All my thanks to: Rain-Ix, padfootbabeinblack, Twilight Elf-Maiden, Pozest-Illusion, Voldy's pink teddie (I think I answered your review), sweet-essence03, and hiya! (thanks so much, btw!)!

hermionegranger2007:thanks so much, and I did read your story! It's excellent! You probably read my review already, but it's there, trust me. : )

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Thank you so much! Lol, I tried to make it relatively funny. I had just been reading parts of the 4th book again, and was reminded of that. I wouldn't mind cedric either…lmao! But thanks for reading, and, yeah, that is very ironic!

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Tom walked purposefully but nonchalantly through the halls of Hogwarts, and for the first time in his life cursing them for being so damn difficult to navigate. Vaguely, the extremely irritating part of his mind was telling him that maybe his desired object didn't want to be found. Brusquely, he shoved that away.

"Preposterous." He thought with a grumble. "She has no reason to do that."

Then he crashed down to reality with a startling collision. "Of course she has a reason to do that. She has all the reasons in the world." He resignedly reflected, sighing.

He was so caught up in his whirling mind that he didn't realize where he was going. He did not slam into anybody—no, although it was just about as upsetting. He was faced with a blank wall in a deserted corridor, with a granite-gray statue barely visible at the end. Tom squinted his fathomlessly dark eyes slightly. Though there was nothing apparent but a beige wall, it was emanating obviously great power. As Tom backed away, though straining his eyes for something, it hit him. There, barely distinguishable unless you were looking for it, was a French-door sized space of stark-white wall. Tom smirked at his sudden brilliance, for he was right—something was going on here.

He thought he knew what it was. He had heard whispers around the castle. All too true, they were sparse and very far between, but they still existed. The Room of Requirement. Else known as "The Come-And-Go Room". He had always thought they were just rumors; no area actually was present. Yet here, flashing bright before him as though mocking him, was obviously the entrance to the mystifying chamber.

Genius as he was, Tom could not figure out how to get that blank space of white to turn a dark mahogany color, bringing with it a brass handle. He stood there for what must have been hours, though it could have been ten seconds for all he noticed. He was finally getting irritably frustrated at not being able to open the door.

Letting out a yell of rage and aggravation, Tom punched the wall as hard as he could. Barely visibly grimacing (though his eyes told you he was in pain), Tom looked at the space where he should have made a rather large dent in the plaster. Astonishingly though, there was none. At first Tom was even more enraged that no matter how much he wanted to hurt something, it didn't satisfy him. Ignoring, but failing considerably, his massively throbbing and bruising hand, everything around him—all his pain, and time itself—seemed to stop.

Gazing astoundingly at the once-white barrier, he narrowed his eyes at the gateway that had appeared. To his distaste, it was not a clean and polished-looking wooden door; instead a dull, rocky gray, stone archway. It reminded him horribly of the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms. Deciding it was now or never, he nervously looked around the corridor's edge, seeing no one. He stepped inside, his smile turning into an unpleasant sneer. Unknown to him, the supposed desolate hallway was not all that it seemed.

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"Un—be—lievable." Hermione accentuated to herself. "I know just about every passageway in this damned castle, and not a single wisp of the person I am looking for."

As she started running through the probabilities of her not finding him, she became deathly aware of a sort of misty vapor in the air. Confused, she shook her head, clearing it of the eclipsing perplexity there. Cocking her head slightly to the side, she abruptly recognized where she was. Only—the door was open, and this most certainly was not her room.

Careful not to tread on the Dark Magic-radiating stones on the ground, she looked up at gasped. Looming ahead of her, past the storm-impersonating ceiling and impossibly black ground, was a fortress of sorts. Her eyes wider than would be possible, she was in a sort of trance; scared out of her mind, but walking towards it. She blinked, and she was met with a deep, cerulean colored room, the faintest silver trimmings adorning the corners of the ceiling.

Now insanely disconcerted, Hermione was soon startled enormously for the third time in the last twenty minutes. She was now but three feet away from two brightly contrasting cinnamon colored eyes, staring at her with a mix of craving, passion, and disillusion. Smiling seductively, his eyes suddenly flashed red as…

Hermione woke up, scared out of her brilliant mind. Her hands were shaking violently, so much that she couldn't do anything with them. Subconsciously she found that her whole body was covered with a cold, clammy sweat, her voluminous hair sticking to her prickling neck. She was breathing heavily, her heart beating insufferably rapidly as she tried to slow it down, but was immensely unable. Her sparkling chestnut eyes darted around as she took in her recognizable surroundings. The room was dark, yet she had the feeling that she would come to no harm here. Fitfully, restlessly, but dreamlessly, she fell asleep again, though the stale air was pressed in around her.

