Chapter 1

"May I help you with that, Madam Granger?"

Hermione stills. The hairs on the back of her neck curl and the stepladder gives a strange creak under her feet.

She did not hear him come up behind her, but then, she never hears him. Unlike most of the students who spend time in the library but do not heed the strict rules, he is always unfailingly quiet and polite. Almost too polite.

Hermione glances briefly over her shoulder in acknowledgement. The lean and handsome boy in front of her has got his hands behind his back in a picture of solicitude.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Riddle. You may return to your work."

She flicks her wand wordlessly and the heavy tomes slide back on the shelves above her head, while a few others float down in a neat pile on the trolley.

"I don't mind helping. In fact, I quite enjoy it. Besides, I needed a break from studying."

His tone is just the right mix of unctuous and respectful. His eyes are lowered modestly to the stepladder, though she can tell he is observing her closely.

Hermione suddenly feels self-conscious about her ankle-length woolen skirt, which at the best of times would be a prim and matronly article of clothing, but which under his gaze feels like a flimsy piece of gauze.

She steps down from the ladder and assumes a very polite but distant tone. "Much as I appreciate your consideration, Mr. Riddle, I am quite capable of finishing here. If you feel that you require a break, I suggest calling it a night and retiring to your common room."

Please do, in fact, she thinks, or wishes, to be more accurate.

It's not that Tom Riddle isn't the perfect little gentleman, but Hermione cannot help feeling uneasy around him. No other seventeen year-old is like him: so perfectly controlled and intensely devoted to his persona. In the weeks she's come to know him, she has had the unjustifiable yet distinct impression that there is something beyond these irreproachable manners. Not just the ambition of a young man who wishes to ingratiate himself with the staff, but something harder to pin down, something stranger.

Tom Riddle's face breaks into a sinuous smile. "Oh, I could not possibly retire so early. One can hardly think in the common room. It's so much more pleasant and civilized here."

Hermione gives him a cool smile in return. Yes, the Slytherin Head Boy is often seen spending time in the library, but never really studying. No, she has noticed that the books he is most preoccupied with have little to do with the Seven Year curriculum, and more to do with arcane magical knowledge, some of it quite obscure.

"Please, let me take the last row," he insists, taking a step forward. "It's the least I could do."

Hermione pauses. She could tell him off, properly this time, but she doesn't feel up to it. He is a very well-regarded young man in the school and Head Boy, to boot. All the professors dote on him, with only a few exceptions. Headmaster Dippet himself has only words of praise. She cannot afford to step out of line, not when Professor Dumbledore went to so much trouble to secure her this position. As a Muggleborn, Hermione's choices were to return to the war-ridden Muggle world and find a regular job of some sort, or try to find a place in the magical world where her blood status was not under the Ministry's scrutiny. Returning to Hogwarts was the next logical step. When Irma Pince, the former librarian, died of a heart attack, Dumbledore wrote to her suggesting the position. Hermione could only be grateful.

He won't be here next year, she thinks, looking up at the handsome Slytherin.

She gives in. "All right, then. Thank you, Mr. Riddle."

He steps forward, wand raised. "Please, will you call me Tom?"

Hermione blinks. "No, certainly not."

Her affronted tone and the quickness of her reply make him smile. She, unlike him, has a harder time keeping herself in check.

"My apologies," he murmurs. "I did not mean to be too familiar."

Hermione forces herself not to scowl.

He begins shelving the books without another word. His wordless magic is almost as smooth as hers.

Hermione watches him for a moment. Then she moves past him.

"Is it true that you have read almost all of the books in this library?" he asks, before she can disappear behind another bookshelf.

Hermione gives him a surprised look.

"Why, who told you that, Mr. Riddle?"

"Oh, one hears things. You used to be a student here, didn't you, Miss?" His expression is perfectly innocent.

Hermione stands a little straighter. Not that it helps a great deal. Of the two, she unfortunately looks younger. But she knew that one of the challenges of her position would be her age. A twenty-two year-old librarian is hardly a "Madam".

Still, she insists on it.

"It's Madam Granger. And no, I have not read all the books in this library, but not for lack of trying. Now, I shall leave you to it."

Tom Riddle lowers his eyes again modestly, but she can feel those same eyes on the back of her neck as she turns into the corridor.

She shivers a little, not knowing exactly why. Where did he hear about her reading?


It would be foolish to deny that he has been watching her and she has noticed him watching her.

In the first month of her arrival, she chucked it up to curiosity. Most of the students were curious about her. Young new librarian of uncertain origins – bound to draw a little bit of attention. Headmaster Dippet was kind enough not to stand on ceremony during the Welcoming Feast. He merely introduced her as a "brilliant former Gryffindor" who would be joining the staff after Madam Pince's untimely demise, and that was all. The goblets were raised in her honour and then everyone moved on.

Not him, apparently.

He introduced himself the very next day, going up to her desk at the entrance and letting her know that he was going to be frequenting the library quite often and would be needing access to the Restricted Section from time to time.

"Certainly, Mr. Riddle, if you have a note from a teacher."

Tom Riddle bowed his head an inch. "Of course. I would not dream of going against the rules."

She remembered thinking, I did not say you would.

But the first impression was, what a nice young man, coupled immediately with steer clear of him. Hermione had learnt to trust her instincts.

It was difficult to steer clear, though. He never made it obvious that he was watching her, as he had such a talent for appearing innocuously in the background, but he somehow always knew where she was in the library. Point in fact, the effortless way he'd found her tonight.

And outside the library – well, she did not want to think about it too closely.


Hermione zips down her long skirt and lets it fall to the floor. She rolls down her stockings. She unbuttons her girdle and bra. She heaves a happy sigh when she finally removes the pins from her hair and lets the tight knot at the back of her head fall into unruly curls. She runs her hands down her scalp and almost moans in pleasure at the feeling. Here, in the comfort of her cozy rooms above to the library, no one can see her, not even him.

He'll be gone in a few months, she reminds herself, falling naked into an armchair.


At breakfast, Professor Merrythought is asking her about some of the people she knew while she was a student, whether she has heard from any of them in the last five years, particularly Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, weren't they close?

Hermione mumbles something vague about exchanging letters. In truth, she hasn't seen her friends in over a year. Grindelwald's take-over has meant far less interaction between Muggleborns and Purebloods.

She is relaying this to Professor Merrythought as subtly as she can, when a stubborn curl unravels from her fresh knot. Hermione feels its ticklish caress against her cheek. She tucks it back surreptitiously, sinking her wand into her knot, as she's wont to do sometimes.

She hopes no one else saw that.

And yet, she feels that someone else has.

She feels eyes on her, on the back of her head.

Hermione looks over her shoulder at the Slytherin table. Tom Riddle is laughing along to whatever Malfoy and Dolohov are saying to him, clearly not paying attention to her.

Clearly.

But – when it comes to him, things are not so clear.

She shakes her head, focusing her attention back on the Professor. So what if he's watching her? He'll find nothing interesting, except the fact that she doesn't have the right blood.

The future may not be bright, but she can do her best to survive.


A/N: This was initially meant to be a one-shot, but I feel like it would benefit from a multi-chapter approach. Since this is AU, some things are a bit different about the 1940s of Tom Riddle's time. I hope it makes sense, overall and hope you like it! (you can also find the story on AO3!)