A/N: Hi there! Last chapter I had a bit of a slip up - due to an extremely strong Confundus Charm, I wrote it so that Hermione was addressed as 'Granger' by people who should have been calling her 'Mercer'. Thanks to Anna on the Horizon, that's all sorted now, but I thought I'd mention it just in case any of you read it before I fixed it and got confused. Anyway, that business over and done with, I can now move onto shameless plugging. I wrote a sequel to Wait for the Song to Stop, it's called Promises, and you'll find it on my profile. They're both Tom/Hermione fics and they're a little bit silly and they involve Vol-au-vents and dancing. Make of that what you will. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far (including those other two fics) your messages do much to motivate me and I value every single one. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think! =]

Tempora Abducto.

by Flaignhan.

Hermione found that she soon settled into her new routine, and her new friends provided a welcome distraction from her problems. She had forgotten, in her year on the run with Harry and Ron, just how much she loved being at Hogwarts, how much she enjoyed her lessons, and how much time she used to spend in the library.

Unfortunately the library had been slightly tainted by Tom's seemingly constant presence. As it was, the seventh years had mountains of homework to deal with, and so she could lose herself amongst the clusters of panicking students, hoping that Tom would not spot her.

It seemed, so far at least, that he had decided to play by her rules. He didn't speak to her in lessons, and the only time he acknowledged her existence was during a Transfiguration lesson; Hermione had contradicted one of his answers and had been correct. Though he had said nothing, she didn't fail to notice the disgruntled twitch which creased his nose for just a second before he became the picture of perfection once more.

"I take it you're not going to Hogsmeade either," he said, sitting down on the opposite side of the table that Hermione had taken over in the library.

Hermione looked up briefly, then looked back at her essay.

"Just making conversation..." he said quietly, opening his bag and taking out his books.

"There are other tables," Hermione said pointedly, still focused on the piece of parchment in front of her, eyes flicking every so often to the worn, leather bound book that she was referencing.

"But none of them have such delightful company," Tom replied, his voice laced with false charm.

Hermione ignored him and continued to work in silence.

"I take it you'll be attending the feast tonight," Tom said after a short while, scanning the index of Advanced Magical Theory, his finger tapping twice on the topic he was searching for once he found it. He flicked through the book to find the appropriate page and then looked at Hermione again.

"Hermione?"

"What do you want?" she asked with a sigh, setting down her quill. She pressed her hands together, interlacing her fingers and rested her chin on them as she waited for his answer.

"I was merely enquiring as to whether you'd be attending the Halloween feast."

"You know I will," Hermione said impatiently. "Enough lies and tell me what you actually want."

Tom smirked. "Oh stop beating about the bush and say what you really feel, Hermione," he waited, as though he expected her to laugh. When she didn't, he leaned forward, palms flat on the desk, looking around for any signs of eavesdroppers before he continued. "I want to know how much you know. You don't have to tell me about the future -"

Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes.

"- as if you would," Tom added. "But I want to know what you know about me, right now."

Hermione sighed and decided to indulge him, just a little. Perhaps it would scare him away again, keep him on his toes. "I know that you can speak to snakes."

Tom smirked. "Well they do hold far more interesting conversations than all of the wretched students in this school put together. Anything else?"

"Plenty, but I have an essay to finish so if you don't mind..." She picked up her quill again, dipped it in her ink and continued from where she left off. She had to work hard to concentrate, and work even harder to fight the urge to look up and see his reaction.

Tom said nothing, however. There was a rustle of parchment and Hermione glanced up quickly to see him taking his essay out of his bag. She frowned and looked back at her own essay. She still had another twelve inches to write, and that would take her at least another hour.

She glanced up again. He was smiling pleasantly as he wrote, and appeared to be ignoring her. Hermione knew better. He was testing her, seeing how long she'd last until she snapped.

It was fairly easy, to block out the sounds of his quill scratching as he speedily wrote his essay in that small elegant script that Hermione was ever so slightly envious of. She wished that she'd been taught to write like that at school, but things had changed by the time she'd gone to school as a child, and neat, artistic writing was not, unfortunately, on the curriculum.

