AN: I really love weekends, especially Saturdays. I get to lay around in bed all day and write and read hot fanfics instead of doing homework - and update! Here's a longer chapter as promised, fellow Tomione addicts, and more progress on Hermione's secret plan. Thanks for reading!

When class was almost over Hermione stood and made her way to Slughorn, who had finally stopped checking the students' potions and was seated behind his desk reviewing tomorrow's lesson plan. At the sight of Hermione waiting expectantly before him he looked up and grinned. "Ah, Miss Granger, my new finest potionmaker! Besides good ol' Tom, of course," he added with a wink. "How may I help you, dear girl?"

His hand was lying on his desk. She angled herself so that her back was facing the class and laid hers on top of it. Slughorn's expression quickly changed from joviality to surprise until his wide, round face finally went slack. His eyelids drooped sleepily, but his brown eyes were intent on her every move.

"You need to see me after class, Professor," Hermione said, speaking in a gentle, soothing tone. "It's nothing urgent. You simply need to speak to me about my previous coursework. Tom can wait in the hall."

"Yes, of course he can…" Slughorn mumbled, tongue working confusedly.

"How interesting!" Hermione released his hand and stepped back. "Thank you for explaining the difference between Bundiman Pomade and Beautification Potion, Professor. That really was fascinating."

Slughorn's dazed look had vanished, but was soon replaced by a look of befuddlement. "Ah, yes. It was no trouble at all, Miss Granger…" he said, frowning.

While Hermione had been tampering with the Potion Master's thoughts however Tom Riddle had been up to his own schemes in the back of the classroom. He watched as she placed her arms on Slughorn's desk, flicking her wild curly hair over her shoulder, and leaned forward in such a way her skirt rose ever so slightly. Her legs were long and golden-brown, like butterscotch.

He shook himself. Where was that Moonstone? Ah, that's right. He'd stowed it under his textbook. Pulling it out, he dropped it inside the potion and watched as the Despicable Concoction turned a deeper shade of red. Nearly imperceptible.

Perfect.

Hermione returned to her seat. Riddle was writing an essay on a long, winding scroll of parchment and didn't look talkative in the least. One of his dark brows was furrowed in concentration, wrinkling the skin of his forehead ever so slightly, and visible under the lock of black hair that had fallen out of place. The quill moved quickly and surely in his grasp, which was not at all spider-like like his future self, and in his left hand at his side he held his yew wand readily.

She looked away. His looks weren't real, not really. He may have looked like the perfect boy, but…he was everything but that. Evil.

Why did she even have to remind herself?

When class was dismissed and everyone rushed out, Riddle had neatly rolled up his scroll, packed his bag, and was standing up waiting for her. Any minute now Slughorn will say something, she thought, taking extra-long to pack up.

"Miss Granger!" the man himself boomed, just in time. She nearly showed her relief as he swept toward them, but composed herself just in time when Riddle glanced at her. "I need to speak with you. It's nothing urgent. We simply need to discuss your previous coursework. Tom, you may wait for Miss Granger in the hall."

Riddle, who looked shocked, quickly schooled his features back into that indecipherable mask and smiled charmingly. "Are you sure, Professor? Miss Granger may need-"

"Nonsense," Slughorn interrupted. "She'll be out in a moment. Wait in the hall, please."

Hermione bit back a wicked grin at the look on Riddle's face.

Riddle nodded stiffly, casting her a suspicious look before he exited the classroom quietly. No doubt an interrogation awaited her, but she'd worry about it later.

Once he'd left Slughorn turned to her, suddenly looking very confused. "Now, um, what did we need to discuss again Miss Granger? I am afraid I, uh, forgot."

Behind her back, Hermione surreptitiously twirled her wand and cast a nonverbal Muffliato and locking charm on the door. She smiled at Slughorn and extended her hand, which he eyed skeptically. "Oh, we were just going to discuss my previous coursework."

"We were? Erm, yes, I suppose…eh….wha…?" His words turned into incoherent slurs when she pressed her hand against his face. She didn't need to shake his hand, any direct contact to skin worked just fine for this particular brand of magic.

"Professor, listen to me closely," she commanded, staring deeply into his glossy eyes. He nodded dumbly. "You do not find me at all suspicious, nor will you ever. After this school year is over, you won't remember my name, much less what I look like or that I ever existed. You find me to be an exceptional student, but you aren't concerned in anything other than my academic life. In fact, you'd much prefer not to probe into my personal business at all. Right?"

"Right."

A sudden idea came to her and she added, on impulse, "You're also going to give me an unlimited access to the Restricted Section pass."

"Yes."

