AN: *calling all faithful Tomione shippers* Thank you so much for the awesome response on the last chapter! Some of your reviews made me crack up (do I sense a Teacher Appreciation day for Professor Chanté coming on? wink wink) and I really loved the feedback and speculations on the minor details like black cats, etc. I hope you like the new chapter, although the chapter title might deceive you... ;)

Entering the Great Hall, Hermione saw Augusta and Minerva laughing merrily at the Gryffindor table, and her 'fellow' Slytherins on the opposite end of the vast room, looking about with arrogant smirks and conversing in low tones. Again, Hermione wondered at the Sorting Hat's decision to place her in Slytherin. She really didn't belong there at all.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it now on any account.

Hermione briskly crossed the hall and avoided looking at Meredith, who was fortunately sitting on her side again, as she approached the table. She felt even more intimidated when all the Slytherins – and she meant all, for every occupant there was blatantly staring at her - looked up to watch as she sat down beside Riddle. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but as she started to fill her plate the stares didn't disperse, and her cheeks went hot as iron skillets.

"Tom," she hissed under her breath, leaning across him under the pretense of getting corn. "Why is everyone staring at me? Do I have something on my face?"

"Other than that fake smile? No," Tom murmured. "They are all, however, very impressed by your duel against Meredith today."

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. He, Meredith, Dolohov, and Parkinson were the only Slytherins beside her in their DADA class. How could anybody else know about that duel?

As if reading her mind, Abraxas interjected, "Word gets around fast at Hogwarts and I heard you kicked Meredith's arse, Mu-" At Tom's sharp look, he blanched, faltering. "…uh, Hermione." Abraxas grinned goofily to cover up his fault, flashing a full set of perfect white teeth at her. She wasn't impressed.

Regulus rolled his eyes and leaned forward, elbowing Abraxas out of the way so he could be heard over the general commotion in the Great Hall. "What this idiot here is trying to say is everyone heard you and Meredith dueled-"

"More like Meredith dueled and Hermione was fighting to keep her eyes open!" Parkinson interjected, snickering.

"I saw it all," Dolohov bragged. "Hermione actually yawned when Meredith shot a spell at her!" He turned to Hermione, smirking. "I think she hadn't even realized you had put a shield up."

"And she kept using the same jinx," Parkinson added and pretended to whack an imaginary wand haphazardly through the air. "Reducto! Reducto!" she squealed in a surprisingly good imitation of Meredith.

"Fabia told me she got three days of detention from Chanté," Abraxas said.

"No, it was a week," Hermione interrupted without meaning to, her know-it-all habit to correct any wrong information kicking in. She snapped her mouth shut quickly though, uncertain whether or not she should have spoken, and stared back at everyone uncertainly.

Dolohov and Abraxas broke into roars of laughter.

"A week?" Abraxas howled, snorting. "She'll never last. Chanté will probably have her clean Pixie droppings and she'll faint from overexertion!"

"Or the smell," Dolohov snickered.

"It was supposed to be two weeks," Hermione admitted, feeling oddly invigorated as everyone looked to her eagerly to hear more. She'd never been popular in her time at Hogwarts, nor Muggle school. "She attacked me after class, but Professor Chanté saw us and took her wand."

"Meredith, wandless?" Parkinson said disbelievingly, with a little evil smile. "Oh, she won't last another hour without her annual Hair-Straightening Charm."

Regulus glanced down the table at the girl herself, who was glaring angrily at any student who dare walked by her, and said, "Meredith has never lifted a finger for anything other than her hairbrush." He shook his head, dark curls bouncing lightly. "Talk about spoiled rotten."

As if any of you aren't, Hermione couldn't help thinking, but then berated herself. Why was she defending Meredith? The girl had attacked her and the Slytherins were, in their own way, supporting Hermione. Why shouldn't she just enjoy this while it lasted?

