AN: Once again, you've all proved your utter awesomeness. *whips on homemade Tomione shirt and breaks into happy dance* Buuuuttt I wanted to point out a few things real quick. OK, big one: wandless magic, the magic Dumbledore taught Hermione, and what's going on between Tom and Hermione are completely separate. (EH?) I don't mean to be confusing, but the magic Hermione has been using to influence her way around the '40s is less of 'a power' and more like 'a method.' If I'm not making sense, it will be clarified in this chapter. Also, you won't see wandless or wish magic in this fic.

mh21 asked whether Hermione is stuck in the past or can return to the future. No, actually Hermione can't return to her time since the Time Turner doesn't go forward. :'( She'll have to wait for 1998. There is a catch, however… that comes later. *muahaha! Me nerd*

Thanks for the reviews! I ship your fabulousness.

12 Grimmauld Place
the summer prior to sixth year

"But how can I do any of that, professor? I'm just a fifth-year."

"You will have the advantage of knowledge," Dumbledore said, peering at Hermione over his crescent-shaped spectacles for a moment, a rare look of hesitance on his aged features. "You will also have a rare kind of magic unseen by anyone from the '40s, not even myself…at the time. In fact, very few witches and wizards know of it now, for it is very difficult to learn."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"It is called the ancient magick by some and the nearest source of it is available to you is right here in this very castle."

"The Founder's magic," Hermione breathed. She'd only read about that type of magic in books and those were just silly fairytales. It was a magic that had been lost in time, that defied all laws and principles. It could be used to manifest food, manipulate, create – for virtually anything! However, it was extremely hard to master and only a few number of wizards and witches had been able to wield it in the Olde Days, including Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff among others. How did Dumbledore know it?

"Yes, the Founder's magic," Dumbledore confirmed, smiling, for Hermione had caught on quickly. "Unfortunately, it is extremely temperamental and nearly impossible to wield even for the most able wizards and witches. The magic adapts to the wizard and you must be in complete control of your emotions in order to practice it."

"So if someone were to use it for a Dark curse…"

"The magic would become unstable," Dumbledore confirmed. "It cannot be used for impure purposes."

"Cannot or should not?" Hermione said curiously and Dumbledore fixed her with his sharp gaze. She shrunk underneath it.

"Dark magic is very dangerous, Miss Granger, and it is imperative that you do not ever use it," Dumbledore said sternly. "It has a…history…of changing wizards for the worse."

"I would never do that!" Hermione said, thinking of Grindelwald and Voldemort with disgust. She would never turn into those people. They were hateful murderers who would do anything to get what they want. She was nothing like that. She couldn't be.

"I know you wouldn't, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said warmly. "Should I teach you to use the Founder's magic, however, you will need to exercise extreme patience. For example, the only food I can create is a gingersnap cookie." He shrugged at her surprised look, smiling crookedly. "I also learned a small number of other tricks Founder's magic enables you to be capable of, but they took decades to master. …You will have a few years at the most."

Hermione gulped. "B-but I couldn't possibly-"

"I believe you could, if you applied yourself to it as aptly as you apply yourself to your studies," Dumbledore interrupted, not unkindly. "You're a very intelligent witch, Miss Granger. I have faith in you." He sat back, clasping his hands over his long white beard, and smiled at her. "Of course, we are speaking theoretically. If you so wished it, you would not need to attempt this type of magic at all. I would never ask so much of you…"

"I want to do it."

He looked pleased. "I hoped you would say that, Miss Granger." He drew his out his wand. "Regrettably, this particular mode of magic is not approved by the Ministry and you will have to practice in utmost secrecy. The Fidelius Charm should do the trick…"

the Slytherin girl dormitory
November 15th 1943

Hermione woke up exhausted. Oddly, she had dreamed of her first meeting with Dumbledore, and it had reminded her of the momentous task she'd been given. She had met with Dumbledore often that year and when the headmaster was not showing Harry memories in the Pensieve he was teaching her to wield the Founder's magic. She had become a skilled liar in her sixth year, even if Riddle did not think her so, as she'd been forced to pretend to puzzle over Dumbledore's absences with Harry and Ron as though she did not use the Time Turner to go with him and meet powerful wizards people had seldom heard of, to push her magic beyond any boundaries she'd explored before. Still though, it wasn't enough, and the Founder's magic could not be used to do much more than plant a thought in someone's mind. Not for her at least.

