Author's Note:

Ok, I'm sorry if my Bellatrix seems a little OOC, the thing is I think when she was just out of Hogwarts she was very different than after the torture of the Longbottoms and 14 years in Azkaban. By the way, there might be some Bellatrix/Hermione, but I doubt it. Still, we'll see how the story goes.

And I'm not great at writing romance, so it will take a little while before the HG/TR materializes. Some plot in this chapter! Just a bit of it, but it's something.

Thank you to everyone who read this story.

I NEED A BETA! PLEASE?

3

Demented Research

Notes

I have made no progress in over a month. The Project looks to be very difficult indeed. I have received no help from Tom Riddle, who I still cannot understand. I hope to approach him today to get help. Still, it might be better if I let it go on its own...

The first key is already made, that I know. The second is on its way, but not yet made. I do not have to worry about that one – it will be seen to by someone else.

Hermione looked at her notes, pleased. It did her good to write this down, and it might be useful later on, but anyone one who looked would assume they were a potion-maker's notes, and that the Project referred, perhaps, to the Promens Brew they were researching. No one would, or could, understand that it was in fact the spying mission she had assigned herself – or that "key" referred to a Horcrux, and the second one to the large golden ring Tom Riddle wore.

She disguised the book as a pillow on her bed (well, Transfigured couch) and rose for the day's work.

O-o-o-O-o-o-O

Tom Riddle worked on his desk, blackening page after page of parchment with endless notes. The spell he had made, the Dementing Charm, worked very well. He had tested it on himself, and though he had not found it as dreadful as others supposedly did, he had experienced the chill, and the reliving of some annoying memories. Still, he knew that to others, the true weight of a Dementor attack was much more than it was to him.

The obsidian dagger, filled with powerful magic and apparently belonging to Dracula, which he had obtained for Mr. Borgin, had fascinated him. Vampires. They were immortal, in their own way. Perhaps that, combined with the power of Horcruxes, might be enough to help him. He stood up, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and moved towards the bookcase. He ran his long-fingered hand on his books, breathing in the scent of leather and parchment, that dusty scent he loved so well.

Thinking of books reminded him of his new partner, who seemed to read too much for her own good. She had shown great zeal in potion-making, but he knew she concealed something. Bellatrix had been banished from the laboratory, but he was still welcome. He pushed the door open and she stared up at him from her own notes.

"I think I have it Tom, look. This list of ingredients, these procedures... But it would have to be made at the summer solstice if I'm right. Still that's in only two weeks, so we should work to get the ingredients. There is one in particular that would be difficult to find – phoenix tears. I don't think they sell that in your average potion store, and even if they did the prices would be exorbitant. I tried it without the sunlight and the tears, and it seems to work to a very small effect. With those two ingredients, it should be perfect." She spoke as fast as she had a month ago, when she had arrived, but everything else about her had changed. She was more confident, happier... She had even cut her long, bushy hair, which kept getting in the way of her work, when she had been experimenting.

Tom smiled. "I think we could find phoenix tears. I know someone who deals in hard to find potion ingredients. We can go see her soon, how about that? Now, Hermione, I think we should talk." His voice, which had been cheery and kind at first had become more... businesslike.

"Yes, Tom, we should talk. I saw you were looking up Horcruxes. Is that true?" He felt the fear emanating from her as she asked that question. She feared someone who would do such a thing. Enjoying the feeling, he smiled.

"Yes, I have been looking them up. As you said yourself, we deal with more peripheral branches of magic here, do we not?"

She looked away from him, away from his smile, which he knew to be unnerving, back to her notes, looking at the list of ingredients.

"Why are we making a potion to protect from Dementors?" she asked, and he saw that this was not, really, what she wanted to know.

"Because it does not already exist. Because it should. Because if the Ministry finds out what we are doing, we could be sent in Azkaban, and it's better to be prepared."

She laughed at that. "Even with all the work I've put into this, this won't be permanent. A couple of days at the most."

Tom Riddle looked at her, knowing she knew the real reason. "Adieu, Mademoiselle, je dois vous quitter. Le devoir m'éloigne de votre agréable compagnie."

