If knowledge is power, clandestine knowledge is power squared; it can be withheld, exchanged, and leveraged. -Letty Cottin

There are two different stories in horror: internal and external. In external horror films, the evil comes from the outside, the other tribe, this thing in the darkness that we don't understand. Internal is the human heart. –John Carpenter

oooo

Thursday, January 6, 2000

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione groans in frustration, watching Bellatrix's old wand produce feeble tendrils of silver light that vanish almost as soon as they appear. Suddenly, inexplicitly angry, she throws her wand across the room and screams, heartbreak and rage and grief and disappointment all coming together in a whirlwind of feeling that has her dropping to her knees. Unaware of how her emotional state affects the space around her, Hermione unintentionally releases a burst of wandless magic that has all of the books in the Black family library falling from their shelves.

As she kneels there on the old, frayed rug and continues to release dry-eyed sobs of defeat, she is unaware that she has an audience.

"Can you teach me?"

The curly-haired witch jolts, and instinctively she calls out in her mind for her wand and it is in her hand in less than a second. She stands on shaky legs.

Narcissa Malfoy looks entirely unaffected by this adroit show of battle-honed instinct, and sits delicately on the dusty library couch in a casually elegant, finely made gown the color of sea glass. She wears soft cotton robes of the darkest blue, casually slung around her shoulders and unbuttoned. She is the very picture of stylish elegance, and Hermione can't help but realize that, despite Grimmauld Place's dusty and outdated décor, Lady Malfoy has that rare ability to be able to look at ease almost anywhere. If she decided to travel into Muggle London wearing this outfit she would somehow manage to fit right in. Because that is what she does – what she was raised for. Unshakable poise and ownership of oneself. Hermione can only hope that someday she might be able to pull it off; she doubts it.

"Lady Malfoy," she mumbles in greeting, not meeting the woman's eyes, which are cold and grey like her son's. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had left the door open. I hope I didn't startle you?"

Narcissa gives her a very small smile, which, though subtle, is still kind. "It takes far more than a little much-needed stress relief to shock me, Miss Granger," she says. "I have seen more than my fair share of anxious outbursts. Especially as a mother."

"I see," Hermione replies, scratching an itch on her nose. She shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

Narcissa speaks again, gracefully filling the awkward silence with her smooth, cultured voice. "I know you've been unable to conjure your corporeal Patronus and that it is a source of intense disquiet with you. Mister Potter has mentioned how much you've been struggling with it. But I thought, perhaps, that you might still be able to teach it to someone, or at least the theory behind it, anyway. I've never cast a Patronus – I've never had cause to, and because it is very Light magic it was not exactly a staple in my household, before or after I married. Draco, against all odds, has managed to accomplish it. But Pansy and I have never tried."

Hermione shifts again and shuffles over to the armchair that sits diagonal from the sofa, a cloud of dust rising up into the air when she unceremoniously plops down onto it. She slouches, watching the dust rise and travel across the room, and it seems to sparkle when it floats into rays of sunshine.

She exhales heavily. "Harry is a much better teacher than I will ever be, Mrs. Malfoy," she says, cracking her knuckles in a manner that has Narcissa twitching uncomfortably, obviously unsettled, the only ripple in the otherwise still pool of water that the beautiful blonde woman reflects.

"I am aware that Potter is uncommonly gifted in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but, as I am given to understand, so are you. Second only to Harry and Alastor and perhaps Dumbledore himself, while he still lived, and far more well-read than any of them, I would venture to guess." She pauses, fixing Hermione with a determined gaze. "I also learn better with a more clinical approach, and I feel that Potter is perhaps a little too zealous and emotional in his teaching. He doesn't have the patience that you have, your little tantrum just now notwithstanding."

Hermione blushes under the praise (and the following criticism), knowing on some level that it is true but embarrassed all the same. The old Hermione, the one still in school, would have preened and beamed with pride. Those things no longer matter, however; they are no longer important to her.

"I…" She swallows. "I can try, I suppose. Is Pansy available, er…now?" she asks, rubbing the back of her neck. "No time like the present, I suppose." Her tone strives to be cheerful and light, but falls just short of sincere. She grimaces.

