A special shout out to AvalonTheLadyKiller, who always leaves lovely and eloquent reviews that never fail to make me smile.

Also, a special thank you to Liz Lobos, who, even though she didn't have time to read all of chapter 15 right away, still left a review with her condolences and encouraging words of support for my computer situation. Seriously, I don't think I've ever had someone just comment on the author's note before. She is very, very kind. :)

Thank you all for your reviews. At the beginning of each chapter I will leave a special note to a few reviewers by whom I was particularly touched. I love that y'all have gotten so invested in the story, and I hope that it stays that way. As usual, I appreciate any and all words that you all leave in the review box. All of them are special, and I make sure to read every single one.

All of that being said, prepare for a healthy dose of drama. Hermione is about to be a badass, and this chapter leaves Tom open to become an even bigger badass in the future. She verbally rips him to shreds in this chapter. It's rather enjoyable, if I may say so myself. In addition to that, there will be a bit of tension between Hermione and Draco, as well, and a couple more hints as to how close they are, and their interesting past together.

Also, pay attention to the quote by Pierre Corneille, below; I think it is especially applicable to Hermione at this point in the story. Besides, I think it's a very wise statement.

Have fun!

oooo

A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes. – Charles Spurgeon

To take revenge halfheartedly is to court disaster; either condemn or crown your hatred. –Pierre Corneille

oooo

Hermione released a shaky breath as she stalked through the halls, Draco by her side. She could still hear Riddle's whistling behind her, though soon it faded away as he split to go down to the dungeons and she and Draco climbed up to the first floor, intent on going to the hospital wing.

Her leg tingled where he'd grabbed her by the knee. The skin in front of her ear ached where he'd brushed his lips earlier. Her neck and temple and scalp stung from where he'd slid his fingers back into her hair and pressed his thumbs below her ears. The back of her hand itched where he'd cupped it with his palm.

Everywhere he'd touched her, she could still feel. It was almost as if he still had his hands on her.

She was, Hermione admitted, quite out of her depth.

She'd never expected Tom Riddle to be so avidly interested in sex. She'd expected that perhaps he'd ventured into the realm of all things sexual simply to expand his general knowledge of the universe – he was not inclined to ignore information that might help further his plans via manipulation – but she hadn't expected that he'd be so interested in her in that way. Draco had mentioned that she was a pretty girl, and powerful, and therefore Riddle would surely notice and take an interest in her; this was far beyond where she'd expected that interest to go.

She thought of Draco's words to her on Friday. He knows how to seduce those around him. She'd brushed him off. Even so, I'm not in the business of being seduced.

Hermione laughed at her own stupidity.

She ran her fingers through her hair. Her heart beat like a drum, pounding against her ribcage. Fawkes was wide-awake and burning. Any time Riddle came into contact with her – especially contact of a physical nature – Fawkes stirred and flared to life within her, oddly interested in Riddle's presence. It wasn't a good interested or a bad interested – just a neutral sort of curiosity.

Fawkes was…odd. Not at all like she'd expected him to be. Almost like there was something off about him. He was not the same Fawkes that sat on a perch in Dumbledore's office.

But that was something to think about at another time, perhaps. Right now, all she could focus on was the memory of Tom Riddle's deliciously large hand on her knee, and the hunger and covetousness in his eyes as she'd used an Unforgiveable without hesitation and cursed that man to die without a second thought. She'd never thought of her ruthlessness and practicality as particularly attractive traits; but of course they would be, to him. To others, her behavior was off-putting. To Tom Riddle, it was fascinating. She had made him want her without even trying, and now she wished she had practiced more restraint.

She thought of the way she'd threatened him, of the way he'd teased her; the way she'd brought her lips up to his ear and accidentally flicked the lobe with her tongue. She thought of how his body had stiffened in response and his breath had hitched just for a moment. She thought of how he'd smelled: like cracked pepper and sandalwood and something fresh like rain – and something darker, richer, reminiscent of dark chocolate and cigar smoke and the darkest, spiciest zinfandel.

She swallowed nervously. She looked to her right, where Draco miraculously kept up with her purposeful stride. He gave her a worried look. She returned it. He did not speak; he didn't need to. She knew what he was thinking – coincidentally, it was exactly was she was thinking.

You, Hermione Jean Granger, are in quite a dilemma.

oooo

"I hate him," Draco said, gulping down his third potion angrily and then uncorking the fourth, flinging the cork across the room. "I hate the way he looks at you, talks to you, touches you."

"Yes, but admit it," Hermione said wearily, sighing and leaning back against the headboard of the queen sized bed of his new chambers. Madam Soranus had showed them in as soon as they'd returned from Diagon Alley, giving them a disapproving glance as they both remained inside, together; still, she seemed to accept what power she did and did not have over them, and, in the end, left them unattended. "If you didn't hate him so much, you would like him."

Draco snarled, hating that she was right. "Fine. He's immensely likeable. But all I can help but think of is how many people he is responsible for killing."

"Four."

Draco gulped down the fourth potion and winced, washing it down with some water. "Four what?"

"He's killed four people," Hermione said, looking at him with steady brown eyes. He could tell that the events of that morning and afternoon had upset her, though. She fidgeted with the edge of his sheets, and was twirling her left ankle around like she did when her brain was on overdrive. Her bottom lip was swollen from where she'd nibbled it to death. Tom Riddle had gotten under her skin, and she was reeling.

"In this timeline, Hermione, that we know of," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Precisely," she said, taking a sip out of her own water glass. "Keep in mind that this Tom Riddle is different from the Lord Voldemort that we grew up with, Draco."

"You're only saying that to make yourself feel better about being attracted to him," he sneered, hobbling over to the corner and collapsing into an armchair.

He saw the brief flash of hurt in her eyes, and she turned away from him. "Yes. I know."

Draco sighed, running his hands over his face. "I'm sorry." He swallowed, looking at the floor. "You know how I feel about you." His skin burned with the hard truth of his admittance.

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes angry. "And you know how I feel about you! You know that I've always struggled with my attraction for you, and how if ever I was to move on with anyone, it would be you, Draco –" She stopped abruptly, closing her eyes and sighing heavily. "We've gone over this before, I thought."

"Once, when we were both drunk," he said sourly, staring at the carpet. He felt an overwhelming bitterness simmer in his heart. "I am well aware that we will never be together in that way, but I hate seeing him basically leading you into his bed like a lost fucking sheep. And I'm not just speaking from the viewpoint of a man who's in love with you." The words felt like sandpaper against his windpipe. "I'm speaking as a friend."

He saw her drop her head into her hands, heard her soft groan of emotion. She spoke, her words muffled by her palms. "I don't know what to do, Draco."

"And I can't tell you what to do, Hermione," he responded, meeting her eyes desperately as she looked up at him. "I'm trying to advise you as best I can, but I find myself unable to see your situation through unbiased eyes." He gulped down the fifth potion, wincing at the strong burn of spearmint on his tongue. "All I can say is to try to navigate these waters as best you can. If you want to play his game, you have to put on your big girl boots and deal with it."

"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered, looking a bit frantic. "I thought I had a handle on it when it was just a power play, but I don't know anything about sex, Malfoy. I've only ever been with Ron, and – and it wasn't like that, with us. It wasn't about that. It was playful, and loving, and everything about him was gentle." She was crying now, and Draco's heart ached for her. "I'm not – I can't outfox him when it comes to…to this."

He sighed tiredly, looking down at his shoes. "He's using your attraction to him against you, Hermione – you'll have to learn to do the same. Though Voldemort knows how to use what he has to get what he wants, he's never shown any inkling of ever wanting a woman, at least as more than a temporary means to an end. But he's taken with you. You can use that against him. He's made himself vulnerable by acting on his desire for you. Take that knife, and twist it in."

She barked out a laugh. "I know nothing about using sex as leverage. And besides being able to flirt some – and with him, that consists basically of threats and bravado and whispered words of hatred – I know even less about seduction."

"You do it subconsciously," he murmured, looking up at her from his position in the corner. He tapped his crutch against the floor. "Do you ever wonder why eyes seek you out whenever you walk in a room, Hermione? Why they watch you leave? Have you not even noticed?"