The only thing that really got on Hermione's nerves, though she didn't dare show any sign that she'd even noticed, was the way that his books seemed to spread across the table, taking up more and more space by the minute. Every time he picked up a book, he'd put it down further away after he was done with it, until she was penned in by stacks upon stacks of books, some of which were not even relevant to the essay he was apparently concentrating on.

Eventually, after an hour and a quarter of fierce concentration and a seemingly endless store of patience, Hermione had proofread her essay, and was happy with the result. She tapped it with her wand and it rolled up into a scroll, before popping it into her bag along with her quill, ink and parchment.

"Finished already?"

Hermione said nothing as she got up and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"There's a wealth of information in this book," Tom pulled a book out of one of the teetering towers that covered the table, teeth clamped on his tongue in concentration, as though he was playing a literary version of Jenga. "You won't get an Outstanding without mentioning the information in here. They've got a whole chapter on -"

Hermione dumped her bag back on the table loudly, then flicked through the book to find the chapter he had told her about, and the 'wealth of information' it contained. This information was irritatingly absent from her essay, and so she pulled out her chair, sat down, and set about redrafting her essay.

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'thank you, Tom,'" he said, his lips pressed together in amusement.

His amusement evaporated when he was hit by a mountain of books. He huffed, a deep scowl upsetting his features, though Hermione didn't notice – she was too preoccupied with the generous amount of workspace she had gained in a second, and her only regret was that she hadn't acted sooner.

"Well done Hermione," Dumbledore said as he handed back her essay. "And you, Tom," he turned away from her and passed Tom his essay.

Hermione watched as Tom unrolled his essay very slightly, holding back the scroll with his index finger, just so he could see the grade at the bottom. His face didn't alter one bit as he read it, and he took his hand away, allowing it to spring back into place on the desk. He looked over at Hermione and raised his eyebrow, but she turned away, not wanting to satiate his curiosity.

She unrolled the parchment and at the bottom, written in neat curly writing, which was also a vivid shade of purple, was a large letter 'O' with the comment next to it: 'Excellent research, well done.'

Hermione frowned. She wanted to know which bit was excellent research. If it was the bit that Tom had helped her with then she'd much rather have got an E. She sighed and rolled up her essay, putting it into her bag, and out of her mind as she concentrated on the day's lesson.

The time flew by in a flurry of demonstrations, note-taking and practical work, which thankfully Hermione found relatively straightforward. Soon enough they had reached the end of the lesson and it was time for lunch.

"Miss Mercer, a word, if you don't mind?"

It took a few moments for Hermione to realise that she was the Miss Mercer he was referring to. "Oh, yes, of course Professor," she said hurriedly.

"We'll see you in the Great Hall, Hermione," Lucy called over the noise of scraping chairs and chatter.

Hermione nodded and waited behind while the rest of the students hurried out of the classroom, Tom's eyes fixing on her own for a second too long as he walked past her. Once he was out of the classroom, Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the door locked, an eerie silence blanketing the walls.

"He can still hear, Professor, I don't know how, but -"

"I've upped my security measures this time, Hermione," Dumbledore said with a grim smile. "Unfortunately I rather underestimated Mr Riddle when we were in the Hospital Wing, but what's done is done. He won't be able to break through this enchantment, I can assure you."

Hermione nodded. "What did you want to see me about?"

"I just wanted to warn you," Dumbledore said, opening his desk drawer. He pulled out a bag of sweets and turned it in Hermione's direction. "Sherbet Lemon?"

"Oh, no thank you, Professor," she smiled, the comforts of old times making her chest ache as she remembered how much she missed her real home.

"Well they're here if you change your mind," he said, popping one into his mouth and setting the bag down. He sucked on the sweet for a few seconds, his expression thoughtful before he continued.

"Tom Riddle is not the man he presents himself to be, and you would do well to remember it," he said, his blue eyes piercing into Hermione's brown ones. "He is manipulative and fiercely intelligent, do not become a victim of his."

