On Sunday evening, Hermione met Riddle again at the bottom of the Gryffindor Tower.
"You know, I'm perfectly capable of making my own way, thank you," she said, perhaps a little too stiffly, as Riddle opened another door for her with perfectly manufactured charm.
"Nonsense," he replied. "I don't fancy another detention from Volanthen for letting you walk across the school grounds at night, unaccompanied."
"You love playing the gentleman, don't you Riddle. When you're not trying to kill me with Dark curses, that is."
He grinned, without the slightest bit of shame. "As I recall, your variant of the Bat Bogey Hex was also rather deadly." He tapped his nose. "I haven't forgotten, either."
It was strange how different Riddle was with her now. His usual reserve had melted away. It seemed that he had accepted that she, unlike everyone else, knew his real self.
But she didn't know Riddle at all. Only that he was always playing some sort of game, hiding behind false charms and false smiles (how unpleasant).
"No need to play gentleman to a 'Mudblood'. Isn't that what you called me in the Room of Requirement? Isn't that what your brutish lackeys call me behind my back?"
He glanced down at her. "Lackeys?"
"Cronies. Sidekicks. Morons." She waved her hand, dismissively.
"Who?" He feigned ignorance.
"Malfoy. Lestrange. You know exactly who I'm talking about."
They were approaching the edge of the Forest. The night was cold and the wind bit at her cheeks. She drew her cloak closer around her and cast a warming charm.
"They're my friends, Hermione."
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly. "Don't call me that."
"You don't want me to call you by your name?"
He was insufferable. "Yes. We're not friends," Hermione replied quite pointedly.
They were at the Forest now. The wheelbarrow was already waiting but there was no sign of Professor Volanthen. As they neared the wheelbarrow, it began to take off into the trees.
"I suppose we ought to follow it, then," Hermione grumbled, not looking forward to another hour in the strange forest.
"Hermione," Riddle began, his hand on her shoulder. She grimaced and twisted out of the way. She saw the wheelbarrow stop a few metres ahead of them, waiting.
"I apologise for calling you a Mudblood that day. I was angry."
"About?"
"You had discovered what I thought was a great secret."
"A secret that apparently you and your lackeys know as well. Hardly a great secret- " she stopped, abruptly, realising her mistake.
He raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate."
"May have seen a few of you walk suspiciously down the seventh floor corridor one day," she said defensively.
"Was that on a Friday?" His voice was quiet.
She decided to take a page out of Riddle's book. "I don't recall."
The look in Riddle's eyes was piercing. After a moment, she looked down and spotted the wheelbarrow. It had come back for them. Its two wheels churned the ground, as if to say, Come on.
As they walked deeper into the Forest, the darkness became absolute once more. She summoned her jar of flames.
"For your information, my friends do not know the true nature of the Room."
Hermione almost tripped over a blasted tree root and had to grip his arm to balance herself. Huffing, she let him go almost instantly.
"What do they think it is then?"
"A hidden room which only opens if they give the correct password. I told them it was my ancestor's."
"You have an ancestor that went to Hogwarts?"
His lips curled briefly, his eyes glinting in the darkness. "On my mother's side."
"So you've always known, then? That you had magic."
She felt the prickling in her neck once more, the shadows were dancing strangely around the twisting trees which loomed above them.
"No, not really. I never knew my parents. I'm hoping to find a relative soon who could tell me about them."
She had heard he was an orphan, Hermione had forgotten about that. It was why he rarely went to Hogsmeade, sometimes the Muggle orphanage didn't sign his permission note. She couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for him, however.
"You know the Muggle world then, like me."
He didn't respond. Instead, he knelt down by the first patch of bubotubers and began to try to extract one from the earth.
Thinking that they might as well fill up the wheelbarrow quickly, before the Forest decided otherwise, Hermione joined him.
They wordlessly harvested the first patch and moved to the next, further down the path.
Hermione knelt on the frozen soil, gently grabbing the nearest bubotuber, which seemed to pulsate under her touch.
The Forest was quiet. Too quiet. She felt a tingle down her spine. Alarmed, she whipped her head around and froze as she saw something large shift in the shadows.
"I would have sworn I just saw –"
She felt Riddle move next to her. He, too, was peering into the darkness.
There was a sudden rustle in the undergrowth. The wheelbarrow beside them swivelled, as if turning to the sound. Hermione jumped to her feet, wand at the ready. There was another rustle of dry leaves, this time to their left and she whirled to face it. The shadows around them continued to flicker. She felt as if they were being watched.
"Homenum revelio," she whispered. Nothing.
She looked back at Riddle, who was also standing beside her, his wand also drawn. His dark eyes scanned the Forest, alert and tense.
Something in the Forest rustled again.
She stepped closer towards the sound, sending her jar of flames forward. The light threw into sharp relief the trees and smattering of rocks beyond the worn path.
"Hermione," Riddle began to say.
