I wanted to update sooner than before, and I was bored, so I'm giving you another chapter. Oh, by the way, thanks to:

Pozest-Illusion: Thanks…but why did you think Voldemort was gay? Well, anyway, Hermione and Tom will get to that soon…:evil cackle:

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Haha, yeah, I've had that happen to me dozens of times! And thanks for mentioning something that you actually liked!

LillyFan78: Wow…I'm extremely flattered! Thank you!

padfootbabeinblack: Yay! We're both making efforts! Haha…:joins in happy little dance:

SheWalksWithRavens: I know, I know, I'm sorry! But thanks for everything!

Sadistically Insane: You're back! Yay! And extra thanks to you for being the first to review practically all my chapters! All my love!

Flashback:

Tom looked at her passionately. Desperately trying to keep his smirk on his face, but knowing soon it would all fade into nothingness, he replied, "Hermione. What brings you here?"

Hermione opened her mouth slightly, then closed it. She felt daring; the truth was bound to come out eventually. After fast but careful thought, she answered.

"You."

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Tom looked taken aback, his mask of indifference starting to fade. He definitely hadn't expected this overly-honest response from her. True, her actions implicated that she had at least friendly feelings towards him; he didn't count on her being that truthful. He was surprised, but somehow it was comforting and pleasant.

"M—me?" he stuttered, though desperately trying to hide it.

Hermione smiled both seductively and abashedly at him as she first looked at the polished wood flooring, then to his intoxicating eyes. "Yes, Tom. It probably seems a bit forward and I'm sure it's unexpected—"

"That's an understatement." Tom thought perceptively.

"—but it's true, and I didn't want you to get the wrong impressions, though they were probably pretty obvious…" She finished, a now customary blush seeping into her pale face.

Tom smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, stark-white teeth. Determinedly, he stepped forward, taking her small hands into his. He felt a shiver go up her arms, grinning at the thought. Her hands were cold, he noticed, and he tried to warm them subtly, although he could see the start of a smile appearing in her mouth.

"Yeah, well, me too, Hermione. But it's wrong for us to like each other. And I believe you know why. I'm sorry." He said reluctantly.

Sadly, he saw a single tear roll down her soft cheek, her not bothering to brush it away. To his disappointment, she pulled her hands out of his grasp, his becoming more glacial with each passing moment. It pained him inside; he was burning up with just the thought. And to think it was just three days ago when this would have been the kind of thing he would be laughing about. Now he knew that this was what it felt like to have someone's heart being exploded into a million pieces over and over again.

She looked at him confusingly for a moment, her eyes now glassy with unshed tears. She swallowed, another droplet following the first. "Fine. Don't hold your breath waiting for me…Riddle." She said icily, her eyes now turning to stone, not holding any emotion.

She turned from him briskly, her steps once again reverberating off of every hard, cold, smooth surface in the castle. Faintly, there was the sound of a torrential downpour, accompanied by the occasional burst of forceful wind and flashes of white lightning. To Hermione, it seemed to mimic what she was feeling right now. She had thought he liked her in return. She knew, just like he did, that it was wrong for them to be together—him with his ideas of evil, her just about the closest thing to good. Apart from Harry and Dumbledore of course.

Still, from the moment she met him she was enticed by his odd yet interesting being. He was a troubled spirit, that much was certain. Yet, there was light even beneath that overwhelming blanket of death and discord. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him and feel sorry for him all at the same time. To her utter surprise, he had not rejected her. Well, at first, of course—she was new…but after that… She just didn't understand why two people in lust (or was it love?) couldn't be happy together. He was just frightened that someone was getting so close to him. She would fix that.

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Hermione slowly walked into the room, the temperature being such a difference from just going past the archway. It felt at least ten degrees colder in here than it did out where she usually walked. It looked so barren, cold, and desolate in here. Freezing ceramic tile with glass, grimed mirrors and flaked, chipped paint. She didn't see how anyone—alive or dead—could stand being in here for eternity.

She heard a splash somewhere close, and was instantly met with a pair of watery, translucent eyes; so close to her that she had to take a step back.

The ghost laughed. "Oh. It's you! I thought it was going to be him again."

Hermione looked saddened at just the thought of Tom. "Yes. Him. Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Myrtle Mercier looked at her strangely, her thick hair draping her ghostly shoulders in ponytails. "Hmm? How so?" she asked in her unnaturally high-pitched voice.

"You know Riddle?" Hermione questioned, almost rhetorically. Myrtle nodded, hair bobbing from the movement. "How—How did you know he had something to do with your death?"

Hermione had decided to settle her uneasy mind once and for all. She listened intently to Myrtle's answer. "Ooh, it was dreadful. I saw those yellow eyes, and—"

Hermione interrupted. She had heard this already. "Yes. I know. Don't ask me how," she added, seeing Myrtle's mouth open slightly to retaliate, "But I do, and I know it's the basilisk that killed you. I'm asking how you know Riddle had something to do with you."

Myrtle looked livid. "I KNOW! I WAS GETTING THERE!" she yelled.

Slightly frightened, Hermione had a look of minute terror on her face. Myrtle laughed again. "Sorry. It's just the whole death thing. It's a bit depressing."

"Understandable." Hermione agreed, but with a tone of impatience in her voice.

"Oh. Back to Tom." Myrtle said, waving her small hand. "You see, right at the exact moment I died, I saw his face, right behind those terrible eyes. I know it was him!" she defended, seeing Hermione's doubtful face.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked.

"YES!" screamed Myrtle. "YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME!"

"No. No, I really do…it's just…well…different than before." Hermione explained cryptically.

Myrtle was confused, her face showing it. "Huh?"

"Well, who's Myrtle to care?" Hermione thought. "I might as well tell someone."

She took a deep breath and released it. "Myrtle? I'm from the future." She said bluntly.

Had she been alive, Myrtle would have fainted, but even as a ghost, she looked aghast, and even had a look of utter shock and confusion and horror in her clear face.

Yes, it's short, and yes, it's a HUGE cliffhanger, but I wanted to get this other chapter up before I procrastinated too long on it. I'll post soon, though, I promise!

Also, i know hermione and tom seem really out of character here, but please bear with me! i'm just trying to describe what is going on inside their heads more than what is actually happening. though there will be much of that also. forgive me::sad eyes:

xoxo,

luvseanfaris