I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Hermione worried her lip unconsciously. Her quill darted across her parchment with more fervour than usual, staining it with an absent-minded confidence as she mulled over the words for the hundredth time.

Inwardly she scolded herself for how blatantly obvious it was once you flipped the letters round. But after administering the appropriate admonishment she turned apprehensive.

It was obvious. But was it obvious enough for that boy to figure out? Had he figured it out then? Was that why he insisted on steping through? Or was he just curious? Had he gone back to it afterwards and started puzzling through the letters to find their meaning?

It had been five days. He must have figured it out in that time.

But then what were the implications of the message? What was her heart's desire? Surely not him. She was not that shallow. If it was a partner she wanted then they would be kind, and funny, and smart. Like R-

Like her, but different.

But if he wasn't her heart's desire then what was, and what was his? He was the first thing she saw. And there was definitely something between them, something that coiled her insides and turned her brainwaves to white noise. Although, it felt more like fear than anything else.

Didn't it?

It didn't feel like her first year, when she has seen Ron tossed from the Knight's horse in their pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. It hadn't felt like her second year, when she had singlehandedly sought out the basilisk. It certainly couldn't compare to the events of last year, when she had fled from her professor in his werewolf form, when she had seen Harry and Sirius almost killed by Dementors, when she had tampered with time and feared the consequences. It didn't feel like that…yet.

However, it reeked of mischief. It carried a stench of trouble, deceptively laced with a disarming hint of excitement.

But that wasn't what she wanted. Not this year. She wanted Harry to be safe. She wanted herself to be safe. She wanted-

The nib of her quill sputtered suddenly as she placed the last full stop, leaving an unattractive blot at the end of her parchment. It sunk into the page rapidly, irreversibly marking her work with the evidence of her steadily growing agitation. It was ugly. She almost felt like starting over due to how messy it looked in comparison to her neat script. Almost.

Hermione sighed and place the quill on the table, trying to push away all thoughts of the pretty, intimidating boy she so desperately didn't want to see by rereading her essay once again.

And it worked. For a while.

She tried curling up in a chair in the common room with the book she had taken out for History of Magic, and dispersing the image of his dark eyes and the heady feeling they had given her when her towered above her.

And it worked. For a bit longer.

She tried talking to Harry and listening to his Jokes and relaxing as she almost always did in his presence, under his kind green eyes, his mother's eyes, so unlike the other boy's.

And it worked.

Until Ron returned from his date with Melony.

He planted himself next to Harry, instantly assailing him with details about how wonderful she was, how her laugh sounded like eating a chocolate frog, how her kiss was like swimming in amortentia. She might have been impressed by the effort he was clearly trying to put into his similes had they been about anybody other than that insipid little minx.

It had become clear to both Harry and Hermione that the girl was using him to get to the boy who lived. Just as clear as it was that neither of them could tell him that under any circumstances. He was too far gone, too deeply rooted, too enchanted by her superficial charms.

That's why Hermione had apologised to him and they were on speaking terms again. That's why he thought it was ok to gush about his darling in all his available free time. And that's why Hermione had to leave, she had to get out of the far too stuffy common room, she had to escape before he said the word "love" again in that far too moved voice.

She went to bed. But she did not go to sleep. She could not go to sleep.

Now that she was alone all she could do was think about the room, the mirror and the boy. For the billionth time she wracked her brain for some recollection of him. He wore the uniform but he didn't go to her Hogwarts. She would've known if he did. She would've recognised the inky depth of the boy's eyes. How the darkness they contained bled into the area around him. How that darkness beckoned alluringly. How it invaded and violated those who weren't too careful. He wasn't safe, that boy. He seemed fake; glossy and perfect and fake, covered in a veneer too thick to tear back.

She wouldn't go back. She couldn't go back.


Tom paced back and forth before the mirror, contemplating how he could possibly get through. It was apparent that the girl most definitely did not attend the Hogwarts that he currently resided in (he had search every record of students he could find for the name Hermione Granger but had found nothing).Wherever she was, therefore, he couldn't reach her without the mirror. He needed her to come back. Over the past five days his head had been filled with nothing but conjectures as to what could possibly lie beyond the gilded frame that oppressed his room.

Knowledge? Glory? Power?

In any case it refused to be ignored. It exuded a penetrating warmth that at once laboured the air and drew him closer. It glimmered with the light of the flames in his fireplace, distracting him as he read. But he couldn't risk covering it up. She could return at any moment. The mirror still stood so he assumed the connection still existed. Surely it would only vanish again if the connection ended.

If there was still a chance of getting through he would not let it up. Even if he had to wait there ever night, he would not miss her return. He had to get whatever it was that belonged to him on the other side, and he would stop at noth-

A gentle glow suffused the air.

From the other side the bushy haired girl eyed him in silence. She stood, in what he assumed were her pyjamas and a dreadful jumper in Gryffindor colours, with her arms crossed and her foot tapping the ground impatiently.

"I didn't think you'd come back." He smiled softly, shyly, showcasing vulnerability in a way he hoped she would lap up, intent on winning her over.

"I was busy." She replied brusquely. So she wasn't buying into his act. Something seemed to remain unsaid in her answer, however.