So as the Slytherins reenacted the match against Meredith Hermione laughed and nodded at the right times, feeling for the first time since she came to 1943 as if she belonged somewhere. Sure, that somewhere happened to be at her old house rival's table and with a bunch of conceited snobs, but underneath all their mockery and smirks they were almost…comforting. Their hard, haughty exteriors made her feel protected as Abraxas vowed to hex Meredith if she so much as tried to trip Hermione again.

"Oh, I doubt that will be necessary," Riddle said, speaking for the first time since she'd sat down and hushing the rest of the table within seconds. Everyone watched him with bated breath. "Hermione seems to be able to look after herself, doesn't she?"

There were various murmurs of agreement at this and Riddle reclined, waving his hand lazily to imply he was finished – much like a king signaling his jester to start the show, Hermione noted – and the Slytherins started recounting the duel again. Hermione was listening half-heartedly to them, not really interested in the story the third time it was told, when the sensation of a hand on her knee startled her.

Riddle's hand, to be exact.

Strangely, Hermione didn't immediately shake it off. She didn't feel tingly where he touched her, like in those romance books filled with electric touches and demented passion, but much more than that – she felt magnified. All her senses went on high alert and her heart was speeding up again, blood roaring behind her ears as her eyes dilated and every hair on her body stood on end – just like in Transfiguration, in the Quidditch Pitch, on the Astronomy Tower. Was that alluring scent back again, too? she wondered and sniffed experimentally. Immediately, the scent of cedar, burning wood, and split-earth rushed into her.

It was the scent of Dark magic.

Hermione glanced at him, startled, but he wasn't looking at her and instead watching Elfy Wictz tell an amusing story involving a party at her summer home and a half-dressed Prime Minister. Hermione's stomach was tangled in knots and for the rest of dinner she couldn't stop thinking about his hand. It was just sitting there, not even trying to make a move on her - simply still. Was he reminding her of his presence? Or did it make him feel like...this too? Hyperaware.

Then he finally ended her internal crisis and did something.

"Meet me at ten o'clock, not midnight," Riddle said under his breath, lips that could have been carved by Bernini and envied by Lucifer hardly moving at all, and tightened his grip until she nodded. "I don't want you falling asleep on me again."

Hermione didn't laugh. "There's – um - one problem with that," she started uneasily and Riddle looked at her sharply, pulling back – and taking that electrified feeling with him.

"What?" he demanded.

"Dumbledore saw us at the library."

Riddle blinked, obviously not having expected that answer, and his normally emotionless eyes flashed with anger for a quick instant. However, it evaporated into midnight-black orbs a second later and the only signs he had any emotions left were his taut jaw. "Why do you say that?" he said quietly, narrowed eyes scouring the staff table and resting on Dumbledore.

"He spoke to me after Transfiguration and sort of…implied it," Hermione admitted. He told me I should stay away from you.

And she knew Dumbledore was right.

"Figures that old coot can't mind his own bloody business," Riddle sneered so viciously Hermione flinched. She averted her eyes when he looked back at her. The tone he'd used reminded her of his future-self…of Voldemort. "Hermione?"

She looked back up hesitantly and was relieved to see the coldness had melted out of his eyes – at least, for the most part – to be replaced by curiosity. "What's wrong?" he asked, staring at her intently.

Hermione glanced around the table nervously, but it was mostly empty now that dinner was minutes from being over. Meredith and Fabia were long gone. Abraxas was talking to Regulus. "Nothing," she muttered and looked back at him. "Why?"

Riddle arched a brow in reply and Hermione rolled her eyes, standing to leave. He stood too. "Oh, never mind," she said. "How will we meet if Dumbledore is watching us?" She still wanted to find out how to get rid of the essences and why they were so violent. She assumed it was because the books she'd burned were based on Dark magic, but she still needed more proof before she could be sure.

Hermione glanced back at Dumbledore as they left the Great Hall and was disturbed to find him watching her with sharp blue eyes she couldn't read for the life of her. She was thankful as the large oak doors swung shut, cutting them off from his view.