She frowned. "Not…really. Sort of. I've just never thought anything of it, you know? I've never been told that I was particularly interesting, or good-looking – all I've ever known is that I'm smart, good at spells, and magically gifted. And that's all I thought other people saw when they looked at me."

"Did Weasley really never tell you how beautiful you are?" he asked quietly.

She blushed. "Of course he did. But he was my husband, Draco. All husbands say things like that to their wives, because they love them. It was expected."

"He wasn't speaking subjectively, when he said it," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "You aren't Fleur Delacour, but you are stunning in your own way. And you walk with confidence. And confidence, when seeking to seduce someone, is the most important tool you can have in your bag."

Hermione swallowed. "I can't hide how he makes me uncomfortable. I blush like a bloody schoolgirl. This is the one area in which I can't lie effectively, because my skin gives me away. He's already learned how to read it."

"Make it part of your appeal," he said thoughtfully, cocking his head and assessing her with as cool a logic as he could, given the circumstances. "He knows you're attracted to him, and that he makes you uncomfortable – that panders to his ego. He also likes the intrigue of wondering just how experienced you are. You walk about with such confidence, but when it comes to matters of sex you fumble. Every man has secret desires about finding a relatively innocent girl and corrupting her. Generally, we're the dominant partners in bed. Not always," he said with a shrug. "Sometimes it's fun to mix it up. But Riddle is someone who likes to be in control. Give him that in bed and nowhere else. It'll be addictive."

"I don't want to sleep with him," she said, looking terrified. "Well, physically I do, but psychologically there's nothing I would like to do less. Different timeline or not, he's still the devil. I'm already fighting with my own darkness – "

"If you stopped using that Probilium curse – "

"I know, Draco, I know!" she said, frustrated. "I just – sometimes I want people to hurt, I don't want to just kill them quick and easy, because God damn it, Draco, they don't fucking deserve it – " She stopped, her face contorted into a snarl of hatred and misery.

"You can't keep living like this, Hermione," he said softly, getting up and climbing on the bed with her. He sat cross-legged, facing her, and he laid a hand on her knee. "You're brimming with hate and anger and revenge that you will never be able to see fulfilled." He paused, looking deep into her teary eyes. "You won't kill him. Look into my eyes and deny it."

Her face crumpled, and she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her as she wept into the collar of his shirt. "I want him to pay, Draco," she said thickly, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back. "I want him to hurt. But something stops me. I don't know if it's the knowledge that this is an alternate timeline and therefore he's just not the same person, physically; or if it's my fascination with him, or my attraction to him…I just don't know. But each time I interact with him I find myself more and more reluctant to kill him. And I feel like –" Her voice cracked, and he held her tighter as her body tensed and started to shake. "I feel like I'm betraying Ron, and Harry, and everybody – I feel like I'm betraying you –"

"Hush," he said, pressing his mouth against her wild hair. "You aren't betraying me. I've never wanted anything for you other than your safety and your happiness and for you to follow your own heart. Don't for a minute think that. Don't."

She nodded. "But Ron – "

"– Is a memory." He paused. "Ron is gone, Hermione," he said, feeling positively dreadful as she pulled slightly away from him to look him in the face. Her chin quivered, her face wet with tears. "Weasley will always be in your heart, but he's been dead for a while, Granger. He hasn't even been born yet, in this timeline. You'll see him again in the afterlife – but don't live your life by what might please him and what won't. He's not you. You are you, and only you can make the decisions that will shape your future."

"He would hate that I've gotten involved with Riddle," she whispered hoarsely, looking despondent.

"He would love you regardless," he whispered back, cradling her cheeks with his hands. "You know he would. He would sneer, and yell, and cross his arms, and tromp around with those ridiculously large feet of his –" Hermione giggled. " – and he would still love you, Granger. Merlin, would he love you. He adored you, you know."

"Yeah?" Hermione said, smiling through her tears.

"He did. You were always in conversation. 'Hermione this, Hermione that' – it was bloody annoying, sometimes." Draco sighed, shifting and brushing her unruly hair out of her face. "He knew how I felt about you, too."

Hermione sniffed. "He did?"

"Yeah. Approached me about it – I thought for sure he was going to kill me," Draco said with an eye roll. "But he just accepted it, and made me promise to look after you, if anything ever happened to him."

"When was that?" she asked, turning her face into his hands, her nose and lips resting against the inside of his wrist.

"August," he answered softly. "A month before you were taken."

She trembled, and he drew her into his arms a second time, and she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his torso and laying her head between his collarbones.

And they just sat there for a while, together, before he felt her body relax into sleep and realized that his own eyelids were drooping; he maneuvered them so that they were both under the covers, and she snuggled into his body as she had a thousand times before. He wrapped her up in his arms, and, pushing his general apprehension into the back of his mind, allowed himself to fall into sleep.

oooo

Hermione settled down into her seat at breakfast, wedging herself between Zuri and Kat. Zuri looked at her with sharp black eyes.

"Where were you last night, Hermione?" she asked, her tone deceptively light; but Hermione could hear the suspicion and curiosity in her voice.

"Er, I stayed with Draco," Hermione responded sheepishly. "I accidentally fell asleep in his quarters, and he didn't want to bother me." At Zuri's scandalized look, she rolled her eyes. "Draco and I aren't like that. We've been close for a really long time, and have slept in the same room most nights for the past several years. Along with other people, as well. There isn't anything romantic about it, trust me."

You know how I feel about you.

The words echoed in Hermione's brain, and she inhaled sharply. It was not the first time she'd heard them…and they were, to a certain extent, very much reciprocated. It was just…complicated. But these girls didn't need to know that.

Kat snorted to her right. "Why ever not? Have you seen him lately? It doesn't get much better than that."

Hermione grimaced. "I – "

"Hey Granger!"

Hermione turned sharply, looking to where an attractive brunette in Hufflepuff robes came striding down the isle towards her. He walked with the sort of swagger that just screamed "athlete." Hermione knew his name: Colt Diggory. It was hard to forget a name like that, when she'd seen his son weep openly over his grandson's dead body so many years ago. Those kinds of memories stayed with you forever.

"Er, hello, Diggory – what can I do for you?" she asked, looking up at him with a tight smile. His eyes were a lovely hazel shade, his skin browned from the sun. He was every bit as handsome as Cedric had been; but a lot less humble.

"You can go to Slughorn's party with me on Thursday," he said, beaming down at her.

She looked up at him in shock. "Well, I – I'm flattered, Diggory, but unfortunately I've already agreed to go with Draco," she lied, desperate to not have to attend a function with a cocky quidditch chaser who reminded her so much of a dead body from almost a decade ago. Thank Merlin she had her best friend here to fall back on.

"With Mallery?" Colt said with a frown. "I thought the two of you were just friends?"

"Yes, of course, but we just thought it would be nice to go with a familiar face to the first function of the year, you know?" she said, her hands sweating. She saw Draco enter the Great Hall, and shot him a desperate look. "We're very close, you see, and wanted to be able to stick by each others' sides while we're still getting acclimated to our new…environment."

Draco came and sat down across from her, next to Sabrina, and she smiled at him tightly. He looked up at Diggory. "Sorry, mate, but she's taken already for this function – but perhaps next time, yeah?"

Diggory's lips twitched downwards. "Of course." He smiled at Hermione, and brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "Perhaps the Halloween Ball?" he asked with a wink.

She cleared her throat. "Perhaps. I'll – I'll think about it, yeah?"

"Be sure that you do," he said confidently, smiling at her as he turned away. "Mallery's a lucky sod. I hope you'll consider going with me another time."

"Of course," she said, smiling nervously. "I'll see you around, Colt."

"I look forward to it, Hermione." He smiled, and strode back to his own table, seemingly no worse the wear when it came to confidence.

"Well," Draco said, piling some scrambled eggs onto his plate with gusto. He looked up at Hermione with a smirk, casually dodging a copy of the daily prophet as the mail arrived, owls swooping in through the open windows. "You're welcome."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and flicked the edge of a newspaper off of her plate. "Sorry, Draco. I hope you didn't intend on taking someone else?"

He cleared his throat and looked to his right. "I was planning on asking Snowborn, but perhaps she'll go with me for Halloween."

Sabrina blushed. Hermione groaned and put her hands over her face. "God, Sabrina, I'm sorry. I'm so thoughtless sometimes."

