanced books. And this hefty, five-hundred page book would easily cost fifteen galleons in the nineties.
Aha! she thought triumphantly. There, on the copyrights page, was a simple line printed beneath the publisher's name.
This edition was printed exclusively for the Malfoy Estate.
I knew it, Hermione thought smugly, a small grin on her face. Hm, I wonder if Malfoy lent Riddle the book, or if it mysteriously disappeared … I guess I'll never know.
With that mystery solved, she moved onto the actual contents of the book, settling in for a relaxing day of reading.
Maybe I can convince Madam Fletcher to let me go to the Library…
AN (from Ao3):
So they've met! I hope you liked her initial reaction to Tom/Voldy-shorts.
I am once again using her inner voice (Harry and Ron) to speed up her decision-making process, and abusing italics along the way ahaha
I'm uploading this chapter so soon after the first two because of an ask someone sent on my Tumblr, as well as all of your comments! They really motivate me, and I have no self-control!