Or at least not until now, for the Founder's magic had been more…agreeable lately.

Underneath Hermione's mattress, the Despicable Concoction potion was still waiting to be used, but she only had to wait one more day to complete step four. Tomorrow Dumbledore would secretly set off for Germany to defeat Grindelwald.

However, she still needed to correct step three and find a way to get rid of those essences. She had to find out what was wrong with her, why her magic – what was the word he used? – 'reacted' to Riddle's. Something inside her, she was sure, had changed at some point in the past few weeks. Last night, Tom had amplified it.

Hermione was brushing out her hair, fully-dressed, when Meredith, Parkinson, Fabia, and Elphy strode by her. Elphy slowed down, waving the girls off when they asked her what she was doing, and startled Hermione by plunking down next to her. She was half-Japanese and half-Polish, and her long strawberry blonde hair was drawn back into a ponytail, showing off the knife-sharp angles in her long face. Hermione was distracted by her exotic looks for a moment as Elfy turned her yellow-green eyes on her. Was every popular girl in Slytherin pretty? she thought exasperatedly.

"Morning," Hermione said awkwardly.

"Morning," Elfy returned and surprised Hermione further by taking the hairbrush from her. "Here, let me help with that." She took Hermione's thick, voluminous hair in one hand and brushed it firmly with the other. Hermione had braced herself for serious scalp pain, but Elfy held her hair at a certain angle so that she didn't feel any sharp bristles yank at her head. She relaxed.

"Um…thanks," she mumbled.

"No problem," Elfy said easily. "You know, when you first came to Hogwarts I kind of hated you – well, all of us did – but I suppose I was just jealous of you and Tom. And your hair. I do like it and I feel terrible for talking Meredith into cornering you. Of course, once she got involved Fabia did too. Ha! Fabia is such a lapdog. They got carried away with it though. I swear Meredith almost sheared your hair off right then and there, but I can see how you beat her in that duel. I remember you jinxed her in - what, a split-second? Really impressive, even if you did come after me and Fab next."

"Sorry about that," Hermione chuckled, smiling despite herself. But why was she smiling? Elfy had just admitted to hating her and convincing some girls to try to beat her up in one go. There was a directness in her words that made Hermione immediately like Elfy, however. Plus, she was sure there was an underlying apology somewhere in there. "It's a good thing Regulus showed up, I guess."

Elfy smirked. "You know, he's pretty good in bed, if you're into that sort of thing," she said slyly.

Did she really just say that? Minerva would be scandalized. Augusta would have been secretly impressed, but already headed straight for the nearest rumor mill by now. Hermione, however, just…laughed. "No thank you, I'm more of a 'solid relationship' girl."

"So you're a virgin?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, no-"

Elfy grinned. "Oh, excellent! You are tainted. Very nice."

"I'm not tainted!"

Elfy hummed in response and put down the brush, standing up. Hermione patted her head experimentally and was surprised to find Elfy had brushed it even better than she did. "Ready for breakfast?" she asked. "I'm on a diet, so I won't be eating anything until lunch since I cheated last night with those wretched Belgian chocolates." She sighed heavily as they descended the staircase to the common room. "Meredith's parents are always sending her treats and she's inclined to share them with us whenever she steps out of line, which unfortunately, that little brat does often." She met Hermione's eyes. "Meaning, I don't lose enough weight."

Hermione scoffed. Elfy was pencil-thin, her stomach nothing but a vertical angle. What was she talking about? Hermione never understood skinny girls who obsessed over their weight and pinched their arm pit skin with worried frowns on their faces. Hadn't they ever studied the human body? Didn't they know there were certain places fat was supposed to be?

"Ooh, wait!" Elfy said, spinning around to face her in the middle of the hall. She flicked the tip of her wand through the top two buttons of Hermione's shirt, revealing the slightest hint of cleavage, and winked at her. "Very snog-able," she approved, looking a sputtering Hermione over with a critical eye. "Ok, come on!"

Elfy took off in the direction of the Great Hall once again, Hermione tugging at her robes nervously beside her. They entered the hall and Hermione missed Augusta and Minerva wave at her from the Gryffindor section in her distraction. Elfy shot them dirty looks and hurried Hermione to their table.

"Abraxas, shut your mouth," Elfy said dryly when he grinned sleazily at Hermione. "You're salivating."