"That's all right, Hermione," she said, smiling softly. That's why Hermione liked her so much. She was very forgiving, and had a gentle nature. "Colt is kind of a jerk. I mean, I don't know if I would have said no – he's very handsome, and has a lot of connections through his family – but he's a bit arrogant and thinks of women as pretty things to wear on his arm."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I've noticed that about a lot of men around here," she said darkly. "It's getting a bit tired. I'm glad that there's talk about a woman running for Minister of Magic. Hopefully some of those outdated opinions about women will be flushed down the loo."

Kat shrugged, opening up the paper she'd received. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she said, sighing. "It's like in the last thirty years we've slid backwards on social issues. It's odd."

"A change in the Wizengamot, I expect," Zuri said, snorting in disdain. "You know that Malfoy and Black have been pushing them in all the wrong directions."

Hermione saw Draco's eyes sharpen in interest. "Abraxas Malfoy?" he asked curiously.

"His father, Agricola," Zuri replied. "Abraxas won't take his seat on the Wizengamot until he turns thirty." She squinted at him. "I would say you were a Malfoy yourself, Draco, but you're not anywhere near arrogant enough to be related to those pompous gits."

Draco chuckled, and Hermione suppressed a fit of hysterical laughter. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, raising his glass of pumpkin juice towards the dark-skinned girl across the table. "I appreciate the positive assessment of my character."

Hermione's instincts jolted as a shadow fell over her shoulder. Draco looked up.

"Well," a deep voice came from behind her, "I was hoping to ask you to the party on Thursday, but it seems you already have a suitor of sorts."

Hermione turned. Magnus Macdonald stood behind her, looking a bit dejected. The handsome brunette was holding a Daily Prophet in his hands, looking down at what seemed to be the third page.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked, blushing again, feeling an irrational anger that only this morning she'd been asked twice to Slughorn's party – what the hell? She'd had enough male attention over the last few days to last a lifetime.

When I seduce you, Miss Granger, you will remember it afterwards.

She shivered.

The handsome quidditch captain laid the paper out before her and winked at her, his blue eyes sparkling. "Perhaps you'll change your mind. If so, you know where to find me, Granger."

When he turned and walked back towards his end of the table, she looked down to the third page of the Daily Prophet that was spread open on the table. She sucked in a breath when her eyes were drawn to a fairly large black and white moving picture of herself and Tom Riddle.

At first she was silent, simply because her eyes were drawn to his face – the black and white photograph put the sharp, handsome angles of his face in stark relief. He was, as Hermione had traitorously admitted to herself before, physically perfect. She noticed the way he seemed to tower over her in the picture, the way the breadth of his shoulders so eclipsed her own.

It was a picture of the two of them after they'd stepped out of Florean Fortescue's. She watched in fascination (and horror) as she took a lick of her brimbleberry ice cream, and Tom watched her with an unreadable expression before tucking her free hand into the crook of his arm and turning to lick his own ice cream. She flushed irrationally hot as his tongue darted out to taste the chocolaty flavor.

There were two smaller pictures below – one of she and Riddle out front of Ollivander's, him tucking a loose piece of hair back behind one of her bobby pins, and one of all three of them in the doorway of the Quivering Quill. Draco was leaning heavily upon his crutch as Tom opened the door, and all three of them were smiling amusedly. Hermione very clearly saw her lips form the words "Harping Howler."

Her eyes dropped down to the article printed below, and her hands shook.

October 2, 1944

NEW SCHOOL ROMANCE?

Miss Hermione Granger and Mister Draco Mallery, Hogwarts' two newest additions, make their first appearance in public – and they aren't alone

Yesterday, Sunday the 1st, Hermione Granger and Draco Mallery were seen out and about in Diagon Alley, accompanied by none other than Hogwarts' most celebrated Head Boy, Tom Riddle.

Riddle is, of course, considered to be the his generation's most eligible bachelor, but he has never been seen to express any serious interest in a girl – until now.

Hermione Granger, despite rumors of being unusually close to her companion Draco Mallery, has managed to worm her way into Riddle's good graces surprisingly quickly, despite his previous proclivity to remain devoted to his studies and Head Boy duties. From what we can see, he seems effectively captivated by the witch; whether he will remain that way is yet to be seen.

"He's been seen walking with her in the halls, carrying her bag, sitting next to her in class – and she calls him familiarly by his first name, which, given the general formality of Riddle's person, is very unusual indeed," says a teacher. "She even sat at the Slytherin table Saturday morning at breakfast, which means she's willing to throw away the typical constraints of house rivalries, given that she's a Gryffindor. All in all, they make a very handsome couple. I'm eager to see where this goes."

Draco Mallery, despite rumors of being very protective of the girl, seemed to get along swimmingly with Riddle – or as swimmingly as two attractive alpha males can be. All my fellow ladies, wouldn't you agree? Now England has another eligible bachelor, and my, isn't he handsome.

Mallery was seen buying a wand – which we hear is blackthorn and dragon heartstring, 14 inches long – and a beautiful eagle owl for a familiar. Of course, we're all left wondering why he's been hobbling around on a crutch – well, wonder no more. Our contacts at the school have the dish.

"He was hit by a dark curse before they arrived here," one student claims. "Both of them came in covered in blood, and Mallery was totally unconscious for over a week. He's been in a wheelchair most of the time, but he seems to be improving as the days go by."

This lends itself to the story of their background: the two students came spinning through a rip in space all the way from China, where they'd been involved in an ongoing war. The Ministry is still looking into their records, and we can't wait to see what they find out. Of course, Granger and Mallery are not alone – rumor has it that two of their old foes from the war came through that same hole in space, and now Hogwarts is working with the Ministry on figuring out what additional security measures need to be put into place.

As for Granger and Riddle…well, we'll let the unmistakable chemistry between those two speak for itself. As always, we at the Daily Prophet will keep our eyes peeled and ears open for any more juicy gossip surrounding the budding romance of this attractive couple. Don't worry: have we ever let you down before?

Sophia Bones

Hermione slammed the paper back onto the table, furious. She looked up at Draco, who was just finishing reading his own copy. He met her eyes, and his lips trembled for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Shut up," she snarled hotly, feeling her cheeks burn hot as everyone at the Gryffindor table, and indeed most of the other people in the Great Hall, stared at her. She turned around to look at the Slytherin table; Riddle and all of his cronies were absent. Thank Merlin. She didn't think she could handle seeing his stupid face right now.

Draco continued to laugh, his eyes closed and shoulders shaking with mirth, and she reached across the table and popped him on the head with her copy of the paper. "This isn't funny, Draco!" she hissed.

"Haha, 'budding romance of this attractive couple'…hahaha." Draco wiped at his eyes, which had started to tear, and took a shuddering breath, coughing a bit. "Whew. Oh, wow. I haven't been that entertained in…well, in quite a while."

Hermione glared at him. "I hate you."

"Love you too, Granger," he drawled, flicking her on the nose affectionately. She flinched away from him, not at all amused.

Across the table, Sabrina was devouring the article. "Blimey, Hermione," she said, her eyes widening. "It really does look like he's totally entranced by you." She looked up. "I thought you said you weren't interested?"

"Yes Hermione," Iris said from two seats down, looking at her scathingly. "I thought you said you weren't interested."

"I'm not!" Hermione hissed defensively, her blood boiling. "He – he's pushy, and – and has no concept of personal space, and I'm totally not interested at all," she lied. She tangled her fingers in her hair. "And sure, yeah, we get along well, but – but – oh my God, this is a bloody disaster. Draco, what do I do?" she asked frantically, waving the paper around hysterically. She felt totally helpless.

He shrugged. "I don't know, Hermione. Just…don't freak out, all right? I'm sure people will just see it as a big misunderstanding come tomorrow. Besides, I hardly think Riddle will be pleased to be labeled as 'effectively captivated.' I imagine that 'our generation's most eligible bachelor' will want to remain that way. He doesn't seem like the type that wants to be tied down with someone. Conveniently enough, you aren't that type either."

Hermione's anger simmered low in her stomach. "I have half a mind to march right on down to the Daily Prophet and give this Sophia Bones a piece of my mind. See how she likes having a nasty dose of an Unforgivable that starts with the letter C."

Sabrina gasped. "Hermione!"