"I'll take care of it," Riddle said vaguely, pulling Hermione out of her paranoid thoughts. "Meet me at ten o'clock in the dungeons."

"But-"

"Hermione."

"Oh fine!" she huffed. "But your plan better be good or else-" She couldn't think of a good threat, so she just settled for glaring at him.

"Are you trying to threaten me?" Riddle asked softly, meeting her severe glower with a wry smirk. "Because you're about as intimidating as a handicapped kitten."

Hermione gaped at him. "I can't believe you just compared me to a disabled household pet!"

"Oh, rest assured, if you were a kitten you'd have very sharp claws, so you wouldn't be …entirely defenseless," he snickered.

"I'm going now."

His eyes danced with amusement. "See you soon," he said from behind her.

Hermione rounded the corner and headed to the Slytherin dormitory, greeting the portraits politely as she passed them. She uttered the password, which had fortunately been changed by now from Pureblood to Ophion, and stepped through the entrance into the Common Room.

Inside, it was filled to the brim with Slytherins. Older students relaxed on the sleek leather couches, a group of first years were huddled around the Wizard Chess set in the back, and two shady-looking fourth years ascended the staircase to the boy dormitory with what looked like pipes fisted in their hands. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly at their backs. Where were the prefects when you needed them?

"Hey Hermione, over here!" Regulus called from one of the suede sofas. "Come sit with us." Elfy agreed and waved Hermione over too, scooting over to make room. Hermione walked over cautiously.

"Er, hi," she said awkwardly, sitting down. Dolohov and Abraxas were there too, although they were situated around the fireplace and discussing Quidditch with an intensity Hermione could never comprehend. She was just starting to relax a bit when the topic of today's gossip strode in, a parcel in-hand and her long black hair thrown carelessly into an elegant bun.

You guessed it: Meredith.

Meredith didn't seem to realize Hermione was even there however, as she confidently strutted over and placed her mail on the mahogany coffee table, sweeping aside Regulus' pile of homework to make room. "Hey, watch it!" Regulus cried, quickly waving his wand just in time to save his essay from diving into the hot flames of the fireplace.

"Sorry, Black, but look what I've just received from my owl," Meredith said excitedly and lowered herself to her knees, quickly unwrapping her present. "Mother's sent me treats straight from Belgium."

"Ooh, what kind? Toffee?" Dolohov asked.

"Truffles," Meredith corrected and held up a large silver tin of them for proof. Abraxas eyed them almost as hungrily as he eyed girls' chests. "I thought I would share them with you all."

"Well, they do look good," Regulus said slowly. "But…you've got to give some to Hermione too."

"Uh, no, that's really not necessary," Hermione tried to say, but it was too late.

Meredith looked shocked and her head whipped around, dark eyes searching for and landing on Hermione quickly. Her eyes narrowed and she looked like an angry wolf who had just been threatened of her place in the pack. Glancing over Hermione disdainfully, her eyes slanted further. "You're sitting in my seat!" she hissed, jumping to her feet, and immediately the rest of the Slytherins had their wands drawn and trained on her. Elfy even stood up.

Meredith looked scandalized. "Oh, so now you're on her side just because she's got a few tricks up her sleeve? So what? She's a Mudblood." When no one responded her harsh breaths quieted, the look of fury on her oval-shaped face vanishing, and she bit her lip. "Elfy?"

"I was wrong about Hermione," Elfy said simply, "but we're over it now and if you can't get over it too then you'll have to leave."

Meredith gaped at her, but a moment later snapped her mouth shut and nodded her head almost imperceptibly. She swallowed. "I…oh alright," she sighed and turned back to Hermione, a big smile plastered on her face. "Sorry…Hermione. Would you like a chocolate?"

It was right then Hermione realized as Meredith's chocolates were passed around that this wasn't the heir to the Smith's fortune simply being nice to her friends and offering them treats. She was trying to slip her way back into their good graces, to win them over, and Hermione was just an unlikely threat. That was how it worked in the house of snakes: you bribed, shamelessly flattered and tricked in order to get what you wanted. Slytherins were – no, they had to be sneaky.