"Oh, shut it, Wictz." He turned his pale blue eyes on Hermione. "And how are you this fine morning, love?"

"Worse, now that I've seen you," Hermione replied and Dolohov broke into guffaws. She sat down beside Riddle, who looked amused, and Elfy hexed Abraxas so that he shot a foot down the bench. Before he could get up, Elphy quickly sat on Hermione's left.

Abraxas leered at Elphy from behind his mussed silvery bangs. "You cheat!" he accussed.

Elphy shrugged, a graceful lilt of her shoulders. "You could have seen it coming, but you're just an unobservant monkey, aren't you?"

They broke into a heated argument and Dolohov read the Daily Prophet across from them, sipping at his hot cocoa as an exhausted-looking Regulus frantically wrote the conclusion of his Divination essay beside him. Hermione, for once not at all uncomfortable in the midst of the Slytherins, ate her breakfast happily. She had a slight migraine, but otherwise felt quite pleasant.

Across the large array of twinkling candles Dippet stood from his seat at the staff table, rapping a fork against his goblet for attention. After five minutes or so of this and lots of shouting from Professor Benedict, who taught Hermione's Ancient Runes class, a harassed-looking Dippet announced an upcoming trip to Hogsmeade this weekend and reminded Slug Club members of the soiree on Friday before quickly sitting back down and burying his nose in a book on clocks.

"Oh Tom, you simply must join us in Hogsmeade this weekend," Elfy said suddenly, turning her green eyes on Riddle. "You never come!"

"I apologize, Elfaba," Riddle murmured, "but I am Head Boy-"

"Yes, yes, duty calls," Elfy grumble, looking put out. "But you will come with us to Hogsmeade at least once before the school year ends, won't you?"

His smile was polite, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course."

Elfy looked satisfied and retreated. Hermione, on the other hand, watched Riddle carefully. She knew the real reason why he couldn't go on the weekend trip. He had no parents or guardians to sign a permission slip that guaranteed approval for him to leave the grounds and enter Hogsmeade, just as Harry hadn't in their third year…

He turned to her, a real smile tugging at his lips, and arched a brow at her intent stare. "Daydreaming about me again, darling?"

"Oh, you would think that," Hermione grumbled, turning back to her plate, and stabbed a forkful of bacon. She was smiling though. "When are you going to realize you aren't the center of the universe?"

"Who said I wasn't?"

"Me!" She looked at him incredulously. "You are incredibly self-centered, you know."

"No, I am simply self-aware of my dazzling effect on others," he said, smirking. "Such as you."

It wasn't even worth it to reply, so Hermione simply went back to eating her breakfast. Not a moment later she felt a tingle against her leg, and her fork and knife clattered to her plate as she jerked in surprise. Her head whipped around and she glared at Riddle sternly. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" he said innocently. His magic probed her again and she gasped as her own eagerly, thoughtlessly, surged up to meet his.

"Be careful!" she hissed. "What if someone notices?"

"The only wizard in the room strong enough to register our magic is more than twenty feet away from us," Riddle said, rolling his eyes. "Why not have a bit of fun?"

"I didn't realize you knew what fun even meant," Hermione said, impressed.

He glared at her.

Recklessly, she threw a bolt of magic at him, watching in satisfaction as he flinched. A smirk quickly made its way on his face. "Couldn't resist, could you?"

"Oh hush," Hermione muttered from behind her napkin before getting her to feet. Riddle stood beside her, meeting Abraxas' eyes when the boy tried to get up and join them. Abraxas sat back down quickly and Meredith watched with narrowed eyes as Hermione and Tom left the hall. She saw how fake that girl was, why didn't anyone else?

Hermione and Riddle took the shortcut to Potions, and she didn't even realize she wasn't afraid of being so utterly alone with him as they travelled through the stony passage. Her headache came back, however, stronger and more distracting than before. She rubbed her forehead, irritated, and thought she saw a black paw flit around the corner ahead of them. Cut it out, she told herself. You're just seeing things!

Through Potions, the headache got worse.

When Herbology came round Hermione had seen that black cat dart in and out of the halls at least a dozen times and was feeling quite off-kilter as she took her seat beside Augusta, who greeted her merrily. "Congratulations on defeating the Wicked Witch of Bitchiness! You've done all the Gryffindors proud, Hermione."