It takes Narcissa two days worth of lessons to conjure a corporeal Patronus, an elegant, silvery spider that crawls from the tip of her wand. The garden spider – a leggy orb weaver that most people in the northern hemisphere recognize by its vibrant yellow and black geometric pattern – is content to sit and spin its beautiful web, its master having set no task for it and sensing no dementors nearby. The look on the Malfoy matriarch's face is worth the struggle, to Hermione. It is a look of unguarded wonder, plainly seen on a face that is usually schooled into a mask of careful indifference.

Pansy finally manages a successful Patronus after nearly two weeks of constant practice. When a mercurial vixen steps leisurely out of the tip of her wand, stretching, the former Slytherin jumps up and down and throws her arms around Hermione, hugging her tightly as her fox (who she names Velvet) prances haughtily around them on little stocking-ed paws. Hermione flushes with uncomfortable heat when she is reminded that Seamus' Patronus had been a fox.

The two former spies are not the only ones to catch on to Hermione's teaching skills. When she spends hours and days on end with an emotionally unstable Parvati Patil, recently bereft of her twin sister, Hermione snaps, irritated, and points her wand, muttering the incantation just to show the sometimes painfully dense girl how to go about it. Her power surges within her and she almost cries with joy when a spectral white lioness shoots from her wand and roars deafeningly, tail twitching.

However, she is so used to her sleek, playful otter that she falters, surprised, and the lion vanishes with her concentration. It is then, while Parvati replicates the process and produces a lovely butterfly, that she realizes that she has changed, fundamentally and permanently. And she knows that she will never see her otter again.

And it makes her sad for all that she has lost. So she sits down right there on the floor and cries, a ghostly monarch dancing around her head until it dissipates, along with her old self, never to return.

Parvati dies the very next day.

oooo

After their little encounter in the bathroom, Hermione made a point of ignoring Tom Riddle for an entire week.

She took the next few days off; something the old Hermione never would have done, but that the new one didn't mind in the least. She spent some time with Dumbledore, allowed him to see some of her memories; she didn't give him details – it wouldn't do to have him looking at Tom Riddle too closely while she was trying to navigate the shark-infested waters around him – but she made sure he knew enough to satisfy his curiosity…at least for a little while.

With his permission, and the Headmaster's –Dippet was decidedly less savvy in the ways of treachery than his successor, so he was a delightful pushover, startlingly easy to manipulate – she skipped her classes on Thursday afternoon and Friday to take care of some "business." Before she went she put a mild notice-me-not charm on herself, simply so she wouldn't attract any undue attention, and plaited her unruly hair back into a tight braid. Once again, she struggled to get her wand to obey her, despite how easy the charm had been to her in the past. It frustrated her.

Her first stop on Thursday was to Diagon Alley. Despite Dumbledore's generosity and the amount of things Hermione had stowed away in her little purple bag, there were still supplies that she needed for school. Or perhaps not necessarily needed, but wanted. If there was one thing she hated, it was working with mediocre school supplies. She also bought herself some new clothes true to 1940s style, both wizarding and muggle, and picked some up for Draco as well – he would need something to wear other than uniforms when he woke up.

She also got a cat. An impulsive purchase, perhaps, but, she thought, necessary to her sanity. Hermione named the female Abyssinian kitten Narcissa. The haughty look the tiny, big-eared cat wore made her instantly fall in love with it, and she just couldn't help herself. The little kitten was very quiet but very curious, and Hermione let her ride around in her inner coat pocket for most of the day; she seemed to be very happy there, peeking out from between Hermione's lapels, snuggled up next to the warmth of her heart. She was no Crookshanks, but she had her own kind of charm. And was far prettier, if Hermione was being honest.

On Friday she and Narcissa went back to Diagon Alley and spent a good hour at the Leaky Cauldron talking to Tom the bartender (yes, he was around in 1944, and didn't look a whole lot younger, either), bribing him for information about the state of affairs in the current British Ministry and the wizarding world in general. If Hermione was going to be stuck in this era – she had yet to do more research into time travel, but Albus had said he would look into it for her – then she needed to plan for the future. And those plans did not only concern what to do about Tom Riddle (though the jury was still out on that particular strategy). She would need to insert herself into this time and place, and she needed to know all of the players that she would be in the game with.