"I'm kidding!" she said, grumbling. "Mostly."

"Have you ever actually…well, you know, cast an – an Unforgivable?" Sabrina said. Iris leaned over to listen.

Hermione snorted. "Is anybody going to appear over my shoulder and haul me off to Azkaban if I say yes?"

Kat stared at her. "You've tortured people?"

Hermione, feeling rather humorless, stood from her seat, downing the rest of her orange juice. She swung her legs over the bench and grabbed her bag, intent on escaping down to the Black Lake for some alone time before Herbology. She looked around the group of girls that were crowded around her section of the table.

"You bet your arse I have," she said coldly, thinking of all the times she'd used the Cruciatus curse on her enemies. "And I don't feel an ounce of regret over it, either."

Crumpling her copy of The Daily Prophet in her hand, she stalked down to the doors of the Great Hall, her hair cracking with her magic, and incinerated the newspaper with the heat of her fingers.

She was unaware of how her hand caught on fire before it winked out, leaving her skin unharmed.

oooo

"You can use this, you know."

Hermione crossed her arms and turned away from her best friend, looking out across the Black Lake. The Giant Squid set a tentacle up on the beach next to her leg, and she reached down to scratch him. "I'm sorry, Godric, but I forgot your toast."

She finally looked up at Draco. "I forgot to meet Conan out here this morning. I feel terrible."

"He'll live," Draco said curtly. "You can apologize to him later. Now that you've scared the wits out of your roommates, he might be your only friend."

Hermione winced. "They were that freaked out?"

"No," he said, sitting down next to her, tapping his new cane on the ground – Madam Soranus had given it to him this morning. It was magically fortified, strong enough to bear his entire weight, if needed. "I was exaggerating. Zuri managed to talk the rest of them down, pointing out the usual – you know, that you aren't from here, and that you'd been in a war, and that sometimes you had to do questionable things, blah blah blah…" He shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't really even have to say anything in your defense. She covered all the bases."

"I like her," Hermione said softly.

"She reminds me of you, not too long ago," Malfoy said, casting a quick Muffliato around them. "Righteous and smart and snobby. It's refreshing."

"Do you miss me being like that?" she asked quietly, putting a hand on his knee.

He reached down to lay his fingers over her knuckles. "Sometimes."

Hermione sighed, feeling lost. "I'm not sure where that girl went."

"Sometimes she still makes an appearance," Draco said with a wistful smile. "The know-it-all girl with her nose stuck in a book, excited about exams, concerned with all things good and just and proper; and the girl that wasn't afraid to bend the rules, when it suited her. I still see her, every now and again." He paused, looking at the smooth surface of the lake. "The glimpse of a relic of a time long past, perhaps."

"Do you ever feel like…like you're living in a dream? Like you'll wake up any moment, snug in your four-poster bed, Crabbe and Goyle snoring on either side?"

"I used to," he replied, squeezing her fingers. "I think it was that morning on the back porch swing at Grimmauld Place, a few days after you were rescued – I think that's when I realized that it wasn't a dream. Just cold, hard reality. And I kept watching people die – and kept killing people – and that notion of it all being a dream…it vaporized."

She looked down at the Giant Squid's ticklish red tentacle. He didn't seem to mind that she had no toast. He was just content to let her scratch him.

How nice it must be, to live such a simple life.

"I wish it were a dream," she whispered. "If I could go back, and tell everybody to just get out – to run, get out of Britain forever…" She sighed.

"Me too."

Hermione flipped her hand over and squeezed his. "What were you saying about being able to use something?"

"The article," Draco said. His lips quirked up, and she gave him a warning glare. "You've already made your displeasure known. Keep doing that."

"What? Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"Riddle likes that you're a challenge," he said, looking down and grabbing a handful of sand, letting it run between his fingers. "He hates women that fawn all over him. Thinks they're pathetic. One of the reasons why you intrigue him so much is that you aren't like other girls, in more ways than one. It will take more than just his pretty smile and some flattery to have you falling all over him. You're something for him to conquer, so to speak."

"Like hell I am!" she hissed angrily.

Draco pointed his cane at her. "That's precisely what I mean, right there. Your resistance to him is both frustrating and fascinating to him."

"He'll get tired of it eventually," she said, thinking back to her conversation with Avery Saturday morning. "My little rebellious streak will get old."

"Then draw it out for as long as you can," Malfoy said. "Give him a little bit here and there, and then distance yourself. Make it seem like you're struggling to say no."

"I am struggling to say no," she said impatiently.

"Good, then you won't have to act much," he replied, his tone cool. She knew it bothered him, talking about this. "Push and pull, Hermione. Keep him occupied with you."

"That worries me, a bit," she said, looking up at the cloudy sky. It looked like it was going to rain. "Lord Voldemort was notorious for obsessing over things. Immortality, Harry Potter, the Elder Wand…" She trailed off, squinting up at the clouds. "What if I become that obsession?"

"Then you best make sure it's the kind of obsession that keeps you alive." She looked at him. His face was dead serious, his eyes solemn ash. "I hate it more than anyone, Hermione," he said quietly. "But you'll have to use your body to bring him to his knees. It's part of your power as a woman. You've got to tap into every part of yourself that can be used against him, because when it comes to sheer power, magical and physical, he has the upper hand."

She watched as an osprey flew low over the lake before snatching a fish in its talons and carrying his prize away into the trees. "I've never been so great at using my womanly wiles. I'm better at it than I used to be, with Ginny's and Pansy's influences," she said, "but it's not exactly natural to me." She met his eyes. "Can you teach me?"

His jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed. "Teach you how to…"

"Yes." She hurriedly looked away.

"I thought we agreed that we could never be – "

" – be together in that way, yes," she said, feeling her heart constrict. "This would be purely…clinical."

Draco looked horrified. "You're asking the impossible, Hermione," he said, his voice cracking. "You're asking me to teach you everything I know about sex and seduction – via experience – and to remain clinical about it?" Hips lips went thin with anger. "Damn it, Granger, do you know how hard that will be?"

"Yes," she said, swallowing. "I do." She stared at his shoes. "If any two people can detach from their emotions to do something like this, it's the two of us, Draco."

He stood. "I won't have intercourse with you." His face was cool and calm, but his eyes were hot with rage. "But I'll try to teach you as best I can using all other means. Meet me in my quarters tonight at nine." He tapped his cane against her hip.

"Thank you, Draco." She made to stand.

He held up his hand and looked away. "I don't want to see you right now," he said lowly. "And I sure as hell don't want to talk to you. Just…go to class, Hermione. I'm taking the day off."

He left her there, hobbling off with his cane and never looking back. She felt a tear slip from her eye, and suddenly, she felt like the most selfish person in the world.

oooo

"I thought Mallery was coming to classes today?"

Hermione looked up as Bertha Higgs sidled in next to her in Herbology. She smiled in greeting as she potted another fanged geranium – she had done it a thousand times in her sixth year, but apparently the curriculum at Hogwarts in 1944 was quite a bit behind what she'd dealt with in the '90s – and again when Sabrina and Felicity Carmichael also came to stand around the table she was sharing with Zuri.

"He planned on it," she said quietly. "Wasn't feeling up to it."

"He looked great at breakfast," Zuri said with a frown. "Much better than before."

She shrugged.

"Did you have a row?" Sabrina asked. The prefect's keen perceptiveness was starting to make Hermione uncomfortable. She seemed to be able to read the tension in any situation, and her observations were often spot-on.

She cleared her throat. "It's fine. Draco and I understand each other. Every fight we have is usually resolved quickly."

"It seems that you two have no secrets," Zuri commented.

"None," she confirmed confidently.

Well…just one.

Felicity flipped her wheat-blonde hair over her shoulder. "Unusual, for a man and a woman to be so close without any sort of romance involved," she said, her voice strong and clear and indicative of someone who had been raised to think she was superior. Her future granddaughter would turn out to be a gem. Hermione had depended heavily upon Penelope Clearwater during the war. She had been smart and brave and resourceful, and had enjoyed research as much as Hermione did.

Hermione smiled nostalgically. "My two best friends growing up were both boys."

"Was one of them Draco?" Sabrina asked.