She paused. Was there anything she was missing? No, this would cover her tracks should anything happen to her or go wrong. Time was tricky after all and she couldn't have Slughorn remembering her in fifty years as a previous student, or any of the other teachers aside from Dumbledore. This would ensure her secrecy.

That was one professor down.

Finished, she released him and took down the wards she'd put up, backpedaling to the desk she and Riddle had worked at and pouring some of the potion into a vial before slipping it in her pocket. She left the room before Slughorn could come out of his magic-induced stupor. Outside Riddle was waiting for her.

She didn't think she'd ever get used to that.

"Is our next class the same too?" she sighed.

"No," he said, but seemed distracted by something. And, there was something in his pocket that hadn't been there before. What was that? Before she could figure it out however he had already started the trek to her next class, Herbology, and when they got there he left her at the greenhouse without a word. He really must be distracted, she thought, wondering what schemes could be brewing in his head with a shudder.

Herbology passed without incident. She met Augusta Longbottom, the Head Girl, who just as fiery and opinionated as she was in Hermione's time, and Regulus was in that class too although he didn't talk to her. He mostly just…stared. Maybe he can't believe I'm still alive, Hermione thought, not completely jokingly. When class ended Augusta offered to show her to her next class, but Hermione politely declined, knowing that Riddle would – unfortunately – soon be there. Besides, she had to...stay after class, anyway.

Once she was finished implanting ideas into Mme. Bramble's mind she went to the hall to meet Riddle – but he wasn't there. She frowned. That was strange. Where was he? And what was he up to?

Well, it wasn't as if she didn't know how to get to her next class. She'd gone to Hogwarts for the past seven years, after all. And she had Transfiguration with Dumbledore!

She ran all the way there.

Hermione arrived just before class began and luckily found a seat at the very front. There was another empty seat beside her, but she didn't take it. Before beginning his lesson Dumbledore met her eyes and smiled at her, at which point she readily grinned back. The potion vial felt warm in her pocket. Everything was falling into place.

Riddle wasn't at lunch either.

In the Great Hall, Hermione resumed her much preferred seat on the lonely side of the Slytherin table and ate in silence, ignoring the whispers and questioning glances coming from the other Slytherins. Because when she met Abraxas' gaze – Draco Malfoy's grandfather - he grinned and made a lewd gesture at her, eyeing her chest.

She made a note to hex him later.

When lunch was finally over she hurried to DADA. She forgot to pretend to get lost in her haste to get away though and showed up early to the classroom, only to find it empty aside from her new professor. Professor Chanté, she recalled from her research, and took a seat in the front. He was standing behind his desk, sandy blonde hair tousled and shirt un-tucked. He had a strong jaw and was young for a Hogwarts teacher, probably in his early thirties, she noted.

A few minutes later Professor Chanté looked up from his stack of papers, his blue eyes sweeping over the room (which was half-full by now) and bouncing back to her in surprise. He smiled, eyes crinkling, and made his way over to her.

"Hello Hermione," he said, shaking her hand firmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts. You're from Beauxbatons, right?"

"Right. I just arrived yesterday."

"Are you any good at Defense against the Dark Arts?"

"Oh, somewhat…" she said daintily and twirled her hair, snickering inside when she imagined the look on his face if he knew how extensive her experience actually was.

"That's fine," Professor Chanté assured her. "I'm sure you'll catch up in no time. You seem to be a very able witch."

"Er, thank you," she said, surprised.

Mercifully, the bell rang right then and he had to start class. They were learning about vampires – nothing she hadn't already studied before – so Hermione tuned out, her thoughts on Riddle and what he could possibly be doing. But when class ended Hermione realized she had spent the whole period – the whole period! – daydreaming and had completely forgotten to plan her approach to Professor Chanté. She didn't need to worry however, because when she'd packed her things and looked up to search for him he was already staring right at her.

Hermione touched her hair self-consciously. It only got bushy in the summertime now, was she having a bad hair day or something? Oh well.

"Professor, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure you can," he said, leaning back against his desk and grinning at her so that the dimple in his right cheek showed. His sleeves were rolled up. "What d'you need?"

"I forgot the three signs to look for when identifying a hungry vampire," she said, stepping closer to him, and waved her wand at the door. It shut gently. He noticed but didn't say anything. "What were they again?"

"Oh, it's-"

She touched his bare arm. His face went slack.

Hermione arrived to dinner late, pretending to have gotten lost on the way and to rush into the Hall breathlessly. She walked toward the Slytherin table, waving at Augusta as she passed her seat at the Gryffindor section, and turned her head - to find herself staring straight into Tom Riddle's opaque gaze.

He looked impeccable as always.

Abraxas hadn't needed to be told to move this time so she sat beside Riddle, reaching across the table to spoon food onto her plate. She was itching to ask him what he'd been up to all day, but knew he would never tell her the truth. And why should he? Why should she even ask him? That wasn't part of the plan.