Secondly, she went to a little known hole in the wall in Knockturn Alley, a place she had had to go to before in order to get out of the country so long ago. International wizarding travel, much like muggle transit, often required identification and papers if one was to acquire a portkey or floo across borders. Hermione had once had to come here under a different name and face to acquire false papers for many members of the Order. She would need such identification again now, although this time she could use her real name and face. She needed an official identity if she was going to do anything, and it would also be wise to back up her story, which meant she would need some documentation for her fake parents, as well; she would need to repeat the process with Draco. The lone woman in the little trinket store – a front for the real business going on behind the scenes – smiled a toothless smile when Hermione tossed her a bag of coins upon entering. She immediately ushered Hermione to the back.

After Hermione left the counterfeit paper business, she went straight to Gringotts. Using her new papers, she opened an account there under her name, putting Draco's name down as a cosigner to the account so that he could access it if needed. It was mostly just a formality; they had all the funds they needed in their little beaded bag. But she put a portion of their money in her new account, along with a lot of the things that she wouldn't need to carry around with her and that she didn't want anyone else to ever be privy to – namely all of the things that hadn't yet been made. She kept all of her books, though. She was unwilling to part with those. She used the Imperius curse on a goblin to get him to skip the part where she made an inventory (for their eyes only, of course, but she was unwilling to take that chance) of the items in her vault for insurance purposes. She felt a modicum of guilt creep up as she released the goblin from her spell…and then she remembered Griphook and his scheming ways. The guilt promptly disappeared.

If Draco and she both died, the money would go to Dumbledore to look after until Harry and Ron were born, and then it would be anonymously split between the Potter family and the Weasley family. Hermione thought it was a nice touch.

After her business in Diagon Alley was done, she apparated to a place she had only ever seen in Harry's memories. As such it was a risky apparition, especially considering her wand was no longer cooperating fully, but she managed. Narcissa mewled in her coat as Hermione landed jarringly on a grassy slope that overlooked Little Hangleton. Catching her balance as she squeezed back into existence, she looked around to get her bearings.

She stood on grassy knoll outside of town, looking down at the village. It was dreadfully quiet. The church and its infamous graveyard sat on the opposite hill, grey and stony. Turning around, she looked up, and saw the outline of the handsome Riddle estate, as tall and foreboding as its only heir.

She looked to where a creek bubbled past the house, carrying a few fallen leaves, the first of the season, down into the woods to disappear from her sight. Making sure her kitten was sheltered from the wind in her coat, she followed the stream's winding path.

After Hermione walked for a few minutes, the trees became thicker and more difficult to navigate. When she saw a black snake slither out from underneath her boot and out of sight, she knew she was in the right place. She quickly came upon a shack, achingly familiar; identical to the one she had seen in Harry's memory.

The decrepit structure was nearly completely hidden in a tangle of trees, shadowed by thick foliage and a myriad of branches. It was a mixture of stone and wood, and moss and ivy covered what little she could see of its sagging walls. A narrow slab of wood served as a door and, as expected, the skin of a snake was nailed to the door. Her lips quirked up when she sensed the powerful enchantments that surrounded the building; after minutes of some very adroit wand work, made especially difficult with Bellatrix's uncooperative wand, she cracked Tom Riddle's wards. With a feeling of great trepidation, she pushed open the poor excuse for a door and ducked inside.

It was dark, hopelessly dark; the only window in the little hovel was broken and overgrown with vines, shutting out all potential sunlight. Hermione lit her wand, peering about with discerning eyes. It smelled of rotted wood and mildew. A single cot was pushed against the far wall, and a chipped pot of blue pottery sat in the corner. Grinning in triumph, she walked over to the pot and pushed it aside. Underneath there was a loose floorboard, and with anticipation she pried it up and her greedy fingers found what had been hiding underneath.

A worn black velvet pouch with moth-eaten drawstrings sat, unassumingly, in her hand. She opened the top and dropped the contents onto the wooden floor with a clink.

Hermione stared at the ugly ring. It was crudely made, clumsy and chunky and set in gaudy gold, and she snorted at the thought of the young Tom Riddle wearing such an unsightly thing on his elegant hand. She felt its dark magic slide across her own magical aura like something cold and foul and slimy. She did not dare touch it – she was not quite as knowledgeable as Albus Dumbledore was at cracking dark curses, and she remembered, with a sudden flash of sorrow, how ill he had become after destroying the horcrux housed inside. An image of his black, withered hand entered her mind. She frowned.

The fact that it was actually the fabled Resurrection Stone was surreal. She'd never seen it in person – only Harry had, before he'd dropped it in the Forbidden Forest on the way to his death (however temporary it may have been). She wondered, suddenly: did Harry's love magic protect her here in this time, or was it considered null and void? If Riddle were to successfully hit her with the Killing Curse, would she die, or would the curse rebound as it had when Harry's mother had died for him? Would she end up with a scar?