He stepped out of the room and strode towards the door, his mind still twisting over the mystery that was Hermione Granger. She was a good worker, and he had not lied. He found her company very agreeable. But he longed to know everything about her, the way he did with Rodolphus, and Anton.

He twirled gracefully and disappeared, feeling everything press around him for the shortest time, arriving with a swirling cloak at the shop. "Mr. Borgin," he said with a bow, "You sent for me?" The small, white faced owl that had delivered the message was now on the desk, staring at the assistant with mahogany eyes.

"Yes, Tom, I did. You will be glad to pay a visit to Hepzibah, I trust?" Seeing Tom's smile, he continued. "It has come to my attention that she possesses – I don't know how she managed it – a circlet from the faerie kingdom." A glint of red came over Tom's eyes. "I am willing to offer up to a thousand and a half galleons for this item, understand?"

Tom nodded and Disapparated, conjuring a composition of white-and-pink tulips for his client. He knocked on the Victorian glass door, and was welcomed by the tiny Hokey, at whom he nodded before following her. Mrs. Smith beamed at him, her bright orange hair escaping from the gaudy net of silver and pearls that matched her robes. She held out her hand and he kissed it gracefully.

"Mrs. Smith, it is always a pleasure to see you. I trust you are well?"

She nodded, then clapped in delight as he produced the flowers from behind his back.

"Oh Tom, you are too kind. Would you care to sit down?"

With a nod, he sat down on her frilly pink couch, a look of disgust passing through his eyes for a split second.

"Mrs. Hepzibah, my employer sends me to inquire after some rumors, which he, despite what I have told him, thinks exaggerate the worth of your collection."

Giggling, the ugly, fat witch hid her face behind her fan. "I am sure he is right, if he chooses to disbelieve the rumor. What is it, exactly? That I own Merlin's hat? Or perhaps Ravenclaw's wand?"

"No, I do not think he would put those past you, milady. He believes you own a circlet made in the fabled faerie kingdom, upon which no mortal has set foot for 3000 years."

Hepzibah looked away for a while, before turning her attention back on him. He could hear her thoughts, could hear in his head that she was wondering how Mr. Borgin had known. What she said was,

"You mustn't believe rumors. Mr. Borgin was right, I own no such item. How goes your research, my dear? You mentioned something about researching something to protect from dementors, something other than the Patronus."

Tom let her get away with her attempt at a diversion, talked about the potion, about Hermione, about the summer solstice coming up. He stayed an hour, before asking her to see the circlet.

"Mrs. Smith, this isn't about my employer wanting to buy it. This is about me. I want to see it, I want to see something made in the kingdom of faerie." His eyes and voice were pleading, he knew she would let him see now. She heard it in her head as clearly as he would if she was saying it out loud. Poor boy. He really does mean it. He wants to see it. He's an intellectual, he'll understand. And even to herself she didn't admit, didn't put in words, the feeling of pride, but it was there. She wanted to show off her circlet.

The battle was won.

"Hokey!" she called. "The circlet."

The diminutive house-elf maneuvered through the crowded pink room and ruffled poufs. She came back, carrying, not a box, but a red velvet cushion on which shone an object. The circlet...

Tom devoured it with his eyes, admiring the clean elegance of the gold and silver bands, twisting and turning around each other in ornate arabesques, holding between prongs of precious metal a small stone, merely enough to catch the eye, not sufficient to detract from the beauty of the art. A ruby here, and emerald there.

He looked at Hepzibah, resisting the greed within him. "How did you get that?"

Notes: (1)Goodbye, Miss, I must leave you. Duty calls me from your enjoyable company.

A/N: First, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Review responses.

Silver Tears 11: Well, kind of. She likes Hermione the way you'd like a kitten.

LaNi-GoldFish: They're not going to Hogwarts. Bellatrix and Tom are done with it, and it would look really weird to them if Hermione went there.

Again, I really appreciate constructive criticism, and I won't keep respond to reviews like "please update soon", though they really do help me to stick to a story. Sorry if I sound bitchy, but I try to do better than that myself.