Or they would be kicked to the curb.

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking one of the sweet truffles offered to her, and watched as Meredith sat in front of the fireplace beside Abraxas' legs, tracing the intricate designs on the silver tin with a manicured finger as she gazed at the chocolate melting in Hermione's hand. Feeling self-conscious, Hermione popped it into her mouth.

"Taste good, doesn't it?" Meredith said softly.

Heat crept into Hermione's cheeks as she remembered the last time Meredith had said that, the horror of seeing mud swishing in the gravy boat and everyone laugh at her. Now though, the Slytherins stared at her with bated breath waiting to see her reaction. Without breaking eye contact, Hermione smiled and replied, "Yes, it's scrumptious."

Meredith looked away.

Abraxas yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head and revealing a strip of taut stomach that did not go unnoticed by a group of nearby fifth year girls, who giggled when he winked at them. Elfy rolled her eyes. "Twat," she grumbled.

"Well, I'm going to hit the sack," Abraxas announced. "See you all in the morning." He mock-bowed to Meredith, who sneered at him in return. "M'lady."

"I'm heading out too," Regulus said, gathering his essay and ink. "I have a paper due on death omens and superstitions tomorrow and I haven't even read the damn book yet."

That's something Harry and Ron would do, the thought flew into Hermione's mind without warning and she stiffened as a wave of sadness ripped through her. Forget it, Hermione! Forget them. Forgetforgetforgetforget. Slowly, her pain ebbed away and hid in the very back of her mind, locked away where it would not be touched again. She relaxed.

Meredith and Dolohov left next, although she'd missed their excuses, and as Elfy passed her she asked whether she was coming too. Hermione shook her head.

As Hermione stared into the crackling orange flames across her she realized Meredith had left the silver tin behind, which was oveflowing with cellophane wrappers that resembled rainbow confetti. She checked to see if anyone was watching and once satisfied, turned back to it. She called on the unique magic Dumbledore had taught her, the magic she'd so painstakingly learned to wield, which now gently hummed in her palms like a buzzing bee. Usually, it was just a faint tickle but this time it felt stronger as she concentrated, coming to her more easily than it ever had before.

Experimentally, Hermione nudged it beyond her palms and grinned victoriously when the magic shot up to her elbows. She had been practicing for two years and the magic had never gone past her hands, which was why she had to touch a person to put thoughts in their mind. It was a handy trick Dumbledore had taught her and warned her to use sparingly, for it was easy to overuse it and accidentally turn everyone around you into mindless puppets.

Ok, so far so good, Hermione thought and urged it to go even farther. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she coaxed the magic into a pliable, stretchy medium, and it spread up to her shoulders, shooting down her back in a warm vibration that made her shudder. Soon it was surrounding her entire body, invisible to the naked eye but so there. Pulsing around her faintly, light as a spider's web but not anywhere near as delicate.

She opened her eyes, which had involuntarily squeezed shut, and refocused on the silver tin. Trying to get the tin to come over was a bit of a stretch, but she might be able to get one of the wrappers. She stretched out her arm toward it and the magic didn't shatter around her, but moved with her like a second skin.

Come.

Nothing.

Accio wrapper!

Zilch.

Hermione stared at the wrapper intently. What was she doing wrong? The magic was strong around her, more than ready to be put to use, and she knew that if she understood it she could do so much more than summon an empty tin of chocolates. Maybe if Dumbledore had taught her more or given her some information… Hermione huffed, frustrated, and the magic buzzing around her eagerly fizzled out.

So much for that.

The sound of grinding brick emitted from the other side of the empty room and Hermione turned around to see Riddle stride in, hands clasped behind his back and looking for all the world like a gentleman out of a Jane Austen novel. He turned to her and a smirk lifted his sly mouth, distracting her.

"You have chocolate on your face," he said and pointed at his own chin. "Right here."