"Oh Merlin no," Hermione said with a snort. "Draco and I were mortal enemies in school. It wasn't until the war started that we were forced to work together – then he just sort of slipped into the best friend role, by accident, really…nobody saw it coming. Least of all the two of us. But…it works." It felt nice – for the first time since she got here, not a single part of one of her statements was a lie.

"How did you end up with two boys as your best friends when you were so young?" Bertha asked, looking at her with curious blue eyes.

Hermione grinned. "We bonded in one of the girls' loos," she said fondly, taking note of the four pairs of eyebrows that shot up. That memory was little more than a dream, now – but still vivid. "A troll got into the school. The three of us were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and managed to somehow incapacitate it just in time for all the professors to get there." She giggled. "Since then…well, we made a pretty good team. We kept each other alive…for a long time."

"A troll, huh?" Felicity said, looking skeptical. "When you were eleven?"

"I was eleven, but they were both ten, at the time," she lied, trying to confirm the idea that their first year of school had been true to Chinese tradition. "A fully grown mountain troll," she said, shaking her head in long-felt disbelief. "Dumb luck, really," she said, repeating the words of Professor McGonagall. "We were a mess."

"You just can't make this stuff up," Zuri said, looking at Hermione with something like awe and just a tinge of envy. "I mean really – I envy you your adventurous childhood."

She realized what she'd said just a moment after she'd said it. The flash of irritation that Hermione let slip across her face made Zuri flush in embarrassment.

"Forgive me, Hermione," she said quietly. She held her head high – she reminded Hermione of her old self so much just then. "That was thoughtless. I'm sorry."

Hermione was grateful that the girl didn't fall all over herself apologizing. Zuri was a prideful creature, and there was an air of superiority there – something that Hermione had not recognized in herself until she'd gotten a bit older – but she was fair and just, and though it was obviously hard for her to admit to a mistake, she did it with grace. Hermione imagined that the gracious part of it had been a development that had come with maturity, and fairly recent. Hermione still struggled with that, herself.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you." She sighed. "I suppose it seems glamorous, looking from the outside in." She smiled. "I think it's the potential for glory, and the automatic respect that comes with it." She finished potting her last geranium; frowning as she caught her finger on a fang and watching the blood come to the surface of her skin.

Blood, she mused to herself, sucking the throbbing finger into her mouth. Funny how it all looks the same, smells the same, feels the same, tastes the same. Funny how everybody bleeds the same way: revoltingly, and quickly. Funny how it all looks the same as it pools on wood, soaks through dirt, runs between cobblestones. Funny how those who scream in the throes of a bloody death all look equally ugly. Funny how everyone in the world could bleed into the same pot, and you wouldn't be able to distinguish whose was whose.

Funny.

"I'm going to go wash up," she said, smiling at the group to try to dispel the tension. "Does anyone need any help before I do?"

"You work so quickly, Hermione," Bertha said. "It seems like you've done it all before. Not just the geraniums – everything."

She shrugged. "I think that Hogwarts is a little behind on their curriculum, compared to the rest of the world. No offense to Headmaster Dippet, but I think he sees all of us as children. Unfortunately, this does nothing to help prepare us for the real world."

She waved at them all and turned. "I'm going to go ahead and go on back to my dorm before lunch to freshen up. I'll see you all in the Great Hall," she said with a small smile.

"See you, Hermione," Sabrina said, going back to her own table to finish up her potting.

The other girls murmured niceties, and Hermione went up to the front of the greenhouse and smiled at the kind, sincere, down-to-earth Professor Beery.

"All done, Miss Granger?" he asked, his two bushy brown eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

"Yes, sir," she said, handing in the sheet of parchment that magically kept track of each plant she'd potted. There were check marks next to each of them in green ink, indicating that she'd not only finished, but also potted all of the geraniums perfectly and without incident.

He took the parchment and looked it over, and then sighed, looking up at her with a smile that spoke of no shortage of amusement. "Why am I not surprised?" He shook his head. "I hate the feeling of not being able to teach someone anything. It's terrible, you know, as a teacher."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Professor, I can assure you that there is plenty more for me to learn, especially when it comes to something like Herbology. I never truly got to finish my education in China properly, after all, and, well, the environment we were in wasn't exactly conducive to a focus on Herbology. No offense, Professor, but unless it could be used offensively or defensively, we didn't pay much attention to plants," she finished sheepishly. She felt guilty.

"Then I wonder if you might not be interested in doing some more advanced lessons in your free time?" he said, placing her paper on the table at the front of the greenhouse; predictably, it was the first one there, as she was the first one finished. "You would receive extra credit for it, of course."

She brimmed with excitement. "Oh, of course! I'm already doing some after-hours sessions with Professor Dumbledore, but I'm sure I'd have plenty of time to help out here at the greenhouses, and I'd love the opportunity to further my education outside of the constraints of a class."

"Perhaps two nights a week, or something of the like? I don't wish to take away your free time," he said, still looking amused and rather pleased at her enthusiasm.

She beamed. "That sounds lovely. I'll confer with Professor Dumbledore, and we can figure out a schedule."

"Excellent," he said, smiling in return. "I look forward to it. You are free to go, Hermione. Enjoy your lunch."

"You too, Professor," she said, bowing her head in acknowledgement and giving him one last smile as she pushed through the door.

She was glad that, for once, she didn't have to fake her happiness.

I'm not sure where that girl went.

Sometimes she still makes an appearance. The glimpse of a relic of a time long past, perhaps.

She sighed as she headed back to Gryffindor Tower, climbing the stairs at a run and relishing the familiar increase in her heart rate. She was aware that she probably looked like a total loon to the few students she passed, but didn't much care.

She needed to feel the burn in her legs, the pounding of her heart, the strain of her lungs. She needed to remind herself that she was here, now, in this place. It was no use dwelling on the past, after all.

She hated that she told herself that everyday, and yet she was never able to follow her own advice.

How fucking funny.

oooo

At lunch, she sat at the Ravenclaw table with Bertha, Felicity, and an auburn-haired girl named Pepper Peabody who had a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes that made Hermione think of Ginny. The girl was quite the firecracker, and was quick-witted and in possession of a delightfully sharp tongue.

Sabrina, Zuri and Ignatius had all decided to sit with the Ravenclaws as well, and it was causing quite the stir – she seemed to have started a trend. Though Iris had long floated between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, and sometimes ventured over to gossip with the Ravenclaws and Slytherins, she never sat down to actually eat with them. It was quite the taboo thing, apparently, though it seemed that most people were more shocked than displeased. She was very effectively pushing at the boundaries of societal norms, and even though it might cause her some trouble later, she couldn't really find it within her to actually care.

She chose a seat facing away from the Slytherin table, of course, and actively participated in the conversation at her table; but it was only a matter of time before she felt a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet tap her shoulder and then rest there. Somehow, having the insubstantial weight of the paper hanging over her shoulder was far more menacing than it should have been.

She turned, and met Riddle's eyes. The dark anger in them caused nervous butterflies to flutter low in her stomach. Predictably, Fawkes came awake, and she could feel his desire for her to touch Riddle's magic with her own.

She actively ignored him. Infuriating bird.

"I don't appreciate having my face splashed across the front page, nor do I enjoy having a fabricated story of my romance with you circulated throughout the entire British wizarding community." His words were acid.

"I suppose that makes two of us," she said tightly, staring up at him with narrowed eyes.

She saw a brief expression of disbelief flicker across his face. "You deny the claim that you started this absurd rumor?"

Her eyes went wide and she laughed out loud. She just could not control herself. "Oh yes, Tom, I just couldn't wait for the world to know of our 'budding romance,'" she said acidly, with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes. "Being seen on your arm has been my goal since day one. You're just positively dreamy."

He glared at her. The fact that he was displaying such negative emotion in front of the rest of her peers was uncommon. He must have been incredibly irritated to approach her in public, in front of almost the entire student body.

"Don't be smart with me, Granger," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Don't deny that this little article was your idea."

She was no longer amused. She stood slowly in her seat and turned to face him. "Sorry, but being paired up in the public eye with the 'most celebrated Head Boy' does not appeal to me." She barked out a humorless laugh. "What, did you honestly think that I would be interested in you in that way? Looking for a relationship with a seventeen-year-old student that hasn't even learned how to cast a patronus yet? Or untangled himself from Devil's Snare? Or looked a full-grown acromantula in the eye and lived to tell the tale?"

