A/N: Should I spill the beans on the name Hale? You might want to research Nathan Hale…. Thanks for the reviews, guys, the support and feedback really helps. Keep it up! Next chapter will be more, Hermione re-gathers her thoughts after these first impressions of Riddle. I'll try not to take to long, but school is starting up and assignments must get finished, unfortunately. Thanks for reading and reviewing! -L
Chapter Five
After the Arithmancy hallway (where they enlisted Hermione's help with the troublesome suits-of-armor), they whisked her through the Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms and even, however jokingly, the entrance to the Divination tower, while she acted extremely confused and overwhelmed by the onslaught of information. They showed her the kitchens, various bathrooms, supply closets, staff lounges, and random trophy rooms where, they informed her, students often hid after curfew, or served detention.
"What do I care about detentions?" Hermione asked, amusedly exasperated.
"Surely the Headmaster will give you some professor powers—and it's so fun to catch the ickle students misbehaving and shrinking in terror before your commanding presence," deadpanned Wyde, while Frinn laughed, slightly manically.
They then briefly explored some of the more dangerous areas, such as the third-floor corridor, which already had a very sinister atmosphere before Fluffy or the Stone ever resided there.
"You'll want to see the library and Potions facilities, of course," Frinn said, as he limped away from a sudden surprise encounter with Ogg, the jumpy caretaker of the time. Wyde and Hermione followed, snickering.
"Stuff it, you two," Frinn growled darkly. "Library first then?"
"Do we have time? I'll want to peruse the contents very thoroughly," Hermione said, seriously, reverting immediately into her scholar mode.
"We'll just show you where it is, and you can explore it later. How's that sound? That way you can spend all day tomorrow investigating it," Frinn offered, with a slight teasing note to his voice. "Then we can drop by the dungeons for the Potions labs and stores, then to your room so you know the direct way between the two, and then it shouldn't be too long before lunch."
Wyde snorted. "You just don't want to give Slughorn enough time to delay us—well, her—significantly—eh, don't deny it."
Ezekial grinned. "I'm not denying it."
Hermione knew a secret passage that would have gotten them to the library much faster, but if Wyde and Frinn knew it, they obviously didn't want to confuse her, so she followed them without argument. She'd have to "discover" several passages in the castle as soon as was realistic.
"Madame Durie is the librarian," explained Frinn as they trekked through the halls. "She's sweet enough to bibliophiles, and very helpful when it comes to finding books or even getting them from outside the school. Just don't misbehave grossly in the library, or deface the books or someth—"
"I would never do such a thing!" Hermione said indignantly, though she couldn't help but think guiltily of the page she'd ripped from a library book during her second year.
"Obviously you are two of a kind, then," Ezekial finished.
"Beral—Ezekial—" it was Dumbledore, looking serious. "I have need of you, immediately. We'll meet in seven minutes time, so be ready. If you see any of the crowd, alert them."
Frinn and Wyde dropped their joviality immediately. Wyde glanced at Hermione, as if questioning Dumbledore's openness in front of her, but Frinn just squeezed her arm in reassurance, though of what, Hermione was unsure.
"Hermione is more than trustworthy," Dumbledore announced, seeing Wyde's look. "She will no doubt be joining us in future outings, once she is familiarized with our methods."
"We'll be lucky to have you," Beral said, partly in apology and partly in acknowledgement of Dumbledore's trust in her. "Sorry the tour is cut short—I'll head on over, Albus—" and Wyde nodded to them all and strode off, gripping his wand in his left hand.
"Hermione, we will discuss your part in all this when we return. For now, pretend ignorance to all," Dumbledore instructed. Hermione nodded, and the auburn-haired professor left after saying only, "six minutes, Ezekial."
"Yes sir," Frinn said, and turned to Hermione with a tight smile. "It'll just be routine, I'll wager. I'll see you at supper. Now, you can just follow this hallway a little bit, and take a left at the archway with the large green tapestry. At the first staircase, follow it up just one floor and go straight from there, and you'll see the library. Potions can wait till later, and Durie can get you back to your room from there."
"Alright, thanks… and, good luck."
Somewhat restless, being left behind, she wandered in the direction of the library, trying to look a little befuddled. She knew the portraits would be watching her, and notice if she knew her way about a little too well.
Her ears perked to the sound of footsteps coming towards her from around the corner, so she stopped by the door of a very treacherous closet, and put her hand on the knob. As the footsteps neared and her visitor rounded the corridor, she fixed a lost look on her face and slowly turned the handle.
