Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry, I had to reupload this story, cause I'd uploaded the unfinished version of it on accident. Thanks again for all the reviews, they're greatly appreciated. :)

"For what of either pity, or justice could be expected from a person, who could feel the pain of guilt, without the humility of repentance."
-Radcliffe

Hermione's fingertips lightly brushed over the leather-bound books on the antique cherry bookcases.

She paused as she came across one she vaguely recognized.

As soon as she'd been able to, she had been scouring the library for any trace of it nearly all afternoon.

She tilted her head slightly to read the name of the book more clearly.

Herodotus.

This was it then. This was the book she'd been reading before all this had happened to her. She felt the prickling of expectancy as she pulled the book from its cramped shelf.

She looked over the cover and the volume itself. It was the very same book, she recalled, that she had been reading earlier, as she traced the faded russet cover with the tips of her fingers.

She quickly opened it and skimmed through its pages. Hoping to find any trace of the note she had read. Or any clues within its covers.

But she found nothing. The pages contained nothing more than the words that had been written there. She found no slip of paper, no inscriptions, nothing which could help her.

Her heart began to beat thickly and her chest felt tighter, all the joy of her recent discovery dissipating.

She had been here for over a month and yet she was no closer to getting back home. Professor Dumbledore had been patient with her, but was that all it was, was he just placating her. Did he even believe her story? Hermione began to doubt herself. She hadn't imagined all this, had she? She wasn't going crazy, or was she? There was nothing to confirm any of what had happened to her. No evidence whatsoever. No, there had been a note, and she had read it, she assured herself. She just needed to find it again. And then maybe, she would be able to find who wrote it.

"Do you make it a habit of following me around or does it come naturally?"

Hermione looked up to see Riddle standing only a few feet away from her. She hadn't heard him, and she hadn't seen him, not since Christmas, by her estimation.

Riddle smiled rather crookedly at her. He was looking considerably worse, since she'd seen him last. His clothes seemed to hang off of him, and the circles under his eyes were much darker.

"Contrary to what you may think, I have better things to do than to follow you around."

She hardly glanced at him, before slipping the book back in its place, trying not to draw attention to it, but Tom was anything but unobservant. She didn't know why, but she didn't want him to know she'd been leafing through it, as if he might guess the reason why she had been glancing at it to begin with.

Tom looked at Hermione questioningly, following her hand and the book she'd just put back.

"Muggle literature?" Tom reached over and pulled out the book she'd been looking at. Something flickered over his features, as he looked over it, but she couldn't tell what. But before she could give a second thought to it, he returned the book to its shelf casually, and watched her with what seemed a certain intensity. "A bit lacking, don't you think?" He smirked at her. "But I suppose you can't expect much from them- muggles, I mean." As if the point needed clarifying.

Hermione failed to see his point, actually, as she fought the urge to turn and leave him altogether. Instead, her look showed her annoyance with him, which only added to Riddle's growing amusement with her. And interest, he unwillingly owned.

Was he only trying to goad her with his prejudice? Because if so, it was working.

"I wouldn't expect someone as bigoted as yourself to understand." Hermione bit her tongue from saying anything further, but it was too late to take back what she'd said already. Truth was, he'd hit a nerve with her, and she couldn't help it showing.

"A bigot, am I?" He stopped briefly before continuing, eyeing her speculatively. "A bit on the defensive, aren't you, unless, you're a mudblood, that is."

"Funny," Hermione remarked in a humorless tone, "you should know, being one yourself."

Tom noticeably paled. The smirk left his face, and he wasn't able to hide his surprise, at first, but in a moment, he was in seeming good humour again. But his smile held none of its former levity.

"So, what of it? You want to go telling, have at it. I'm sure most have forgotten already that my sad story involves my being from a muggle orphanage. It won't change anything, not for me, at least, but I'm not so sure that could be said of you. I don't see you as faring too well at the moment, and I don't see this as helping you any."

Riddle paused a beat and leaned in closer to her, speaking in a much softer tone.

"Of course, I could keep it from being known, if you do something for me in return."

Hermione didn't know what to say. And realized now, she shouldn't have said anything. Who did Riddle think he was trying to blackmail her, and what was it that he could possibly stand to gain from it. What did he want with her? She couldn't even guess as to what it might be.

As loathsome as the offer was to her, perhaps it was a way to get closer to Riddle. She hadn't given up on her former plan, not entirely, but she hoped she wouldn't be here long enough to carry it out. It was only this which made her give any answer at all.

"And what would that be?"

Hermione spit the words out in ill-disguised disgust.

"Meet me, over by the restricted section, at midnight, and I'll tell you."

Riddle's expression became more serious, his voice taking on an icier edge.

"Why not now?"

Hermione was not at all keen on meeting with Riddle after dark. Again.

"Because I don't want for us to be overheard, alright?"

Riddle looked over his shoulder, after saying this, and returned his attention to the girl in front of him.

"Look, enough with the questions, what's your answer?"

Tom kept his impatience from showing, he didn't want her asking too many questions.

"Fine. Midnight."

Hermione, with much reluctance, agreed, hoping she'd made the right decision.