She stepped up onto the bench, and then hopped down into the aisle; looking up into his face and feeling the skepticism and ire rise within her. "Did you think that because you're handsome and smart and magically formidable that I would willingly attach myself to you? You, who haven't dueled without bowing first, whose little posse of perfectly pedigreed, inconsequential followers makes you think you're somehow important and powerful? You, who have never seen another human being explode in front of you, who've never felt the power of a dark curse slam into you, who've never had to wipe blood out of your eyes just to make sure that when you aim your wand, you don't hit a friend? You, who've never heard the screams of someone burning to death, who casts Stupefies and Expelliarmuses and uses Incendio to light a fire in your common room rather than to light a fire that takes out an entire forest? You, who've never faced down a troll, or a giant, or a werewolf under a full moon? Do you think that just because you're tied with me for the highest grades in the school and make a pretty potion and are a seven-year member of the Slug Club that it makes you special – that your Head Boy badge and contacts at the Ministry are supposed to impress me?"

She paused, watching in fascination and satisfaction when his eyes filled with murder and no small amount of hatred. "Oh, you've got a medal for special services to the school, and your professors just love you, fawn over you; such a smart boy, a special boy, no doubt he's meant for great things, they say…and the girls eat you up like sweet cream, like you're the hottest thing since the bloody sun exploded in space. You dress ever so stylishly and your lips are ever so kissable and oh, those shoulders – " She boldly laid her hands on the fronts of his shoulders, and felt the substantial muscles there twitch violently.

She inhaled shakily, feeling her wrath grow with each passing second. Her desire for him did absolutely nothing to diminish her hatred of him. She let her hands slide from his shoulders and clench into fists at her sides. She gave him a shark-like grin, sure that it made her look like some sort of half-mad demon. She didn't care.

"Go back to your textbooks, Tom Riddle," she said, her voice calmer, colder, more dangerous. Because she was dangerous. She was dangerous to him, and he needed to know it. And if he was too stupid to catch on…well, he could deal with the consequences. "Go back to your classes, and sit your N.E.W.T.s like the star pupil you are. Go back to your warm bed tonight and think about how awesome you are, how accomplished. Eat your dinner surrounded by your adoring fans, and revel in your popularity. And when you've actually done something of importance – discover a cure for a disease, change policy in the Ministry, lay down your life for a friend – then you can look at the world and gloat. You can bask in the applause, and know that you deserve it. But right now, Riddle, you're nothing but a young, handsome, charming, particularly exceptional student with incredible potential but little practical experience to back it up…who hasn't done a goddamn thing to give back to the world."

She then pushed herself up on her toes and whispered in his ear so that only he could hear. "And don't mistake sex for romance," she breathed, delighting in the barely perceptible shudder of his body. "They have absolutely nothing in common."

When she'd finished stripping him of every shred of arrogance, she smiled at him and patted him condescendingly on the arm. "Perhaps, Tom Riddle," she said, smiling to herself, "you should learn to speak to people in private to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of everyone. But at least this will effectively put a stop to that oh-so-annoying promulgation of our 'budding romance.' I don't care if we make an 'attractive couple'; I don't particularly like the idea of being coupled with anyone, much less a boy who has a higher opinion of himself than reality illustrates. So, if you're done making an absolute arse of yourself – you're welcome for the little dose of realism and humility, by the way – I'm going to finish my lunch, and continue the conversation with my friends that you so foolishly thought to interrupt with your utter unimportance."

Letting the smile fall from her face and giving him the iciest, deadliest look she could conjure, she promptly turned around, intending on regaining her seat. A deceptively gentle hand on her arm stopped her, and she turned back to him expectantly.

He would either try to murder her right there in the Great Hall with everyone watching – in which case she would have a nasty surprise waiting for him in the form of a delightfully pungent Probilium that would have him dead in two minutes; she didn't care what Draco said – or he would gently apologize to save face and convince the world of his modesty, all the while planning on the best way to kill her later.

The latter won out. The rage and hatred and murderous intention fled from his eyes, replaced by an insincere understanding and bashfulness. He smiled down at her ever-so-softly, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, his voice gentle but conveniently loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "I didn't mean to offend you. And you're right. I'm overdue for a lesson in modesty. Your words were well deserved, and I accept their truth. We could all benefit from such an expressive reminder of our own unimportance. I appreciate your honesty; this poses a new challenge for me, and I welcome the hard work in store for me as I try to improve upon myself and set a better example for my peers. Please, accept my apology and gratitude."

She smiled at him, making it as gentle and genuine as his own; but made sure he could see the threat in her gaze. "I appreciate that, Tom. And I apologize in turn, for being so harsh. I often find myself judging others unfairly next to my own life experiences, and it's wrong of me to do so. I do hope that my callousness and thoughtless words haven't ruined our acquaintanceship. Your company is most pleasurable and your conversation most stimulating," she said slyly, emphasizing the word stimulating as he had done not so long ago with the purpose of making her uncomfortable, "and I would hate to have thrown away a friendship of such potential with such a remarkable wizard because of my recklessness."

"Not at all, Hermione, not at all," he said with a smile. "This has been a most enlightening conversation – and I hope it's benefitted those around us who've witnessed it, as well. I rather think our friendship has merely been made more meaningful. Please do feel free to be as open with me in the future, and I will strive to do the same."

Very purposefully he lifted her uninjured hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her knuckles. Like she had with his ear the previous day, he barely let his tongue slip from his mouth to taste her skin; it was so subtle that no one would be able to see it. She felt fury well up within her as he winked at her not-so-secretly and pulled away, brushing his thumb against her permanently blemished knuckles in a wicked caress, letting it glide over her scars.

"Enjoy the rest of your lunch, Hermione," he said kindly. His voice was outwardly sugary sweet, but she heard the darkness beneath – the promise of retribution. "I look forward to seeing you again in Charms."

"Likewise, Tom," she returned graciously, irate that it now appeared to the public that his interest in her had only solidified, likely confirming their idea that they were still well on their way to being a couple. Merlin, he was making this difficult.

In hindsight, she probably should have skipped the spiteful, demeaning tirade that had effectively sliced through his credibility in front of the entire student body – not that they all had been able to hear it, of course. But with the way the rumor mill was at Hogwarts, it wouldn't be long before everyone did know.

She felt the anticipation of his retribution coil in her belly. It would undoubtedly be harsh. Her little tirade may have just cost Hermione her life.

Still, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. By now Tom knew that she was a formidable witch. But he didn't know how much she knew. He'd never seen her duel, and though he'd gotten a glimpse of her ruthlessness and innovation yesterday with her condemnation of the Russian spy, he did not know just how cold-blooded she could be.

She had learned to chain up her good wolf over the years, had trained it to sit and stay while her bad wolf came out to play. It didn't happen with full impact often. Usually her bad wolf was but a prowling shadow, snapping at her good wolf and cowing it into submission when she had to do something particularly nasty that her good wolf actively protested against. But when she did chain up that good wolf and let it fade into the background…she could do extraordinary things. Draco and Harry had often commented on her unusual and remarkable talent of forming walls within her brain and soul, effectively compartmentalizing so that she could perform certain actions without immediate emotional repercussions. It also allowed her to think coolly and rationally in times of crisis, which had kept her and many Order members alive in impossible situations. This was where her true power lay. The ability to shift her mind at will. It didn't always work – she was a woman of strong emotions, after all, and sometimes they would flood through her no matter what she did – but it had become a most effective system for keeping herself and her friends alive and, on the opposite side of the coin, doing despicable things necessary to defeat the enemy.

I'm not sure where that girl went.

That girl, her past self…Hermione had buried her deep. Oh, she clawed herself out of her makeshift grave sometimes, and often it made Hermione smile. But that girl couldn't do the things that the present woman needed to do. So past Hermione lived and breathed below layers of consciousness and this Hermione's loose code of ethics that her old self couldn't stand to look at.

And in addition to her unique abilities, she had Fawkes. He purred within her chest. Despite his fascination with Riddle, he belonged to her. He was her protector, her friend; he was loyal to her, and he had given her his power. And no matter how much he was interested in having access to Tom's magic again, he was more interested in her safety. He wouldn't hesitate to lend her his strength in a duel if it came down to it.