The question now was, did she take it and attempt to destroy it later? Or did she leave it where it was and come back in the future? She knew that Riddle wouldn't move it…unless her being here had already irreparably changed the timeline, in which case he might place it elsewhere and then she might never find it again, nor would the future Dumbledore that would come to destroy it.

She decided to leave it, picking it up with the bag protecting her fingers and drawing the string closed once again. Before she raised the wards back around the house, she put a very small detection spell on the blue pot; it would alert her immediately if the pot were moved. Then she made sure to leave everything exactly as she'd found it, down to the last thread of magic.

When she apparated back into Hogsmeade on Friday evening, satisfied, Dumbledore was waiting for her. They walked, in silence, to where he had a thestral-drawn carriage waiting for them. She patted one of the strange, silent beasts on the neck.

"So you see them," Dumbledore said, watching her with solemn blue eyes.

She looked back at him with a sardonic smile on her face. "Did you ever doubt?"

He shrugged. "Not after some of the memories you let me see, not really, no. But seeing you touch one with my own eyes is another matter. It grieves me that one so young carries such a burden."

Hermione hummed. "You didn't exactly lighten the load, Albus."

Her former mentor, someone that she would have trusted implicitly once upon a time, sighed and held open the carriage door for her. "Tell me more."

Thanking him, she climbed in, careful to protect Narcissa's little head from getting bumped. She stared at him as he sat in the seat across from her and the covered cart began to move.

"Firstly, did you find the books that I asked you for?" she inquired, referring to the tomes on time-travel and phoenixes that she wanted to look over.

He nodded. "They are safely in my office."

"Excellent," she said, adjusting her coat. "Then second, I need to ask you to be careful about how much you are seen communicating with me outside of class; and how much attention you draw to me during class. For example, the little fiasco in Transfiguration Wednesday morning. Next time, just ignore me."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "I understand. Can you tell me why?"

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in stress that she rarely showed anyone these days. "I have my eye on one of your students, and I don't want them to suspect that I have a relationship with you outside of the typical teacher and student one; I also don't want to let this particular person in on the scope of my abilities just yet, although I think they already have some idea."

"You speak of Tom Riddle."

She looked up at him, her face serious. "Yes." Her confirmation was simple and to the point. No use denying something he very clearly already knew.

Dumbledore sighed. "I knew that boy was trouble from the moment I met him in that orphanage all those years ago."

"Indeed." She wanted to tell him that he became more than just "trouble." But she kept her mouth shut. She would reveal things to Dumbledore as time passed, but too much at one time could prove to be a very bad decision indeed.

"And can you tell me your plans for him?" Dumbledore asked, cutting straight to the point. "I admit, as I am used to being the one doing all the plotting, I am a little out of my depth here."

"That's why you need to trust me to know what I'm doing, Professor," she said, petting Narcissa absentmindedly on the head. "Look: you once would have trusted me with any task that you knew needed doing. I was one of your most reliable tools."

"Tools?"

"We were all your tools once, Albus."

He had the decency to look ashamed. "Once again, I am at a loss for what to do or say."

"Then stay out of my way," she said. "I will tell you as much as you need to know – no more, no less. I will keep you in the loop as best as I can. But right now I'm just trying to figure out what the best plan of action is. Draco and I have already changed things just by being here. As much as I would like to figure out how to get back to the future, perhaps the best thing to do now is just play this game here in the past."

Boldly, she reached out and rested her hand on top of his, giving it a squeeze. "Dark times are coming, Professor," she said. "And right now I'm caught right on the edge of the storm."

oooo

That weekend she stayed at the castle, researching and studying, watching from the bell towers on Saturday as students trickled down to Hogsmeade one by one, tiny ants marching against the rapidly browning grass. The shades of fall tinged the leaves on the trees, painting the woods with shades of russet and copper and butterscotch. Even the Forbidden Forest looked slightly cheerier with the onset of such warm colors.

She sighed and turned away, ruffling Fawkes feathers with her hand. The bird had taken to sitting with her at times when she was alone, and would sometimes follow her around the grounds at a distance just to keep an eye on her. If anyone had noticed, they hadn't said anything. Albus thought it was quite amusing. Hermione had told him about her encounter with Fawkes in her time, but she had not revealed that he was still technically in her body. That was a secret that she would keep to herself for now, until Draco woke up.