"Stop!" an urgent voice called. Hermione smirked mentally, feeling a rush of pride at the depth of her deception. It was kind of fun pretending to be new at Hogwarts, yet knowing exactly how to run into trouble.
She turned, affecting a startled expression on her face, to see Tom Riddle hurrying towards her.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned, slowing down as the danger of her opening the door passed. He had already taken out his wand, but was careful not to point it at her. "That closet tends to have nasty surprises," he explained, dryly. "Biting creatures, flying curses—the like."
Hermione removed her hand from the knob, looking closer to examine the door with mingled respect and wariness. "Why on earth is there such a closet in the school?" She frowned, looking sideways at Riddle, dubiously.
Riddle gave her a half-smile. "You're not in Salem anymore, Hale," he chided, seemingly playfully, but Hermione felt cold anyway. "Remember, this isn't just any old castle, built and maintained by wizards."
He left it at that, forcing her to accept this vague reminder as an answer. He moved slightly so that he was between her and the door, and fixed his eyes on her. "What are you doing, wandering around here alone?" he asked. "I thought Professor Frinn was going to show you around?"
"Oh—he was—but then Professor Andersen happened, and Professor Dumbledore—so he's a little busy," Hermione said, tactfully. "Frinn gave me some directions, but—well, I think I am a little lost, actually."
Riddle raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised he let you wander like this. It's notoriously difficult to learn your way around the castle, especially alone. Who knows what kind of trouble you could get yourself into?"
"Yes, I'll have to give him a stern talking-to," Hermione said. Riddle's gaze was still boring into her, and she tried to fidget.
"Where are you going? Back to your rooms?"
"No—I was going to the library, first…."
"You won't have time to check it out now if you plan to eat lunch," said Riddle.
"I didn't plan to—don't want to rush it," she explained, blushing a little as she grinned at him ruefully. "I wanted to know where it was, though, so I could find it myself when I do explore it later." She realized how nerdy she sounded, but at least Riddle seemed to be on the same page in that regard. It wasn't really surprising that the Dark Lord-to-be was a bookworm as well. "You don't need to take me there—whatever's closest to wherever you're headed—the Great Hall, or my rooms are fine—"
"—nonsense, it's no trouble. The library isn't far." He gave her an easy smile, his piercing stare relaxing at last as he jerked his head over his shoulder, urging her on. "Come on, then."
Walking a half-step behind him, she followed him en route to the library. She was careful to look around her in apparent interest in their surroundings—looking anywhere but at Riddle and his sharp eyes. She was still unsure how far he'd progressed in Legilimency, and she couldn't stop her intense flow of thoughts at the moment.
With his deceivingly pleasant smile and steady gaze, it wasn't hard to imagine that Tom Riddle was generally well-liked at school. Obviously he was an expert at hiding his evilness. She felt a surge of anger and hatred rise up in her, and she almost choked with the overwhelming desire to turn and attack Riddle, with fist or wand, or at least make him show the ruthless, murdering maniac that she knew he was.
Quickly she tried to calm her emotions before she lost control of her actions and before Riddle noticed. She'd yet to look at his hands for the ring she knew he wore, the ring that marked the murders he'd already committed—the ring that was probably the first Horcrux. She told herself she avoided it because she was afraid she'd stare and give herself away, but in reality, she was frightened of the ring itself, and everything it represented to her. Not only about who this boy was and would be, but also the destruction he'd make of her life and world. Dumbledore's death. She closed her eyes for a moment to shield against the suddenly too-bright torches lighting the hallway. Maybe Dumbledore did order Snape to kill him, already weakened by the wretched ring, but that only meant that besides never forgiving Snape, ever, she couldn't forgive Dumbledore, either, for his part in his own death.
Most of all, there would be no forgiveness, no redemption, no mercy, for Lord Voldemort.
She had the chance to undo Voldemort's destruction before it became impossible to stop. She wouldn't settle for taking information back to her time, though her mission guidelines credited this. No, she would end it in this time, preventing everything, everything he'd done.
Mission in mind, she took a few deep breaths and determinedly put herself back into the present moment. Riddle was looking at her out of the corner of his eyes—he must have picked up on the strong emotion she was probably emitting, most likely in magical energy. She quickly muttered something in awed tones about various paintings they passed.