Of course, she didn't know exactly how much strength that would be, nor did she know the scope of her abilities yet. She would just have to play it by ear and see what she would get.

Sometimes, 'Mione, you just have to…fly by the seat of your pants, so to speak. Ron's voice echoed throughout her brain, and she saw him shrug adorably in her mind's eye. You can't plan for every little thing. You have to just wing it, sometimes, and hope for the best.

She missed him.

She watched as her nemesis (and perhaps future lover, depending on how things went from here – though the thought made her grimace in discomfort) turned back to his table, but did not give him the satisfaction of her stare as he walked away. She turned once again, for good this time, and sat back down at the Ravenclaw table.

She could feel all eyes on her as she poured herself more water from the pitcher on the table – she then transfigured it into something very close to rubbing alcohol, and swigged it down, forcing herself to not react at the taste. She looked over at Pepper.

"So, Peabody, you were talking about education reform? In Charms and DADA, if I remember correctly, yes? I'd like to hear more about that. I absolutely agree that there needs to be a change in education, particularly regarding DADA – but how much isn't enough, and how much is too much?" she asked.

A voice spoke from behind her before Pepper could respond. "Well, I suspect the Unforgivables are out."

Hermione turned and smiled up at Raven Flynn, who was looking down at Hermione with an inscrutable expression. "Probably."

Raven sighed dramatically and looked up to the ceiling. "More's the pity."

Hermione snorted in laughter. "Would you care to join us, Raven? Though this isn't my table, so I feel odd extending the invitation."

Raven looked over at Bertha, Felicity and Pepper. "Would you mind? I find myself in dire need of intelligent conversation."

"Er, not at all," Bertha said cautiously, knowing that Hermione and Raven were friends of a sort. "It'll be a melting pot of houses."

"Very colorful," Raven said, agreeing heartily. "I confess that I quite like it. Slytherin does get dreadfully monotonous – but don't tell anyone I said that. I do have to share a dorm with them," she said with a teasing smirk. She tossed her long, glossy curls over her shoulder. "So, education reform – Peabody, was it?"

Pepper grinned. "Call me Pepper, please. If we're doing away with old, stuffy formalities, we should probably go ahead and bite the bullet and get all of them out of the way. We'll either be condemned by our peers, or hailed as heroes."

Ignatius lifted his glass of juice. "I'll drink to that. School has gotten abysmally boring."

"I know, right?" Raven agreed. "Prewett – Ignatius, rather – would you care to go with me to Slughorn's first party?" she said bluntly. "I know you've got this thing with Lucretia Black – don't even try to deny it, that girl adores you and your skin goes bright red any time you hear her name – but since she's graduated already, and abroad in France this week, she won't be attending the party – which leaves you free to go with me."

Ignatius flushed brightly. "Er, yeah, Raven, sure. I've only ever gone to one of those before, when I went with Lucretia last year. I'd be honored."

"Excellent," she said with a coy smirk. "I'm fond of rocking the boat, but it's awfully hard to do by oneself."

"Good thing, then, that you aren't alone," Felicity said, looking unsure. "Though I admit it isn't in my nature to…rebel…so to speak."

"Well, no pressure, of course," Sabrina said kindly. "But I think it'll be rather…fun."

Zuri snorted. "More like social suicide. But hey, I don't mind," she said with a shrug.

Hermione smiled. "So we find a way to make it more palatable, even appealing, to the rest of the student body," she said lowly, leaning in towards them. "You would be surprised at how much fun mixing people from different houses can be. At my school in China, there were five houses, and the segregation was intense. And then the war started, and it brought everybody together, and it was eye opening, getting to make new friends that we'd never thought to get to know before. It created an interesting dynamic. Besides, if you take a look at Gryffindor and Slytherin, for example: a Slytherin is strong where a Gryffindor is weak, and vice versa. That doesn't mean that a Slytherin can't embody Gryffindor traits – I know many Slytherin types that are unflinchingly brave. Draco is one of them. And it doesn't mean that a Gryffindor can't be sly and resourceful," she continued, gesturing to herself. "But when students from all five of the school houses converged and worked together, we accomplished incredible things."

"Different minds working together," Bertha said with a nod. "That makes a lot of sense."

"So perhaps we can make that happen here – only without the war part," Hermione said with an encouraging smile. "And it's not like it has to be an overnight change – all of us great friends all of a sudden, or something unrealistic like that – but hell, you form something like a study group, or plan a game of pick-up quidditch, or go to a party with a member of another house," she suggested, gesturing between Raven and Ignatius, "and it will start to catch on. People will start to wonder what's so great about it – they'll wonder why we're doing it – and they'll want to try it for themselves. And I bet about ninety percent of students will like it."

"The other ten percent would undoubtedly be from Slytherin," Raven said with a snort, doing like Hermione and subtly transfiguring her juice into wine.

"You shouldn't disparage your own house, you know," Sabrina scolded. "There are plenty of people in Slytherin that are more open-minded and progressive. Just look at Lucretia Black: she fancies the pants off of a Gryffindor, and did so while she was still in school, which isn't exactly typical, especially for a Black."

Ignatius blushed red-hot again.

Hermione shrugged. "It's things like this, ideas like these, that keep unnecessary conflict from happening in the future. This inter-house animosity is counter-productive and childish. There are real, relevant issues in our society that we could put all of that energy towards, instead of booing as innocent first years are sorted into a rival house. That just feeds the cycle."

There was silence around the table. "You are awfully wise, for someone so young, Hermione," Bertha said softly.

Hermione smiled sardonically. "Awfully foolish, too. It's not so much wisdom as it is knowledge born of experience – and my selfish desire to never have to participate in another war. But I wouldn't call myself wise. I am bitter, and angry, and very, very tired," she said, looking down at her plate of half-eaten food and pushing it away, no longer hungry. She felt so bone-weary all of a sudden. The energy that had come with her clash with Riddle had faded, and though she was excited about this talk of inter-house unity – a ball that she'd unintentionally started rolling but was ecstatic about – she also just wanted to go to bed. Plus, she was meeting with Draco later, and she was anxious about it.

"I am sorry, for bringing the taint of my memories and experiences into this school and disrupting everything," she said quietly. "Almost daily I find myself saying something to someone that destroys a part of their fresh and innocent outlook on the world. I wish that I was a better influence on all of you."

Raven snorted. "Look around this table, Hermione," she said smartly, looking at Hermione with the typical Slytherin disdain and superiority she had become so familiar with over the years. "This is nothing if not positive. And that's coming from me: a perpetually negative pessimist that was properly placed in the house that every other house dislikes. Trust me – you aren't a negative influence. Well, sometimes. But not mostly."

"Sure, there have been marriages between houses after graduation, especially when the arrangement is arranged because of political advantage," Zuri said with a shrug, "but you've succeeded in doing what has literally never been done before: you have three different tie colors sitting at one table, amicably, pre-graduation. I don't think I can think of a single time in history when that's happened. It's…cool."

"Refreshing," Bertha said.

"Kind of scary," Felicity said, but lifted her head imperiously. "But I think it shows an ability to think outside the box. I commend you for that."

"I hope that this little social experiment will be successful," Ignatius said with some trepidation, breathing out a heavy sigh. "Could get ugly."

"Could," Hermione confirmed. "But fuck the rest of the world if they're not smart enough to catch on," she continued, smirking at them when they all gasped at her language – except for Raven, of course, who was chuckling into her goblet, and Pepper, who was wickedly rebellious by nature.

"Hear, hear," Pepper said jovially, winking at Hermione and raising her chalice.

They all raised their own glasses as well – even Felicity – and Hermione felt something shift in the atmosphere; something she had not anticipated. That ball that she'd started rolling unintentionally gathered speed all throughout her afternoon classes – Charms with Slytherin, in which she sat beside Raven and as far from Riddle as possible and ignored the hot stare on the back of her neck; and History of Magic, where she shared a table with the fantastic Pepper Peabody in which they passed notes the whole class, Pepper asking curious questions and Hermione answering them.