"I'm afraid I already am, Professor. He was the one who sent me back here," she looked down at her feet, then back up at him once more, wondering whether she was about to be told off for telling him such information.

Dumbledore froze, his wild eyebrows high on his forehead. "Tom sent you back here?"

Hermione nodded.

"That is...unexpected. He sent you back to his own time?"

"I was a bit puzzled over that as well, Professor. What good am I to him here? And in my time, I had already been in his past and he can't have used me for information about the future, because he didn't know anything. And I keep trying to stay away from him, but he insists on pestering me all the time, pretending he doesn't want to know about the future, all sorts of rubbish like that."

"He knows, then? Definitely?"

"He heard everything in the Hospital Wing. I kept trying to deny it but I didn't see the point in the end. I don't think he'll tell anyone else, but the way he looks at me sometimes..." she closed her eyes and tried not to think about it.

"Hmm..." Dumbledore leaned against the large oak desk at the front of the classroom. "How well would you say you have the measure of Tom Riddle?"

"Pretty well, I'd say," Hermione said slowly. "I mean, I know what he's like in my time, and my friend knows him fairly well so...I'd say possibly better than most people around here. Certainly better than the Headmaster," she smiled grimly with her last few words, and Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

"I'm afraid the Headmaster is blinded by charm, intelligence, and wit, though we can't hold it against him, most of us are blinded by somebody at some point in our lives."

"When did you know, Professor? That he's not who everyone thinks he is?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I am unsure. I only remember feeling more and more uneasy as he progressed through the school, and the business we had a couple of years ago, perhaps you've been told -"

Hermione nodded.

"- even though he seemed to be the hero of the hour, there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something that seemed wrong. Something about the attacker being found at that late hour, just as the school was preparing to close, leaving him without a -"

"Home," Hermione finished bleakly.

Dumbledore nodded and sighed. "Just as long as you know the sort of man he is, and that you should be on your guard."

Hermione nodded. "Do you think perhaps I should learn Occlumency?" she asked. "Just in case anybody gets suspicious about me at any point, I can keep my thoughts guarded?"

"Do you think that's how Tom found out about -?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm quite sure he heard everything. I don't think he read my mind."

"Well, either way, I think it's an excellent idea. See me in my office on Thursday after dinner and we shall begin lessons," he stood up straight once more and pushed his half moon spectacles up his crooked nose.

"Oh, Professor, I didn't mean - I can try to learn it out of a book, I don't want to trouble you -"

Dumbledore held up a hand to silence her, smiling slightly as he shook his head. "It is no trouble. Thursday evening, my office. And perhaps indulge Tom a little more with his persistent attempts at conversation, you may find out why his older self was so keen to have you back with him in his younger years."

"You want me to...be friends with him? Or pretend to be at least. He doesn't really do friendship."

"Quite," Dumbledore said with a brief smile. "Perhaps let your guard down a little, without really letting it down, and definitely do not fall for his charm. It is all false."

Hermione nodded. "I won't. There's no way I could...I should probably stop talking, shouldn't I?"

"I think it's probably for the best," Dumbledore replied good naturedly. "And just remember, if he starts to irritate you, you can sit there safe in the knowledge that in fifty years time, he'll make an utter mess of the spell that sends you back here. He's not perfect. And he's not infallible, remember that."

Hermione nodded, feeling a little better about the future. Maybe Voldemort really was dead, maybe Harry and Ron were hosting a half hearted celebration, Voldemort was gone, but they had lost her. She hoped they weren't too worried, perhaps Dumbledore would be able to tell them somehow, that she was all right. Perhaps his portrait could pass on the message...

"Professor, would there be a way for me to let my friends know that I'm all right?"

"I'm sure they'll have found out soon after you left, not to worry, Hermione. With any luck you'll be able to tell them yourself, in person."

"What, when I'm older?"

"It's only fifty years away, though I suppose that seems like an entire age to you," he smiled fondly. "Lunchtime's almost over, you'd best hurry unless you want to go hungry."

Hermione nodded. "Yes Professor. I'll see you on Thursday."

"Be careful, Hermione."

Hermione nodded once more and left the classroom.