Beside her Riddle spoke. "I apologize for disappearing so suddenly. I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding your classes?"

"No," she said coolly. "Augusta helped me." A bold-faced lie. She was surprised he didn't see through it. Or did he?

His eyes flickered across the hall, to the Gryffindor table, and faint surprise registered on his aristocratic features. "I see." They ate in silence for a number of minutes. He, thinking deeply. Hermione, trying to block out the numerous conversations and glances directed at them.

Finally, unable to contain her curiosity anymore, she burst out, "Where were you?" He blinked at her and smirked around his fork. Hermione looked away. How did he make eating mashed potatoes look sexy, for Godric's sake? Stupid Dark Lord. Stupid hormones.

Riddle put down the suddenly sensual utensil. "Concerned for me, were you, darling?" he teased. She rolled her eyes. "Actually, I had a meeting with the Prefects I'd forgotten to mention to you," he said smoothly. "The patrols needed rescheduling."

"Ah," she nodded, pushing her peas around her plate. She understood. He was lying to her; he thought she was just as stupid as the rest of his Death Eaters. Anger swelled within her, hot and strong. "Well, if you'll excuse me, Tom, I have a meeting I've also somehow forgotten to mention you," she said and stood, shoving her chair back with a screechy scrape.

She stormed from the Great Hall. Augusta hurried out soon after.

Tom sat frozen. He was shell-shocked, although he didn't show it. His fellow Slytherins were not as skilled in hiding their emotions as he, however, and numerous jaws were threatening to touch the floor. At the dark look on his face though, they shut their traps and looked away hastily.

"Should we follow her, my lord?" Abraxas said quietly, his wand ready. Crabbe and Goyle were already standing up.

"No," Tom said, and the two oafs reluctantly sat back down. Abraxas lowered his wand. "I'll deal with her later," he said smoothly. A seat down, Regulus shivered at what deal with might implicate for the new girl. "Should I need your services I will let you know, Abraxas." He smiled chillingly.

"Yes, my lord," Abraxas said dutifully and didn't say another word for the rest of the meal.

Hermione was stomping down the halls leading to the library when Augusta caught up with her.

"Hey Hermione!" she called after the bushy-haired witch. "Are you alright?"

Hermione turned around, surprised but pleased to see a friendly face. There weren't enough of those around here. "Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, smiling. "Just not very hungry, I guess."

"Oh," Augusta said, but didn't look like she really believed her. "Where are you going?"

"The library." Hermione started walking again, Augusta kept pace.

"Need some company?" Augusta asked, chipper as ever.

Hermione shot her a smile, a genuine one this time. "Sure."

Some hours later when the library had closed and Professor Wiber kicked them out, the two girls were walking down the halls back to their dormitories, chatting.

"You should really come to the next Quidditch game, Hermione," Augusta, who was team captain of the Gryffindors and Head Girl, was saying excitedly. "It's us verse Hufflepuff. Last year they destroyed us, but this time around we're practicing more and I've put together a much better team."

"I'd like that. What day is it?" Hermione said, although she wasn't a very big fan of Quidditch. But if going to Augusta's Quidditch game brought her closer as a friend, she was for it. She needed friends.

"Saturday. Oh look, it's Minerva," Augusta said happily, waving to a severe-looking girl with pin-straight black hair and beady eyes coming down the hall. "Minerva, come here! Meet Hermione Granger."

Minerva, Hermione's future Transfiguration professor and Head of House, stopped before them and regarded her with suspicious eyes. "Augusta, what are you doing milling about with a Slytherin?" she growled.

Hermione was shocked. She always knew McGonagall got very competitive when it came to Quidditch games and house rivalries, but was she really going to hate her just for being a Slytherin?

"I'm not 'milling about' and Hermione's different!" Augusta said hotly, straightening up next to her. "She's cool."

Hermione grinned.

Minerva didn't look convinced. "Well alright," she said slowly and looked back at her with still-slanted eyes. "But try anything funny and I'll know, Granger." She pointed to her badge. "I'm a Prefect." With one last threatening look, she whisked away down the hall, books held closely to her chest and robes swinging.

"And I'm Head Girl," Augusta muttered once she had left. "Don't worry about her Hermione, she'll warm up to you eventually. Minerva's just very…opinionated."

Hermione nodded. She hoped so.

"Well, I must be going," Augusta said once she'd brought Hermione to the dungeons she wasn't supposed to know how to get to just yet. "I have patrols and duties and all that jazz." She flashed a toothy grin. "I'll see you in Herbology!"

"Bye!" Hermione watched the girl vanish down the hall before entering the Slytherin common room.