"I suppose, but the portraits are also the foundation of all gossip in Hogwarts," Riddle said. "Remember, a room isn't actually safe from eavesdroppers if there's a portrait hanging in it."
"Salem only has a few, of the school's important people and such, and a few historical ones from the witch trials, like Tituba, so on. And our portraits don't… frivol so much."
"Not all of our portraits are very dignified, I'm afraid. Just wait until you meet Sir Cadogen."
"Who's he?"
"He's a barmy knight, a fool," explained Riddle.
A little further, he steered her left by the great green tapestry. Ceiling to floor, the vibrant, moving tapestry always seemed to be depicting something new. Hermione leaned closer to inspect the small embroidered figure of a cat. At first, it put her in mind of Crookshanks, though it was much sleeker and moved more gracefully. Then she noticed the mouse it was stalking, the rodent oblivious to its predator as it cleaned its whiskers in quick, jerky movements. The cat drew closer until it loomed over its target, which, noticing finally, began to attempt an escape right through the cat's legs, and a hot pursuit ensued.
Hermione looked away quickly. It was, as she'd told Ron repeatedly in their third year , a part of nature, but it was still unpleasant to watch. Why had the tapestry displayed that to show her?
She looked over at Riddle, wondering what he saw. His eyes were searching the tapestry with a weird glint in them, shining threateningly. Uselessly, since she couldn't see what he did, she followed his line of vision to the tapestry.
"What do you see?" Her voice was a coarse whisper, and she cleared her throat.
Riddle's eyes darted to her quickly, his face hardened, and he shook his head. "Nothing. Let's go." He stepped away, still looking at her, his eyes almost accusing. She turned slightly to face him more directly, her heartbeat quickening.
"You're just a student, doing research, are you," sneered Riddle, scathingly.
Hermione frowned in confusion at this non sequitur, and found herself wanting to shrink away at the vehemence in his tone. "Yes," she said, defensively. Her voice sounded small.
"How innocent," he sneered.
They stood staring at each other for a minute. Increasingly alarmed, her common sense and instinct were both shouting for her to get out of there, quick. She couldn't remember ever having so intense a look directed at her. No one had ever had the reason to. Nor should Riddle. What had she done to call such attention to herself?
Something in his eyes flickered, and Hermione finally pulled her eyes away. She felt winded—she had been holding her breath without realizing. Trying to catch her breath inconspicuously, she was only just aware of Riddle turning away, rubbing his forehead, and saying, somewhat tiredly, "Library's just this way."
Hermione was just concentrating on stumbling after him as they briskly finished the trek to the library. Riddle seemed to have composed himself by the time they'd reached the library door, with his easy-going persona mostly back in place. He opened the door for her and followed her in, watching her nod at the shelves upon shelves of books in approval.
She swallowed uncertainly. "Everything I've heard about Hogwarts' resources are obviously accurate."
Riddle darted behind a bookshelf suddenly, leaving Hermione too surprised to follow him before he came back out, book in hand. He passed it to her.
It was the 40's edition of Hogwarts, A History. Feeling a genuine bubble of excitement (how interesting it would be to compare this to her copy—which, of course, she had memorized), Hermione beamed back at Riddle.
"Oh, goodness, this—thank you," she gushed, caught off-guard.
Riddle nodded, looking a little amused. "I'll show you where to check that out, then. Professors just need to make a not for Madame Durie, here." He took her to the desk, wrote the note for the librarian for her, and returned the book to her. "There you go, all set."
Hermione thanked him, taking the book and shrinking it to fit in her pocket. Soon they were on their way back to Hermione's rooms, an uneasy silence upon them. Despite both of their efforts to pretend nothing had happened, it was as if the tapestry itself hung between them. They both knew they were both thinking about it, but neither cared to bring it up, until Hermione finally burst out.
"Riddle—look, about what happened, at the ta—"
Riddle stopped and turned to her with a stony, impassive face. "I think there's nothing more to say about that now, don't you agree?"
Hermione was so unsettled that she just stared back at him. She yearned to grab her wand, unnecessary reminders of identity cropping up in her mind again. This was Voldemort. Voldemort. Fear, revenge, and her mission's ultimate success battled inside of her.
Then he spoke again, his voice silky. "I think you know where you are, don't you?"
She nodded slowly, still watching him warily.
"Good. Then I'll undoubtedly see you later." And he turned crisply and walked briskly in the other direction.
Once he had long since turned the corner, Hermione let out a shaky breath.