((A.N. Hola, here's chapter five. Right now I'm simultaneously attempting to update this chapter/finish my history notes/eat dinner/get ready to ballroom dance, and sadly I'm not kidding. Anyhow, hope you all like this chapter, the plot thickens... thank you all, as always, for those reviews! They help me out more than you all know! Thanks to EuphoniumGurl, princess of slytherin, Magic and Sparkle, BrennaM, Leogal, sexy-jess, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, Steffy Potter, ramones4me, silver gaze, sayahiei, and blue ice2. Hope you all like it!))

Death is not the biggest fear we have; our biggest fear is taking the risk to be alive– the risk to be alive and express what we really are.

— Elaine Maxwell

Chapter 5– Sunset Tears

"Furvam cor, sacramentim aedifice," Tom intoned softly to the group of students clustered around him. He held out his left forearm as he felt the flesh singe and become scarred. His friends peered closely at the Mark the incantation had left. It was a dark skull, and out of its mouth slithered a snake. The skull was a sign of knowledge, and the snake, of course, was a reference to Slytherin.

"See? It symbolizes the power of Salazar Slytherin, and hence the power of us," Tom said softly, allowing his audience to gaze at the skull, fascinated. The power of me, he corrected inwardly. These simple-minded people would never be anything but followers of him.

"It appears only in the light of the full moon," he continued, glancing at the sky above, "so no one will be able to see it, most of the time."

For now, he thought.

"Does it hurt?" a boy named Hamilius Lestrange asked breathlessly.

"A little," Tom said in a confidential tone. "But it is a symbol of our unity. Imagine the greatness we will be able to achieve working together. We will be the strongest alliance of witches and wizards that the world has ever seen. I promise you this."

And so alluring was his voice, and the look on his face, and the way he spoke and stood and moved, that his audience was transfixed, unable to reason for themselves. These impossible things he promised them were suddenly conceivable, and their dreams were suddenly painfully real. Tom looked at the faces around him, saw their expressions of ambition and hope. He realized that they, like him, wished for power more than anything in the world, and would go to dangerous lengths to get it. There he stood, offering acceptance and unity on a silver platter. Who were they to refuse such an offer?

"The marks will also alert you whenever we have meetings. This way we won't have to sneak messages behind the Professors' backs."

He gave his comrades a few more moments to think about his offer, then said, "Do you like them?"

"I think they're brilliant!" a third year girl from Slytherin exclaimed.

"They'll prove very useful," Rhion Malfoy, his fellow seventh year, announced regally.

"Will your genius ever cease to amaze us, Tom?" Nora Knightley said with a trademark grin. This seemed to convince everyone else, and they all began adding in their compliments.

Tom smiled, nodding and telling them that it had just been an idea, while inwardly rejoicing at their quick acceptance of the incantation. This was his way of giving them something that felt close to a family, and thus he made them feel more falsely secure than ever.

For the past few weeks, things had been going well for Tom. His only frustration had been Helen Nestowe. He could not figure her out. Dumbledore was obviously still interested in her, and Tom's curiosity had reached a new level.

Why did she pretend to be average when she was obviously quite brilliant? Where had she come from? Why had no one else questioned her rapid and mysterious appearance? Tom had decided that it was useless to talk to her directly after that night in the corridors. When Gryffindors were willing to lose large amounts of points for no reason, it was never a good sign. She obviously had a huge secret, and Tom had a nagging suspicion that this secret was something to do with him. He saw it in the way she avoided his eyes.

It was a fairly warm, breezy October night when Tom climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. He leaned over the railing of one of the balconies that lined the edge of the tower, and let the breeze ruffle his hair. The cool wind helped him think clearer, so he often came up to escape the cold confines of the dungeons. The sun had nearly set; a flaming peak was vanishing at the far end of the horizon.)

He had not seen the shadow that had followed him so softly to the top, had not seen the way the red sun glinted off of steel knife in her hand. Hermione stopped slowly when she saw Tom leaning over the balcony, his dark hair pulled back by the wind. He had a look of deep contemplation of his face and seemed completely unaware of her. Now is the time, she thought solidly, and started forward.

"Wait."

Hermione sheathed the knife in her robe at the sound of his voice, a growing feeling of dread threatening to engulf her. Tom had not turned around, and was silent for a few moments. Had he seen the knife in her hand?

"Why are you here?" he said finally, facing her. He took in every detail of the girl standing there. Her long, sleek golden brown hair, her full lips, the way the last rays of the setting sun glanced off of her amber eyes, making them entrancing and luminous in the fading light.

"I come here sometimes to think," she said haltingly. She seemed tense, ready to leap back. Tom crossed his arms casually and leaned back against the side of the balcony.