She spent most of the weekend reading aloud to him and catching up on her studies by his bedside. Occasionally Sabrina, Lyall, Kat and Ignatius would visit, eager to have her back in classes with them the following week. She often brought Narcissa, who she'd taken to calling "Cissa," to the infirmary with her, letting her snuggle into the warmth of Draco's body. The little kitten would occasionally walk up his bare torso to snuffle around his face, and Hermione, letting her juvenile side come out to play, vindictively snapped photos of them with the old-fashioned camera she'd bought, chortling at the picture they made.

Sunday evening, after finishing her essay for Transfiguration and reading Draco a chapter out of Hogwarts: A History and a story from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, she packed up her things, kissed Draco on the forehead, and went back up to Gryffindor Tower.

When she arrived, Lyall and Ignatius and two other seventh year boys were playing a game of exploding snap in the common room; despite their urging of her to join them, she felt a tired ache settle behind her eyes, and she declined, continuing on to her dormitory. When she got there, she walked in on all four of her dorm mates sitting on their beds and giggling. Even Zuri was participating, though she did so with so much eye rolling and snobbery that Hermione wanted to laugh out loud.

"Let's see what Hermione thinks!" she heard Iris say, and she looked up to meet the mischievous, sky-blue eyes of the prettiest girl in school.

"Uh oh," she said warily, grinning at them. She set her bag down, removed her robes and sat down on her bed in the stylish fall dress and boots she'd worn that day. She noticed the girls give their imperceptible nods of approval. Thank god for Pansy's influence; though adhering to the 1940s style of dress had been somewhat difficult. She was used to the freedom of modern clothing. Wearing stockings and garters and sometimes even girdles was fast becoming tiring, and it had only been a few days. "What sort of nonsense are you roping me into?"

Iris giggled. Cissa was cuddled up with the blonde on her bed, purring in contentment. "We're discussing boys, of course."

"Well of course. What else?" Hermione struggled not to roll her eyes. Zuri had no such restraint, but she did so with a smile on her face. They shared a knowing glance.

"Who do you think is the most attractive boy in the school right now?" Iris asked. "I know you've only been here a few days, but still. What do you think?"

Hermione's face fell. She couldn't help but think of Ron. Ron had never been some model type: he had not been visually striking like Harry, or as painfully handsome as Draco, or as darkly alluring and utterly perfect as Tom Riddle. But he had been hers, and she had loved him.

"Well, I think Draco's very handsome," she said obviously, pulling her boots off one by one. "But he's my best friend. I've been looking at his face for years now."

Sabrina hummed in agreement. "Oh, he's so handsome," she said, her voice low and dreamy. "Sign me up."

"What?" Iris said. "I haven't even seen him! That's not fair!"

"He's laying in the hospital wing, Iris," Kat said with a roll of her eyes. "He literally could not be any easier to find. And yes, he's the prettiest thing I've seen on these school grounds in quite a while; except for, well, you know."

All the girls nodded. Hermione frowned. "Except for, you know, who?" she asked.

She knew what Iris was going to say before she said it. "Tom Riddle, of course! God, he's bloody gorgeous," she said, rolling over onto her stomach. "If he even so much as looked at me by accident I would melt into a puddle of goo." The other girls smiled and tittered in agreement.

"You're one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen, Iris," Hermione said – and it was the truth. "Why wouldn't he look at you? I'm a girl, and I can barely keep my eyes off of you. I would think that any boy would jump at the chance to talk to you." As Narcissa – the human, not the cat – had once told her: flattery can get you anywhere with almost anyone. And anytime Tom Riddle's name came up, Hermione's ears perked. So she used everything she had ever been taught by her best friends – most of who had ended up being Slytherins, ironically enough – and went digging for information.

"Ugh," Iris groaned, flopping back over on to her back dramatically. "He never gets involved with girls. Last year he took Druella Rosier to one of Slughorn's parties, but he ignored her for practically the whole night. And he can't do that again this year, because now she's betrothed to Black. But I've never seen him look at any girl with anything other than total objectivity."

Hermione resisted the evil smile that begged to curve on her lips. Instead she adopted a look of consternation. "Well it sounds to me like he might be batting for the other team, if you know what I mean," she said.