The ball kept rolling at dinner, in which her new and rather unexpected little posse decided to sit at Gryffindor table this time, and the gentle natured and subtly sharp Temple Bones (whose older sister had written the annoying article but hey, we can't choose our family, right?) and her fellow Hufflepuff Lynne Macmillan sat with them. Lyall sat with them as well, seeming a bit more hesitant than Ignatius was to openly accept Hermione's radical concept – but because he was friends with Bertha, he soon got talking with Felicity and was now deeply entrenched in a conversation with the blonde Ravenclaw and, surprisingly, Magnus Macdonald, who seemed very keen on situating himself as close to Hermione as possible at the table. His friend Buzz Johnson, the dark-skinned beater for the quidditch team, sat with Ignatius and the two Hufflepuff girls and Raven who, surprisingly, was leading the conversation. Her three fellow conversationalists were listening to her with rapt attention.

Hermione smiled.

Draco's voice echoed in her head. If Dumbledore is right, and we are currently trapped in an alternate timeline, then that means you have the power to shape the future. This future hasn't happened yet. You have a chance to make a life here for yourself; don't waste it, Hermione.

Her good wolf wagged its tail. Her bad wolf sat passively, licking its paw but looking mildly interested, waiting for instruction. There they sat, side by side, in a harmony of sorts, both satisfied with Hermione's thought processes and content to just sit and watch for now. Both of them were ready for when she needed them; waiting, ever watchful, in the shadows of her mind.

Looking up towards the other side of the room, she met Riddle's stare. The terrible things shining out of those eyes promised challenge, intrigue; made her excited to be able to push her limits against a boy who was more powerful than she but less experienced. Her bad wolf growled and wagged its tail encouragingly.

She gave Tom a wicked smile, fluttered her eyelashes at him mockingly, and went back to her dinner, listening attentively to Bertha as she talked about her struggles in DADA, and if Hermione could help her figure some things out.

You have the power to shape the future…

Don't waste it, Hermione.

oooo

A little teaser snippet for the next chapter:

"Perhaps in another life," she whispered, tracing her fingertips along his lips. "Unhindered by memories, and death."

So I'm sure you're all just dying to know about my computer situation…but if you aren't I'm going to tell you anyway, because I need to let off some steam before I throttle someone. (Hermione's tirade at lunch? Yeah, I wasn't intending on writing that. But I unintentionally used her character to release some of my own anger.)

So as you all know from before, I took my computer to Best Buy, they tried to get my stuff off of my hard drive, put it onto an external hard drive and then transfer it all onto my new computer – but then claimed that everything was encrypted. Remember me telling you about my shock and disbelief upon learning such a thing?

Yeah, well, that shock and disbelief were well deserved.

First Service, the company that my uncle got me in touch with to crack the encryption, diligently looked into that external hard drive to see what was what. Then I get a phone call from Phil, who is shy and soft-spoken and wears adorable glasses and is totally intimidated by me because the first time we see each other I'm in a pencil skirt and red patent leather pumps and red lipstick and generally look fabulous because I had an office meeting that morning (I don't tell him that I'm usually in jeans and a sweatshirt and covered in dog hair). And I walk with confidence and speak loudly and articulately and he just…can't handle it. It's cute.

Anyways, he calls me and in his adorable quiet nerd voice tells me that it's odd, that it was like Best Buy hadn't finished the job of transferring the encrypted information, because he can't find any of my documents on there. So I curse Best Buy for wasting his time and I take him my old computer (with my original hard drive still inside) and he thanks me (stuttering all the while and terrified of meeting my eyes like I'm about to fucking eat him or something) and gets back to it.

He calls me the next day (today), and being the genius he is he's figured something important out: that there is no sign of my files ever having been encrypted.

So I sit in stunned silence in my car on the way to a doctor's appointment, stuck in mind-numbing traffic, of course, because it's Raleigh (not as bad at Atlanta or NYC, to be sure, but they call it Crawleigh for a reason, y'all) and try not to cry as he tells me that he thinks that Best Buy accidentally deleted most of my files and then tried to cover it up by saying that the files were encrypted so there was nothing they could do. And he sounds so sad for me. Like he's failed me, somehow. And he tells me that he's hooked the hard drive up to a file detector (or something – I can't quite remember the term he used) just in case he can recover something, and it'll take about five hours to run and so he'll get back to me on Monday.

And I ask him the dreaded question: "So, um, how much will all of this cost me?" And because he obviously feels so dreadfully sorry for me, and he's just naturally kind of sweet and awkward, he says, "I'm not sure, but I'll try to keep it reasonable." Which isn't really a good answer, but I'm too much in shock for it to register. So I thank him profusely (because things tend to go more smoothly in life if you turn on the charm, and also because I am genuinely grateful to him) and continue on to my doctor's appointment.

Of course, I'm in excruciating pain all the while, as I have been all week since the snowstorm last weekend. And at the doctor, I find out why.

I have shingles.

Yeah. That's right. I'm twenty-four and I have fucking shingles. I mean damn, could things get worse?

Oh yes. Yes, they can.

After that I go to the pharmacy to pick up my medicine for the shingles, and have to sit there in pain, listening to Fifth Harmony vomit their dumbass lyrics over everybody in an annoyingly catchy tune, for fifteen fucking minutes while they fill a prescription that was literally sent to them electronically about forty-five minutes ago.

When I get back to my apartment complex I park, get out of my car, reach back over to pick up my drink… I spill hot chocolate all over the front seat of my car because fucking McDonald's didn't put the fucking lid on tight enough.

And then I get home and hope to take a nice warm shower, and I don't have hot water, so I have to call the maintenance guy Carlos (who is so delightful, I've met with him on several occasions now, and he's told me all about Guatemala and his grown children and what they do, and his wife Nina, who bakes such good pies and he'll bring me one sometime and, oh, I'm sick? Well, he says, that's as good a time as any to bring me a pie… Such a nice guy). And he fixes my hot water so quickly and I smile at him and tell him I can't wait to meet his wife and eat her pie…and as soon as I close the door I just burst into tears.

I call my Dad and Stepmom to do my best to ruin their vacation in Charleston with all their friends (not literally – it only occurred to me afterwards that I might have put a damper on things. Whoops). I unload all of my frustrations for the day in the form of tear-filled verbal diarrhea, and because I'm talking to my Dad who, since my Mom died, has become my pillar of strength and support, I end up just sobbing over the phone. At the end I'm not even talking about my computer or the shingles or the hot chocolate or the hot water heater or the stupid pharmacists – I'm now blubbering about how I miss my Mamma, and how I'm afraid of failing as I move into a new chapter in my life, and how I'm not sleeping well, and how I'm perpetually lonely because not only do I have no friends in this city (besides my boss, who's great but he's the one who gave me these shingles and now he feels terrible and I feel equally terrible), but I also don't really feel like making the effort to make friends in this city, because I just don't have the energy. I'm trapped under layers of clinical depression, as I have been for the last twelve years. There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't been depressed, and it's just so exhausting. And I learned recently that I have a "genetic abnormality" that keeps my body from producing adequate amount of folic acid, which hinders the effectiveness of certain medications, so now I've added another pill to the small pharmacy's worth I take each day.

My Dad is great, of course. Just great. I love him and my sister more than anything in the world.

Anyway. I feel a bit better now, because I'm sitting on my ugly green couch, propped against my aunt's 30-year-old throw pillows that look like someone threw up and arranged the contents on a piece of fabric and let it dry. And I'm writing to all of you, because I love you guys and even though I'm not looking for your words of pity or anything (though they are very much appreciated, of course) I just like to tell you because, well, you're all out there, and you are reading my story and becoming invested in it and are kind enough to tell me how you feel about it. And I think it's great, this community of people that have come together in their mutual passion for fandoms and love for the written word. It's become my haven, a place where I can be myself and not have to apologize for it. It's a little slice of freedom in this mundane, routine world, and I cherish it. I hope you all do, too.

As usual, thank all of you for reading this. Reading your reviews and imagining the expressions on your faces when you wrote them gives me great pleasure, and even more so with all of these negative things that have bombarded me this week. For those of you who don't write on Fanfiction, you have no clue how each and every review encourages us authors to keep going. They are all meaningful. Whether it's a smiley face or a "I love it!" or a full-on live review of the entire chapter, complete with quotes taken from the text – it doesn't matter. Every single one is fuel for me. So don't hesitate to just drop, like, a single period in the review box. It'll still make me smile, because you thought to do it (even though I have no idea what it means).

Enjoy your weekend. I love y'all.

xoxo

Giraffe :)