She slipped past the students inside – most of them shot her dark looks and brooding glances anyway - and up to her dormitory. Inside, it was mercifully empty and she hurried to her green-and-silver themed bed and thrust back the hangings, whipping down the wards with a wave of her wand. She put down her school bag, took off her robes, and lifted the mattress to retrieve her beaded bag. She took out Harry's Invisibility Cloak and threw it on, recasting the wards around her bed quickly before going back out.

She'd compelled the teachers; step two was complete.

Now invisible, she swiftly went back downstairs and out the common room. The castle, she noted, was much darker at night despite the torches dotting the stone walls. It felt ominous even.

Slughorn wouldn't be giving her the pass to the Restricted Section until tomorrow, so silently and carefully she navigated the halls back to the library. She didn't see anyone save a few Prefects, but they didn't see or take note of her. A minute later, the door to the library was opening by itself and she was slipping inside, forgetting to shut it behind her.

That was her first mistake.

The library was vast and quiet without all the students filling it and Mme. Wiber screeching for silence. Hermione wasted no time and made a beeline for the Restricted Section, where she would find Necromancy, An Art Moste Tricky and books on Horcruxes – and destroy them all. She wasn't here for Tom Riddle, that was true, but it was his sixth year, the year he would create his first Horcrux. Burning a few library books – she shuddered at the thought – wouldn't stop him, per se, but it would delay him and that was good enough for her. This was step three of her plan.

In the Restricted Section, she took off the Cloak and pocketed it. "Lumos," she whispered, lifting her wand, and a bead of light lit the tip of it. She brought it to the books.

After about thirty minutes of searching and only finding one blasted book on Horcruxes she lost patience and waved her wand, uttering, "Accio Horcrux books and Necromacy, An Art Moste Tricky!" Several books flew off the shelves and toward her, threatening to knock her off her feet, but she waved her wand at them and they froze mid-air for a moment before making a neat stack which she then crammed into her bag. She'd burn them later.

Just as she was about to leave the sound of footsteps suddenly registered on her ears and she froze as a smooth voice – a smooth familiar voice – said, "Who's there?"

Oh no. Not him.

Heart pounding, she reached into her pocket for the Cloak and watched with wide eyes the direction Tom Riddle's footsteps were coming from. With a little rustle, she donned the Invisibility Cloak and pressed herself back against the bookshelves just as Riddle arrived at the end of the aisle.

She held her breath.

Through the veil-like, shimmery texture of the Cloak she watched as he stalked toward her, lithe and graceful, dragging those long fingers over row after row of bookshelves as he went. Less than foot away from her, he paused and listened intently for sound. He was so close she could reach out and grab his ankle. "I know you're here, Hermione," he said softly, his black eyes raking the dark for her. Her heart stuttered. "What are you doing out of bed so late at night?"

He was going to find her out if she didn't do something soon, and she didn't have any good excuses for being at the library when it was almost midnight. Hand trembling, she raised her wand and cast a mental Accio Hogwarts, A History.

The sound of a book flying off its shelf several aisles away had Riddle whipping around and running. Hermione, soon after, jumped to her feet and sprinted to the exit doors – which were shut. What the hell? She yanked on them, but they were locked, so she waved her wand and whispered "Alomohora!" Riddle must have cast a simple charm, because the locks swung back and she was able to fly out the doors, missing the Stunning hex shot at her by inches.

She didn't stop running until she'd reached the Slytherin common room and only then did she catch her breath and wobble up to her dormitory, where she silently made her way past the dozens of sleeping girls and collapsed on her bed. She shoved her beaded bag and the Invisibility Cloak underneath the mattress and cast double wards that night, pulling the blankets over her head like a child trying to hide from monsters. They did make her feel safer though.

She couldn't believe what had happened. How did he find her? How did he know it was her? What if he'd seen her? She had to be more careful, cleverer and sneakier than he… but how? He was Voldemort.

She fingered the vial filled with Despicable Concoction in her pocket and drew it out, watching its contents glint menacingly in the moonlight streaming into the dormitory. Step four of the plan was close, but first she had to destroy the books, and incinerating Dark Arts books was no walk in the park. She carefully placed the vial in the trunk Hogwarts had supplied her, locking it for measure. Stick to the plan, Hermione, she told herself.

But the trouble was her plan was coming apart at the seams.

AN: I hope you guys liked the chapter! Chapters two and three were mostly fillers, and from now on this fic can really get going. Actually, I think Professor Trelawney foresees a flashback with Dumbledore sometime in the future...but you all know how she is. ;) Thanks for reading and leave a review if you've got any ideas on Step 3! ...or if you adore Tom. (I know I do. Sigh)