Hermione stared at him in shock for a second and then scowled, scrubbing away the dot of chocolate quickly. "It's a pleasure to see you, too, Tom," she said sarcastically.

"You won't need that," Riddle said, nodding at the schoolbag she'd just picked up. "We're not going to research."

"But-"

"Just for tonight," he said and rolled his eyes at her indignant expression. "I believe our deal had multiple circumstances. On my end, one of them was research and the other was helping you practice magic."

"Can't that wait?" Hermione huffed. "What if the essences get violent again? What if someone is attacked?"

"No one is allowed to go anywhere near the Forbidden Forest," Riddle said, waving away her concern. "Besides, a bit of range in subjects is good for the cultivating mind."

Hermione started to protest and in an instant he was right in front of her, invading her space, and had tightly grabbed her chin. She gasped. "Hermione, I'm not asking you to do this," he said softly. "I'm telling you, so listen: we are going to work on your magic. You will put your schoolbag away and meet me here in no more than two minutes. Understood?"

She looked away, levelling her glare on a tapestry of a reeling hippogriff behind him, and when she spoke it was in a voice loaded with restrained anger and frustration. "Yes, Tom."

He sighed. "You're doing it again," he tsked and she saw his smirk widen in her peripheral vision. "Avoiding eye contact."

"Better?" she snarled, glowering right into his black gaze, which now sparkled with amusement.

"Much."

Hermione wrestled away from him and readjusted her robes and bag. Stupid control freak. She stomped toward the stairs and had to restrain herself from flipping him the bird when he said, in a taunting tone, "One minute and thirty-one seconds."

Hermione dropped her schoolbag on her bed and hurried back out of the dark dormitory of sleeping girls before anyone noticed her. Lucky them, she thought jealously. They don't have to stay up until midnight getting bossed around by the egotistical Dark Lord. How did her life come to this?

She met Riddle at the bottom of the stairs and immediately he set off, leading them out of the common room and coming to a stop at the edge of the dungeons. He turned around to face her and she jerked back a step in surprise, instinctively whipping out her wand. He rolled her eyes at her overreaction.

"I'm going put a Disillusionment Charm on you," he explained and waved his wand over her head. Instantaneously, she felt the sensation of eggs dripping down her body, and vanished from sight. "Since Dumbledore saw us last night he'll be looking for us again, so just in case..." He finished by tapping his wand on his own head and he, too, disappeared.

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed, slapping away an invisible hand when she felt it reach for her, and Riddle's voice sneered back sarcastically, "Well, unless you know where we're going do lead the way. I can completely see where you're going, after all."

"Point taken," Hermione muttered and reached her hand out blindly. "Where are you?"

"Right here." His hand clasped around hers, surprisingly cool, and she gasped as her heart beat a little faster. What was that? She hadn't felt that…shock...back in the common room a minute ago.

More mysteries, Hermione thought, not enthusiastically.

"Don't trip," Riddle warned, his silky voice floating out of the darkness like a phantom's, and proceeded to lead them throughout the castle on quick feet. Hermione struggled to keep up and not step on his shoes – or at least, not too many times – and gratefully caught her breath as they paused on their seventh moving staircase. It swung into place and then Riddle was briskly leading them through winding hallways again.

As he took them down one particular corridor, stopped and told her to stay put before walking back down the same corridor again, Hermione understood where they were going. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Of course, Riddle would take them to the Room of Requirement. His future-self had hidden a Horcrux there and as a schoolboy she understood he often hid out here. Dumbledore, if Riddle wished it, would never find them.

Hermione had to admit it was a genius idea. Why hadn't she thought of it?

After going back and forth down the hall for the third time, Riddle stopped beside her, not even slightly breathless, and led her to a door that had just finished forming in the previously-empty wall. It swung open as they approached it and the two walked through, lifting their Disillusionment Charms once they were inside.