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Tom walked and walked and walked, but his search for some sign of life was proving fruitless. He stopped and looked around. There were three sounds—Tom's steady but slightly strained breathing, his faster than normal heartbeat, and the quiet buzz of the overhead lights. As he sighed in both frustration and apprehensiveness, he gazed around his surroundings, as he slowly trudged in a circle. Both ends of the hallway seemed to go on for infinite miles.

If he desperately concentrated his eyes on one end of the corridor, then the other, he noticed an impossibly subtle difference. One "exit" was rounded. Eyes and face brightening despite his extreme fatigue, he started sprinting towards that end, though first brandishing his wand.

He had run as hard as his strong but unused muscles would allow. Unable to go any further, he put his hands on his knees, head hung for a moment, then he looked up at where his destination was. Ignoring a particularly annoying bead of sweat slowly making its way down his handsome face, his shoulders slackened in disappointment. Though his body could feel it, the reality was that he was no where near his goal. Wracking his exhausted brain for answers, he finally came across one as he was just about to give up and resignedly accept defeat.

"F—Finally." He spluttered in his still staggered breath.

His arm muscles screamed out in agony as he raised his now slippery wand and pointed it at the end of the hallway. "EXTRAHO SULUM!" He yelled as loud as he could.

With a pleasant rush of cold wind, it looked as though Tom had Apparated right then and there. The moment he was extricated deliriously forcefully, he collapsed in a blast of frigid wind. His languorous body was convulsing in regular intervals. His head and heart felt like they were about to be annihilated into a billion pieces, he frantically tried to call for help. Him. The famous Tom Riddle. Needing help.

Grudgingly, but irrationally, he refused to believe it, though his body was aching as though it were saying, "Damn your pride to hell!". Sucking in a much needed but shuddering breath, he said, "Help."

Unfortunately, no one was around to hear it. Closing his shadowy eyes, he let the concentration wash over his coffee-colored, lavish eyelashes and his tired eyes, and snapped them open with such force he didn't know he had. "Solacium." He cried quietly.

Violently indigo sparks shot out of his wand, exploding with such a volatile force that Tom had to shut his eyes, wanting to cover his head, but his overworked muscles did not seem to function correctly. "Sometime soon they would come", he thought hopefully, "They have to."

And with that, he passed out cold on the floor, one small droplet of sweat falling from his soft face onto the unforgiving tile, melting in with the dull gray color.

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Hermione woke with a sudden, painful start, the insanely bright sunlight mocking her. She squinted, and reluctantly got up from her warm, inviting bed. She had vaguely became aware of her nightclothes sticking to her skin, as she recalled her dream of the previous night—or nightmare rather. Shivering, she unstuck her clothes and stepped into a bitterly cold shower. Once she got out, she redressed and walked over to her door. The moment she stepped out onto the tile, she noticed a bright, vivid, flashing explosion of light.

Confused and her eyes wide, she ran as fast as she could towards it, ignoring the screams of protest coming from her tired muscles. She skidded to a stop at an abandoned hallway, without believing her eyes. She screamed in both agony and surprise at seeing Tom just lying there. No one heard her, but right now she didn't think she could handle anyone.

She sprinted over to his lifeless body, sweeping a stray strand of hair into the rest of the tangled mess of hair. He was still slightly sweaty, but she paid it no mind as she caressed his face. It was as cold as ice. She shivered violently, wondering horribly whether he was still alive.

Desperately trying to think from her fatigued and awkward surroundings, she was frantically trying to remember the spell. "R—RENNERVATE!" she yelled, pointing her slipping wand at his face.

"Mmm…" he grumbled, voice coming in low and tired. He could not lift his heavy eyelids, and he very slowly became aware of the feelings in his feet, then when the tingling sensation reached his ankles, he was overcome with a huge wave of warmth. He gasped as he took in a rush of air, lungs inflating with their sudden power.

He snapped open his eyes, when Hermione's worried face came slowly into focus. She was breathing hard and fast, as she tucked another one of his loose curls from his face. He attempted a smile, but all that came out was a slight movement of his eyebrows, and the strangling feeling of small muscles working in his face.

"Oh my God, Tom!" she cried out in ecstasy. She wrapped her arms around him forcefully, him rigidly protesting underneath her. She pulled away, and said, "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't—I mean—I—" she trailed.

"It—It's fine." He gasped, finally making out comprehensible words. "I'm fine." She smiled.

I think it's a little longer, but I'm not sure. I tried to extend it, but I'm rather tired right now. I will get another chapter up by maybe tonight or definitely tomorrow. Suggestions, comments, or questions are welcomed, remember.

love,

luvseanfaris