All the girls blinked up at her. "Batting for the other team?" Zuri said, confused.

"It's a muggle term," Hermione explained, realizing that in this day in age in the wizarding world homosexuality was not necessarily something that was talked about, although it was not necessarily frowned upon like it was in the muggle world, either. She also realized that these girls would never get a baseball reference. "You know…meaning that he might be gay."

The seed was planted. She so wished she would be able to see the look on Riddle's face when it got back to him.

The girls all gasped. "I mean," she continued, hiding her glee, "why else would he never pay attention to a girl? There's no shortage of beautiful girls in this school. Even if he wanted to remain within his own house, Raven Flynn and Violet Greengrass are both gorgeous and otherwise unengaged." She'd only seen Greengrass a couple of times in the halls, but she had actually been partnered with Flynn during Advanced Potions on Thursday morning, and could attest to the girl's beauty and intelligence (she'd actually taken a shine to the Slytherin, but she would need to do some more research before she decided to cultivate a relationship with her). "I mean I'm not saying he is, but it's the only thing that really makes sense," she finished, leaning back on her hands.

Aaaand her work was done.

"Oh Merlin, you're absolutely right!" said Iris, smacking her hand into her forehead. "Why didn't I see it sooner?"

"You were too busy gazing at the line of his jaw," Zuri said, and Kat laughed.

"He is always surrounded by that little gang of his…" Sabrina said, drumming her fingers against her bedspread. "What is it that you think they do all the time when they're not in class or at meals? They're almost always together, and sometimes they just…disappear."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Do you think…"

They all looked at one another and then burst out laughing. Hermione was surprised to find that she was genuinely in good spirits.

"No way!" Kat said, her cheeks red with mirth. "I saw Gavin Rosier and Felicity Carmichael stumble out of a broom closet last semester – there was no doubt in my mind what they'd been doing. And he's got quite the reputation," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "So, I heard, does Nott."

Iris hummed. "Thoros is definitely not gay," she said, winking at them all. They giggled. "And I know that Temple snogged Mulciber in our fifth year, and she said he seemed like he had done it before," she said, speaking of her Hufflepuff friend Temple Bones.

Hermione stood and began to root through her trunk for her pajamas. "Well, I don't know any of these guys besides what I learn from all of you. Perhaps Riddle is completely straight, he just has other things on his mind."

They all looked at her and paused. "Like Edmond's skinny arse in a nice pair of trousers?" Kat said, and they all burst into hysterics again.

When Hermione had laughed herself hoarse, she continued to undress. As she had her back to them things got deadly quiet all of a sudden. She turned around as she tugged on her nightgown. They were all staring at her.

"What?" she asked, looking around at the four gaping faces.

"Your back, Hermione," said Sabrina, her voice soft. "You've always changed with your front to us. What on earth happened?"

"Oh," Hermione said, blushing, pulling her nightgown back up over her shoulders and craning her head to look at the topographical map that was her back. "Are you talking about the burn or the scars?" she asked, referring to the burn that was only just beginning to crust over and the four raised slashes that sliced horizontally across her lower back, much older.

"Both!" Iris said incredulously, looking horrified. "I thought the ones on your stomach and leg were bad. I neglected to notice those."

Hermione shrugged again, slightly uncomfortable. Once again, in the face of Iris' exceptional beauty and her smooth, polished skin, Hermione felt a niggle of shame. "The burn was from the most recent battle I was in – before I escaped to Hogwarts. It was some sort of spell. Dark magic," she explained, her voice solemn; Macnair's crooked grin flashed across her memory. If possible, their eyes got even wider. "The scars are from a particularly bad tempered manticore."

"Blimey Hermione!" Kat said, boldly getting up and walking over to run her finger over the raised scars. She wisely avoided the burn. The girl was unflinchingly forward, Hermione would give her that; it was odd, but Ginny had been similarly unconcerned with such boundaries and Hermione had gotten used to it over the years. "What does a manticore even look like? I vaguely remember seeing a picture of one in my COMC text, but we've never really spent any time learning about them in class."

"They're foul," she said with a scowl, remembering the visage of the slavering beast that had chased Draco and her through the rocky desert of western Kazakhstan. "A lion's body and a scorpion's tail, made all the more unsettling with a human face and the ability to speak."

Iris shuddered. "Ugh. That sounds awful."

Hermione smiled. "It almost bit a chunk out of Draco's arse though," she said, chuckling. "You should have seen his face."