"I see," He started, charmingly, compelling her to drop her guard. "So why-"

She cut him off impatiently, as though she had anticipated his every question and already knew every possible response she would give. "I went to the library to see if I could find out anything about it after I worked out the inscription…"

"Ah yes, I show not-"

"Your face but your heart's desire, yes I know." She finished irately. "But I found it mentioned in 'Octarin Rousin's Ancient Magical Obscuritites' as the Mirror of Erised. Desire backwards. I'd heard about it from a friend in my first year here, but I wasn't aware it could create a passageway. My research was fruitless when it came to filling in the gaps in my knowledge, however, it barely touched upon that which I already knew. And so I've come back to- to explore its capabilities."

Tom had to bite his cheek to keep himself from checking her interruption. Be nice, he told himself, cultivate her. "That's understandable. Though, if you wouldn't mind," he began again, pausing this time in anticipation of yet another interruption. A small part of him almost wanted her to interrupt, to give him an excuse to react. But she didn't. He continued. "I would like to help you. I too am very interested by its sudden appearance. An appearance which, given its apparent ability to show our desires, would appear to be no accident."

Tom tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, attempting to look both sweet and suggestive.

To his chagrin the girl merely nodded and gifted him a tight smile. "Quite."

He shook off the rebuff and, with a step forward, began to wind his web. "I believe it best, with our new project, Miss Granger-"

"Let me stop you there." Hermione interjected, taking a step back and eyeing the space he'd stepped into with caution. His web was cut. "I can understand the merits of working together. We can get through more, at a quicker pace, and each of us will have our own knowledge and experience to bring to the table. We can solve this little mystery and be done with it. However, given the fact that we do know nothing about this connection, or about each other, I suggest we establish some boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Tom asked, a gorgeous smile still graced his features but he was starting to wonder what the consequences would be if he decided to kill her, or just crucio her a bit.

The little witch smiled back almost cruelly as she came to recognise the same tightness that had been in her own smile. "Yes, boundaries, guidelines, parameters. Whatever you wish to call it, there are some rules we should establish."

"Such as?" He said through gritted teeth. His façade was tearing apart at the seams alongside his patience.

"I don't trust you." Came her voice, strong and clear, like a lioness. In a way Tom was glad that it was laid so bare, a dead deer in the centre of the feeding ground, the death of that pretence, an offering of coexistence. Not peace, just communication. Honesty.

"I see." He didn't smile this time. Just stared.

She stared back, the fire of his room taking hold of her eyes and making them glint dangerously, defiantly, like they had when he had closed the space between them. "I think you're hiding something. Something beneath that smile. You aren't honest, I don't think." A smirk claimed him at her conjectures. She was intuitive, that was for sure, to work that out after one meeting. Nobody saw through his guise unless he wanted them to. Nobody but Dumbledore.

"Why should I be honest to a stranger such as yourself?" He asked, ripping his eyes away from hers before he felt tempted to snuff out their flame. He began to pace again.

"Because you need me." She stated. Triumph radiated from her violently, her mouth twisting up into a devious little grin. The witch only seemed to grin wider as her words erased his smirk. He was sure he must look dangerous now, and that made her chirpy little face all the more frustrating. He would teach her a lesson, he would show her the true power of Lord Voldemort and the fate which befell all those who dared to defy him!

He would, if she weren't right.

"Perhaps."

"No definitely. Without me you can't get through, or else you already would have. That means without me you can't get to your heart's desire. And that's what you really want. You don't care about the mirror at all, you only care about what it might lead you to. I'm right aren't I?"

"You do like to talk don't you, Miss Granger?" Tom retorted, tired of her little speeches. She coloured, her bushy mane seeming to raise itself on its haunches at the verbal attack. "You're saying all this but what you ought to be telling me is what rules you want to impose, should you not?"

"Fine, I'll cut to the chase." She said, straightening herself out and locking eyes with him once again. "For a start, I would like to know your name."

"My name?"

"If we're going to collaborate I can't just call you boy, can I?"

"I'm sure you could manage the single syllable if you put your mind to it…"

She glared at him before pulling out her wand, threatening to pull the sheet over the glass once more.

"Alright, I'll give you half."

"Half!" She cried, exasperated.

"Yes. Well, a third actually."

She considered it for a moment, nipping her lip before pouting like a petulant child. "Fine."

"Tom."

"Tom?" She asked, a mischievous grin forming on her face.

"Yes, Tom. Do you have a problem with that, Granger?" He snarled, losing all decorum in the face of her mockery. Really, she was an insolent nitwit.

She coloured a little. "No, sorry. I shouldn't laugh it's just not what I expected at all. I thought it'd be something more…" she scrunched up her nose. "Powerful, I suppose."

Tom regained himself. An insolent but perceptive nitwit, perhaps. "Something more powerful…" he chuckled to himself. "Yes, indeed."

A/N: Hello lovely people who have read thus far, especially all those of you who have followed and favourited this story! I planned to upload this much earlier but I just wasn't happy with the chapter so I revised it and voila- I think this is better! IDK I'm still figuring all the deets out. Anyway I hope you like this chapter! Hope that it raised the tension a bit. If not the next chapter definitely will. I mean I've firmly rooted this in a distorted fourth year context now so we might get some new characters soon... All the angst. I'm so excited for it!

P.S: Apologies for the faulty upload. I have zero clue what happened but I think I managed to fix it…