The trees seemed to whisper to her. She felt the cool touch of an unseen wind against her face as she stepped closer and closer to the sounds that were just out of reach. If only the light reached a little further…
Riddle yanked her back. "Don't," he whispered harshly.
"But there's something there."
He gripped her arm tightly, pulling her back onto the path. "Did you forget what Volanthen said? Don't stray from the path."
Hermione sighed, a little shakily. "You're right. He did say that."
"Whatever it is, it's trying to get us to follow it. That would be unwise."
Hermione looked up at him. His demeanour had changed, he was no longer relaxed and unconcerned. He seemed tense.
"But this area is warded, isn't it? So it's safe?"
"Does it feel safe?"
She didn't reply. Abruptly, she said, "Where's the wheelbarrow?"
They were still near the path, close to the bubotubers they had been harvesting but the wheelbarrow was nowhere to be seen.
Riddle raised his wand and whispered an incantation. Streams of light issued from the tip, spreading out into the darkness and bathing their surrounds with a warm glow.
The wheelbarrow was definitely gone.
"We'll just follow the trail back…" the words died in her throat. They had forgotten to mark their way with a floating trail of sparks as they had done the previous night. They had followed the worn path through the Forest, certainly, but it was winding and diverged in many places. The wheelbarrow had seemed to be their complete guide, they had not imagined that it would disappear. Hermione felt a sudden hardness in her chest that made it difficult to breathe.
"You forgot to mark the way." Riddle spoke through clenched teeth.
"We forgot, you mean."
He hissed faintly in exasperation. He looked up above them and shot a series of fireworks into the sky. There was no telling whether they actually breached the thick canopy above them, however. One had to hope they did.
"Brilliant," Riddle said, shaking his head.
"What do we do?"
"Don't get hysterical, please."
Hermione became inexplicably angry. "I just asked what- you know what? Forget it. I'll figure something out." When he had said that word, 'hysterical', in that tone, it had taken a simply enormous, Herculean effort not to strangle him. That strangling him would have made her guilty of that accusation perhaps helped.
She gripped her wand tightly and cast her Patronus. She had to recall a stronger, happier memory than usual due to the circumstances (waking up in the middle of the night to her parents laughing, arms around each other, dancing to jazz in the living room, that warm glow in her chest when she saw their faces, so happy and in love still after so many years). Her usual go-to memory, the day she set foot in the Hogwarts library, wouldn't have worked right now.
"What are you-"
Hermione dismissed his question, trying to muster the same irritating arrogance he had given her. "Something more effectual than a firework, I assure you."
She relayed her message to the silvery otter that had appeared and instructed it to find Professor Volanthen. Tell him to come quickly, we're lost in the Forest, the wheelbarrow has disappeared and there's something roaming about. The otter nodded its gleaming head imperceptibly and disappeared.
Riddle was looking at her with interest. "Where did you learn that?"
She blew her hair out of her face, impatiently. "Well, Riddle, it's pretty simple. Some of us spend our time actually reading good, useful books instead of Dark ones filled with horrible curses that have been banned because of how evil they are."
It was Riddle's turn to grow irritated. "Dark books filled with 'horrible curses' still classify as being useful. You have an annoying habit of viewing everything in black and white."
"Well," she laughed, knowing that she'd got him back now, "curse us out of this mess, then."
His eyes darkened. Raising his wand, he said, "Maybe I will."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, raising her wand also. "I sense a bit of hysteria now, Riddle. Be careful."
They looked at each other with immense irritation, knowing that neither would actually duel right here, right now. Suddenly, they heard something rattling and rumbling in the distance. The truant wheelbarrow shot out of the darkness towards them at tremendous speed; they had no time to dodge. It knocked them both off their feet and they collapsed on top of it as it continue to travel down the path. It seemed to be running away from something, they could hear branches snapping behind them. She could feel a sharp elbow digging into her side as they lay entangled, gripping each other and the sides of the wheelbarrow as it hurtled down the narrow paths, sometimes threatening to tip over as it veered around various roots and rocks. She felt branches and leaves lash across her face and closed her eyes tightly.
Suddenly, the air became crisp as they cleared the edges of the Forest. They yelled as the wheelbarrow skidded to a stop and unceremoniously dumped them on the cold, hard snow.
Hermione struggled to get up, her feet getting tangled in her robes, and in doing so she accidently kneed Riddle. He let out a sharp gasp. As she stood, she watched in shock as his face paled and he curled into a ball on the ground, silently and in utmost agony.
"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry Riddle." When he didn't get up, she knelt down and placed a hand on his shoulder, concerned. All the blood seemed to have drained from his face and his eyes were screwed shut.
Eventually, he opened them, glaring. He grabbed the front of her robes and pulled her down towards him, roughly. Hermione felt his breath against her face.
"You! You did that on purpose," he said, his eyes dark and furious.
"I'm sorry! It was an accident. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd use my wand." She was earnest in that regard. Magic was the great equaliser. There was no need to resort to punches and kicks, not when she knew her punches were as feeble as they were. Riddle had an advantage in that regard.