Hermione looked about the large room, which had plain white walls and was void of any furniture or decoration. "How did you find this place?" she asked, but Riddle didn't answer her and instead took off his robes, revealing a white button-down with the Slytherin emblem on it and black trousers. He flicked his wand and his robes folded themselves before zooming across the room to land on a suddenly manifested shelf.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, startled.

"Getting comfortable." He smirked at her as he flicked his finger through the top two buttons at his throat, arching a brow. "Are you going to wear that stuffy thing all night?"

"It's erm, kind of cold in here-" Hermione began, but stopped when the temperature immediately rose a few degrees, adjusting to a pleasant warmth.

"Better?" Riddle said innocently.

"Just peachy," Hermione grumbled and pulled off her robes quickly, sending them to land on a shelf right underneath Riddle's. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "What now, Professor Riddle?" she mocked.

Ignoring her condescending tone, he stepped forward and, looking quite business-like, put her arms at her sides. Her skin grew warm through the sleeves of her shirt, like his casual touch had been fiery imprints. She drew her wand. "No, you won't need that," he said confidently and she put it away slowly, eyeing him curiously. Catching her look, he added, "I said I'd help you develop your magic, not your wandwork."

"Why does it even matter to you?" she asked before she could stop herself.

At this, his movements slowed and, carefully, he stuck his wand in his back pocket and stepped back to regard her with those midnight black eyes. Or were they just a very dark brown? No, Hermione thought, staring into his blank gaze, they were definitely black. A genetic defect.

A beautiful one, admittedly.

"I keep my promises," Riddle said simply, and then his voice went sharp and dominative in the width of a second. "Close your eyes."

"What are you going to-"

"Look at it this way, darling. If you question every single thing I do we're never going to get any work done," he said in a show of exaggerated patience. He raised his brows at her when she didn't respond.

Sighing, she shut her eyes.

"Magic isn't just incantations, hand-eye coordination, and memorized wand movements," Riddle's bodiless voice lectured from somewhere in front of her. "It comes from inside and if it is strong, it's physically noticeable around you. Tangible."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll show you." When she started to open her eyes, his hand clapped over them and his mouth was at her ear in a second, hissing, "Did I tell you to open your eyes?"

She froze, every hair on her body standing on end. "N-no," she stammered. "But you said-"

"I said I'd show you. I didn't say you would need to see."

That piqued her curiosity enough that she didn't say something snippy in return. Instead, she nodded silently and slowly he lifted his hand from her face. "Use all of your senses except sight," he instructed. "Just…pay attention."

He muttered a spell she didn't know and while Hermione desperately wanted to open her eyes to see what was happening – she hated being so vulnerable – she didn't. It wasn't that she trusted him. No, that wasn't it at all. She just didn't want to piss him off again. Hermione's hand twitched at her sides as she felt something new in the air, as well as a drastic increase in temperature. She stepped back, trying to get away from it, and Riddle's voice came at her as sharply as a cracked whip. "No! Stay put."

She stilled, although everything inside her told her not to, and let whatever it was come to her ever so slowly. She could imagine it inching toward her, crackling like a livewire, and bit her lip hard when it paused a breath away from her.

"What's happening?" she whispered.

"Don't move," he said. "It shouldn't hurt."

"Shouldn't?" she squeaked, but the thing had already charged at her.

Her throat clenched on a scream as it swept over her, but she didn't let it loose as a tingling spread through her entire body a second later. Whatever Riddle had unleashed on her wasn't a thing or even completely existent, and as she gradually forced her taut body to let go of some of its tension she realized it was magic. Like in the common room when she had tried to summon the wrappers, in the Great Hall when Riddle touched her…in the Forbidden Forest.

But this magic was different. It was Riddle's magic: powerful, unbridled, and inescapable as it caressed her skin in electric whispers. She shivered and then she felt hands on hers, fingers sliding through her own, and a forehead rest against her. "You can feel it?" Riddle said, and either she was crazy or he sounded…surprised.