"Tired of acting, I presume?" he said abruptly, taking her by surprise.

"No."

"That's a lie." Smirk.

They were silent after this rapid exchange, and Tom shook his head in disbelief.

"That isn't what your hair really looks like, is it?" he said with an amused air about him.

"Yes it is!" she said indignantly, pulling at the straight locks to show him they were real.

He laughed coldly, as if dismissing her words. Tom pulled out his wand and gave it a flick in her general direction.

Hermione gasped as she felt her hair change. The straight locks had turned into bushy curls. She shrieked in horror as she brought her hands up to her head.

"What– what did you do!"

"I've only reversed whatever spell you've put on it," Tom replied cooly, raising an eyebrow.

She glanced from side to side, as if to make sure that no one had seen it.

"Change it back!" she hissed angrily, giving him a glare of death. Tom thought briefly that it looked rather appropriate the way it was, but then again, what did he care about this stupid girl's hairstyle? He did not care, that was for sure. With another flick of his wand, her hair had returned to its normal consistency.

"Is there anything real about you?" Tom asked coldly. Hermione suddenly looked upset, and Tom knew that he was getting to her. Perfect. "Who are you trying so hard to hide from?"

You, she wanted to say desperately, just to get a reaction out of him. She opened her mouth to create a believable story, but Tom beat her to it.

"Don't lie," he said quickly. "It doesn't work with me."

She took a deep breath, insanely frustrated at his intuition. Though she would never admit it, she was tired of acting every second of the day. She had wanted to go back home so much, and her plan had been foiled once again. It was all too much. She felt tears prick her eyes.

"To tell you the truth, I'm lost," she whispered. "I'm lost, and I don't quite know how to get back." Her voice was ghastly quiet and full of raw emotion. If she was acting now, she deserved an award, Tom decided. As he watched the first tear leak out of her eye, watched it trickle down her face like a forlorn shooting star, an emotion broke through that he had never felt. Was it sorrow?

"Hogwarts library has got all the maps in the world. If you were smart, you would just look . . ."

"Not . . . like that," she said with an effort. "Not lost like that."

She sniffed, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to rack her body. She raged inwardly at herself for crying. For goodness sake, this is Lord Voldemort you're in front of! He was the cold-blooded murder of a thousand– but no. He isn't. Not yet. What did you expect, pity?

"Why do you cry?" Tom asked suddenly, fixing his gaze determinedly on her. There was a small flush high on his cheeks.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes full of disbelief and frustration. "I told you already. I'm lost –"

"No, not the reasoning you're crying, I know that. Why do you cry when you're upset or sad? Why does anyone cry? I really don't see the point of it. It's not as if shedding salty water will help your problem. So, why?"

The realization hit Hermione like a bludger. He doesn't understand emotion, she thought wildly. He's probably never shed a tear in his life.

"That's like, like . . . asking why the sky is blue. Because it is. Because that's what it's always been, and there's probably some . . . long, scientific explanation for it that I don't know, but mostly just because it is."

Tom looked at her with that horrible blank expression that she was coming to dread. "Then it's stupid to cry. It's stupid when people do something because it was 'meant to be.'"

Hermione sensed deep meaning in his words, but was too upset to decipher them.

"What do you do, then? Bottle all your emotions up? Keep them hidden? I knew someone who did that once," she said in a miserable tone. "Things didn't work out very well for him, in the end."

Tom knew she was trying to tell him something, even if she herself did not realize it.

"Who is he?" Tom inquired.

Hermione looked at the determined yet rueful young man in front of her. "You wouldn't know him," she said, her voice softening as she spoke. "You wouldn't know him at all."

Tom looked at her wet face, glistening in the dark. He realized he wanted to do something for her that he had never wanted to do before; he wanted to comfort her, sooth her, make her feel better in any way possible. Only he did not know how, since he had never given or received comfort.

And then he snapped out of it.

What are you thinking? This is Helen Nestowe, an actress that has fooled everyone. She's probably acting right now! Why am I listening to her?

Hermione felt it immediately, a coldness, a tenseness in him that had not been there before.

"Listen. I don't need some Gryffindor Mudblood spilling her frivolous problems all over me, okay? I don't even know you. You're nothing to me, nothing but a liar, so get out of here." Tom's voice did not even rise as he spoke, but it was more forceful a command than any Hermione had ever heard.

She looked at Tom Riddle, Voldemort, whoever he was, one last time before whirling around and stalking away. His cold black eyes were the last thing that she saw.

((So what's happening with these two? Tom is just terrible isn't he? You all seem obsessed with the idea of academic competition, so maybe I'll do a bit of that in the later chapters. What do you think? Review!))