His lips curled in the slightest hint of a smile, as if he had read her thoughts.
Volanthen found them this way, Hermione kneeling over him in the snow.
"What in Merlin's name happened?"
Hermione jumped up, brushing the snow from her robes. The pair of them made a sorry sight, she realised. They were both dirt-streaked and sweaty from foraging on the Forest floor and from their wild escapade on the wheelbarrow.
Volanthen did not seem pleased when they recounted what had happened in the Forest.
"Are you sure you did not stray from the path?"
"Miss Granger here almost did but I stopped her in time, sir."
"I- I saw something moving in the trees, sir. It was watching us, it did not feel like we were safe."
"There shouldn't be any creatures in this part of the Forest, Professor Dumbledore made sure himself before he left." Volanthen seemed absorbed in thought. "Are you sure you saw something?"
Hermione looked at Riddle, who remained impassive. They both answered together, "Positive."
"The wheelbarrow, sir, it disappeared. And then just as we discovered we were lost, it bolted back and carted us out of the Forest. It seemed like we were being … chased."
Ah, so Riddle had heard it too. The crashing in the Forest behind them as the wheelbarrow had sped along the path.
Volanthen's eyes widened a fraction. "Are you two any worse for wear? No injuries?"
They shook their heads.
"Good," Volanthen sighed, in relief. "I take it there are no bubotubers collected this time." The wheelbarrow had indeed been empty when it re-appeared. "Not to worry, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey can make do without until tomorrow. I'm sorry, I would have supervised you tonight but I was called away on another matter. I placed a great amount of faith in the wards, having been there myself when they were cast. Although Professor Whittle's wheelbarrow seems to have done its job well."
"T-Tomorrow? Are we going back in there?" Hermione felt her voice sounded a little higher than usual.
"No, no. I shall arrange for some to be delivered to Madame Pomfrey from one of my suppliers. I will find something else for you to do in detention while we investigate what you saw in the Forest."
Back at the castle, as they bid Professor Volanthen good night, Riddle turned and made to escort Hermione to the Gryffindor Tower.
"I'll be fine. Go on," Hermione said, tiredly. She gestured towards the vicinity of the Slytherin dungeons.
"Wait."
He was looking at her cheeks, scratched slightly as they were. Raising his hand, he let his thumb gently trace one of the scratches. The stinging subsided. He had cast a non-verbal healing charm.
Hermione just felt confused. "What game are you playing at now, Riddle?"
"What makes you say that?" he asked, smirking. He leaned against the wall, looking down at her.
"You're always up to something. Don't deny it. I know you enough. You have some sort of end-game."
He huffed a laugh. "You've caught me." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm on my way to world domination."
"You veer from cursing me to kissing me. From threatening me to smiling at me. I, for one, am not a sucker for false charm, Riddle. That sort of thing may work on shy little Hufflepuffs but you can count me out."
He stared at her, his lips still quirked in a smile.
"You kissed me back." He ignored her spluttering. "Might I remind you that you cursed me first? And what of the knee to the groin earlier?"
"What about the fact that you and your Slytherin cronies hate muggle-borns? You absolutely despise me on principle. What did Salazar Slytherin say all those years ago? Only students of pure-blood heritage are worthy to walk these halls."
Riddle said nothing for a moment.
"The pureblood rhetoric exists, yes-"
"Rhetoric? Have you seen Grindelwald lately-"
"But it's born out of an old fear. A rational one. Muggles don't have clean hands either, if you recall all the witch burning and blood-soaked pages of Muggle history. Parents of muggle-borns have to be told about our world. Those whose family members have suffered at the hands of ignorant Muggles would be less inclined to extend such an invitation."
"I'll have you know, my parents are incredibly supportive. In any case, if any Muggles find out about anything, the Ministry jumps at Obliviating them anyway. We have magic, they don't. It's hardly fair when we can do whatever we want and they'll be none the wiser. But pureblood supremacy goes deeper than that doesn't it, Riddle?" She stepped closer to him, her gaze challenging. "You think that people like me steal our magic from Squibs. Or that we are otherwise undeserving of it. Deny it."
He didn't respond.
"I thought so," said Hermione, the victory feeling quite hollow. "Which means, given that you despise me, all of this," she waved vaguely at her face where he had healed her, "is part of some game you're playing."
Riddle's eyes were flat and unreadable. Hermione studied his expression, including the slight frown on his lips, and decided that once again she'd won.
"Right, well I'm going. Good night," she said, finally.
As she turned, he caught her wrist lightly. "I don't despise you, Granger." He brought her hand up to his face and pressed his lips softly against her knuckles.
"On the contrary," he said, his eyes locked on hers. He grinned mischievously.
He had turned the tables so fast, so fluidly, so ingeniously, that she was left with nothing to say. No final words.
She narrowed her eyes and stomped away. Of course he wouldn't let her leave with the upper hand. Damn him.