Aren't I supposed to? she thought but couldn't say, too overcome with feeling. Oh, it was too much. Her heart tried to burst out of her chest, her mind spun fouettés, and her body shook under the onslaught of magic. She doubled over and he caught her, keeping her upright. "What does it feel like?" he asked, his usually detached voice strangely eager, and shook her when she didn't reply. "Hermione, what does it feel like?"

She opened her eyes and cried out. Fiendfyre was all around them, controlled and at bay, but piping hot and roaring flames that reached the ceiling. The image of Vincent Crabbe falling into a vat of exploding flame flashed through her brain. "Put it out!" she screamed. "Put it out!"

"Hermione," he said, voice so calm in all the chaos, and her wild eyes snapped to his. "Tell me."

"I feel it," she whispered quickly. "I can't explain it, I just do."

He blinked.

It was so hot she'd started sweating and he extinguished the flame, but not the magic, and as the room dropped to chilling degrees to make up for the suffocating heat he murmured, "I wonder if…" His eyes glinted and a shiver shot down her spine. Then his magic engulfed them again. She gasped.

"This is what I meant," he told her as his magic vibrated and crackled and pulsed around them. "If you're magic is powerful enough it can literally ignite the air around you. It can be sensed by other powerful wizards and witches." He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle. "Dumbledore is the only other wizard who has been able to sense my magic."

Riddle watched her intently as she struggled to contend with the magic bubbling around her, squirming as it tried to trigger her own and start an even bigger fire. His mouth lifted in an ironic smirk, but the wonder didn't leave his eyes. "He didn't have the same reaction though."

"It's too much," Hermione gasped. "I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Riddle interrupted, pressing even closer to her. Making it even worse. Making it so much better. "Otherwise it wouldn't have affected you like this-"

"Fine," she snarled, trying to push him away but at the same time unable to stay upright. "What do you want me to do?"

"Summon your magic. Let it touch mine."

At this point, she thought summoning her magic might just kill her, but that glint in his eyes told her there was no chance in hell she'd get away with saying no to him. Anger sparked through her. Why was he such a control freak, damn it! Her magic surged up around her in a magnificent, angry wave - not nearly as powerful as his but building as her fury gained speed. "Good enough?" she spat through clenched teeth.

He smirked and his magic shoved hers, making her stumble an inferno of feeling overcame her body. Something inside her clicked, like a key twisting open a lock. "You can do better," he said.

"…what if I can't?" she said, faltering, and just like that her magic went out like a snuffed flame.

His mouth brushed her cheek, light as a winter breeze, and his fingers carded through her hair just as carefully. She stiffened, startled by his sudden touches. "I'll teach you how to," he whispered. "Your magic reacts to mine. I could make you powerful, Hermione." And as his magic wrapped around her it was not suffocating, but comforting and strong. Her eyes shut of their own accord and she couldn't help the sigh that slipped past her lips as he held her so close, his mouth brushing over her neck next.

Wait – what was she doing?

"It's late," Hermione said abruptly. "I…I should go to bed." She pulled back, meeting his surprised eyes with a tight smile. She'd refused him? No one, certainly not a girl, had ever pushed him away before. He was bewildered…and a little pissed.

Hermione drew her wand to summon her robes but Riddle stopped her, putting a hand on her wrist. "Watch," he instructed and, focusing his gaze on the pile of robes across the room, crooked a finger. Both sets of robes zoomed across the room and into his hands immediately. He turned to Hermione with an arrogant smirk, his magic still crackling in the air.

"Show off," she grumbled, unimpressed (at least on the outside), and took her robes from him.

"And nothing less," he replied.

"We'll, ah, meet tomorrow for research?" Hermione verified, unsure.

"Of course, to solve Hogwarts little mystery," he sighed and the intense way he stared at Hermione made her think they weren't talking about the same mystery anymore. It also made her blush a little. "Goodnight, Hermione."

She swallowed. "Goodnight…Tom."

AN: Ooh, can anyone say plot twist? Thanks for reading and please review! Reviews are like author crack, seriously.