Sabrina pouted. "It's such a nice arse, though."

Zuri snorted. "That's probably why that manticore decided to try a taste."

They all giggled.

"I'm glad that you're here, Hermione," Sabrina said, her eyes kind. "I'm sure it feels nice to know you're safe in Hogwarts."

Hermione smiled gently in agreement. They all settled down and blew out their lanterns. She turned over onto her side, facing away from them all. If only they knew just how unsafe they all really were.

That night, she could have sworn she woke up to the sound of scales sliding along cement.

oooo

Hermione made it a point to avoid Tom Riddle for as long as she was able the next week. She remembered something that Snape had once told her in a quiet, unexpected moment of advice in her third year, after Draco had made her cry: "Learn to ignore your enemies, Miss Granger. Nothing annoys them so much."

Monday morning she had breakfast, Double Herbology with Ravenclaw, lunch, Charms with Slytherin, and History of Magic with Ravenclaw. She didn't see him at all on Monday until Charms that afternoon.

Herbert Burke was the Charms professor. Hermione found him to be a decent teacher, if a bit cold and aloof; he had been a Slytherin, after all, and he had married into the Black family, the only Hogwarts staff that had a spouse. The fact that he was related to whatever Burke had helped found Borgin and Burkes made Hermione's skin crawl. However, he seemed nice enough, if not a bit cool, and though she caught him staring at her several times throughout the class, he did not treat her specially, which she actually appreciated. He never called her out, nor did he attempt to introduce her to the class (everybody already knew who she was anyway, because of the sorting ceremony and the rumor mill); however, when he instructed the class to practice non-verbal summoning charms and wandless Lumos charms and realized that she was one of three (Tom Riddle and Ambrose Mulciber being the other two) that got both right on the first try, he quietly congratulated her and seemed pleased at her success. She felt Riddle's eyes boring into the back of her head all throughout class. She skipped the optional Dueling Club that evening, despite Lyall's urging that she join them. She didn't want a confrontation with Tom or any member of his little gang this early in the game.

She wasn't sure if it was due to her wanting to avoid attention, or if she just couldn't handle the prospect of dueling with a wand that didn't work and subsequently losing as a result. Hermione hated losing. And while she had taken her failure in Transfiguration last Wednesday with a grain of salt (even though she had been nearly as successful as Riddle with the spell, if she'd still been compatible with her wand she would have nailed it – therefore she saw it as a failure), she didn't think she would be able to handle losing in a duel to a Death Eater. Just the thought of doing so made her bristle with irritation and wounded pride.

On Tuesday she had Double Charms with Hufflepuff, Advanced Runes and Advanced Astronomy later that night. She shared both of the latter classes with Tom Riddle (as all advanced classes included all four houses) and yet managed to sit as far away from him as possible in both. Eldora Alvarado, the Ancient Runes professor, was both very capable and very beautiful, though she did have a flare for the dramatic; she reminded Hermione of if the Disney characters Esmeralda and Pocahontas had somehow had a lovechild. The Astronomy professor and Head of Hufflepuff House, Perpetua Fancourt, was a plump, middle-aged redhead that was far too cheery for Hermione's liking and tended to talk to her students like they were all first years.

She ignored Riddle all day Wednesday, as well. She had Transfiguration class with the Slytherins again, in which they practiced the same knut-to-horse spell as they had last week – except this time Professor Dumbledore left her alone as they had discussed, and she merely sat and worked on homework for other classes, occasionally working on a spell just to keep up appearances as being a somewhat above-average but otherwise unremarkable student. She didn't have to worry during DADA theory with the Ravenclaws; though being under the perceptive grey gaze of Professor Galatea Merrythought was almost just as bad as being the focus of Riddle's attention. She managed to avoid Tom at lunch as well – she'd fared well through all of her meals, sticking resolutely at the Gryffindor table except for when Iris had brought her over to the Hufflepuff table to introduce her to some of her friends.

Of course, her luck was bound to run out sometime, and Wednesday afternoon seemed to be the limit. What would follow would kick off her ensuing relationship with Tom Marvolo Riddle, however dark and tumultuous it was bound to be.

oooo

And so it begins. The next chapter is where things start to heat up a bit. Hermione's dark side comes out to play, as well as the dark sense of humor that she doesn't often show in polite company. *Cue Darth Vader mouth breathing*

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