"And the Slytherins," Regulus chimed in, settling in on Hermione's other side. He nodded politely at Augusta, who stared at him in a mixture of surprise and caution. "Meredith is a bitch, I fully acknowledge that," he added and her expression slowly gave way to a grin.

"Completely. Do you remember when she gave me a hair-dye potion in my second year, saying it was pumpkin juice? I couldn't get the purple out of my hair for six weeks!"

Regulus chuckled. "Ah yes, that was a good one." At Augusta's glare though, he backtracked. "Well, er, not on your end, of course…"

Hermione rubbed her aching temples and glared at the soil they were to plant fungi in this period, which was shaped like a dog. Or was she seeing things again? She huffed, exasperated, and shoveled more dirt in the pot. The dog disappeared.

"I barely finished it in time," Regulus was saying to Augusta, "but death omens, once you know what they are, start to show up everywhere. There's the banshee scream, a broken clock, an owl in the daytime, a howling dog, the sound of horse hooves, black cats-"He continued talking, but Hermione had stopped listening and was frozen midway planting the fungi. Black cats? Was she being paranoid, or did that sound annoyingly coincidental? Was she seeing…death omens?

Ridiculous. Divination is the most uncertain field of magic and totally incorrect, she immediately thought, but then Trelawney's prophecy came to mind. That had been true. What if this was too?

"I'll catch up with you later," Hermione said to Augusta when class was over, smiling at her reassuringly when her Gryffindor friend frowned in confusion. "I need to talk to Regulus."

Augusta looked skeptical, but nodded. "Sure," she said and left, glancing back a few times before vanishing around the bend of the corridor.

Hermione turned to Regulus, who had hung back like she'd asked him to. He regarded her curiously. "What do you need?"

"Will you meet me in the library during lunch?" Hermione asked.

Regulus looked uncomfortable. "Listen, I don't know what's going on between you and Tom, but I don't want to get in the middle of it-"

"No, it's nothing like that," Hermione interrupted, frustrated. Really, why was everyone in the '40s so convinced that every interaction between boy and girl was romantic? Ugh! "I need to do some research on Divination, death omens in particular, and I was hoping you could help me."

"Oh," Regulus said, surprised. "Uh, sure… I could help with that. I'm not as good as Riddle, but-"

"That's fine, I just need to find some good books and things," Hermione interrupted. She did not want to ask Riddle about this, that would involve explaining why she was researching death omens in the first place, and Regulus was not nearly as sharp to ask anything like that. "Meet me at the front desk at the beginning of lunch, ok?"

"Ok…"

Hermione left for Transfiguration before Regulus could change his mind. Arriving at the classroom, she spotted Riddle situated between Abraxas and Dolohov in the back, and Hayley Abott waved to her from their table. Hermione smiled at her and sat down, pulling out her Arithmancy homework. The class was still working on the Morphus spell, so other than occasionally giving Hayley a tip or two she was free to read and do her homework.

And plan step four.

Hermione watched Dumbledore as he moved throughout the classroom helping students. There was no tricking him obviously, he was too brilliant to be duped, so it was important her plan be very simple and not overly complex. That might make him suspicious. The Dumbledore of her time did tell her he never turned down a cup of hot cocoa though and she could easily slip Despicable Concoction into that…

She just had to wait until Friday.

When class ended Hermione slipped out before any of the Slytherins could catch up to her and headed to the library instead of lunch on quick feet. She entered the grand room, which smelled refreshingly of ink and paper, and her eyes almost immediately lighted on Regulus, who was reclined against the front desk and looked like he was debating on whether to bail or not. She marched over to him.

"Hi Regulus, thanks for coming," Hermione said kindly. "Do you want to get a table?"

"Er, sure, but I can't stay for long…" he mumbled uncertainly.

He must be afraid Riddle will find out, Hermione thought as she put her things down on a table in the back, adjacent to the domestics section. She pulled out a scroll and quill, just in case she needed to take notes.

"So what are we doing exactly?" Regulus asked. "You wanted to know about…death omens?"

"Yes, I just find them absolutely fascinating," Hermione said enthusiastically, fixing him with a disarming smile he couldn't help but return. "You know so much about Divination, so I figured you could help me learn a bit more about them." At this, he looked flattered. Hook- "It will only take a little while, I promise. So do you think you could help me?"

"Well... sure, Hermione."

-and sinker.

Hermione smiled back triumphantly. "Excellent."

Halfway through the period when Hermione had a list filled with all sorts of death omens and Regulus was in full blabber mode, yammering on about signs of bad luck, she finally arrived at the question she'd been itching to ask since he'd first mentioned death omens in Herbology. "Regulus, do death omens only mean a death is about to occur?"

"…Well yes, that's the general idea." He paused. "But sometimes death omens have to do with other…things. Darker magic."

"Like what?"

He cast a brief glance about them and leaned toward her, speaking in a whisper, "Necromancy."

She blinked, shocked. "You mean-"

"Raising the dead, yes." He grinned. "Cool huh?"

"Er…yeah, cool." Hermione slowly wrote down 'necromancy'underneath 'broken mirrors' on her parchment. "Are you sure there aren't any other possibilities?"

"Besides an oncoming death? No."

"So if someone were to see a death omen, it would either mean a person was about to die or someone had recently been risen," Hermione said carefully.

Mme. Wiber strode by then and they had to bury their faces in some Cleaning Spell books until she passed. It wouldn't do if a professor caught them discussing such dark magic, and they'd probably find themselves in Dippet's office in a flash and on the Hogwarts Express just as quickly. Hermione let out a breath of relief when she was gone. "Well?" she pressed.

"Necromancy isn't as simple as that, exactly," Regulus said conspiratorially. "Necromancers used to be really popular in the Middle Ages when the Black Death was going around, but eventually faded out. There are very few left now and there extremely hard to find; my parents met one once living in a black magic tribe in Africa though. He seemed kind of nutters, constantly hallucinating and the like." He lowered his voice even further. "He can tell you the exact moment and way you'll die."

Hermione shivered. That was Dark magic.

"Well, I don't know much more to it than that," Regulus said, scratching his head and standing up. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No, you were really helpful," Hermione assured. "Thanks for coming."

He bid her goodbye and left the library, leaving her at the table surrounded by countless notes on death omens. Necromancy. Too bad she burned the last book on that subject, because she needed information on it now more than ever… Hermione gasped as it hit her. The essences! One of the book essences she'd released was necromancy based. What if that had something to do with it? What if the essences were spreading and that was why she had seen the black cat near the Quidditch Pitch? She had been sort of close to the Forbidden Forest – but no, that didn't explain why she had seen the death omens in school too.

Still, seeing that black cat didn't immediately mean necromancy was involved, it really could just be a death omen.

Hermione didn't remember any deaths at Hogwarts in the year 1943.

"Two more days until the soiree! I can hardly wait," Parkinson squealed, clapping her hands in excitement. "What are you going to wear Meredith?"

Meredith grinned surreptitiously. "I'll show you."

Elfy, Fabia, Parkinson, and Hermione watched as Meredith sashayed to the trunk at her bedside, unlocked it with a tap of her wand, and pulled out a knee-length evening dress. Elfy looked impressed, Parkinson jealous, and after checking the reactions of the other girls Fabia smiled enthusiastically. Hermione didn't understand what the big fuss was about (it was just a soiree) but tried to look interested.

"Oh, that shade of green is lovely against your skin," Fabia sighed. "And you're going to wear the necklace?"

"Of course," Meredith scoffed, putting down the pretty dress to extract the silver case containing Slytherin's priceless locket next. Hermione caught her breath when Meredith opened it, giving the girls a tantalizing glimpse of the emerald-diamond locket. Its facets winked in the moonlight streaming into the dorm like a thousand stars and Meredith snapped the case shut when Fabia reached forward to touch it. "Nice try, Fabia," she laughed, "but you'll have to pay a pretty Galleon if you want to put your grubby little hands on this."

Swiftly, she stowed the dress and precious locket in her trunk, muttering a lock charm and shoving the chest under her bed. She sat back up, throwing her long heavy hair over one shoulder. "Elfy, what are you going to wear?"

"Oh, it's still being designed by Chanel in Paris but tata is paying extra for it to be shipped in early-"

"Doesn't Chanel design for Muggles?" Meredith sneered.

Elfy's fair face went bleach-white and Hermione came to her rescue, retorting coolly, "Chanel is an excellent designer and makes dresses for wizards and Muggles alike. Where did you buy your dress, Gladrags Wizardwear?" Meredith stared at her, shocked, and Hermione herself almost couldn't believe she had said it - neither could the other girls, as they and half the dormitory gaped at her in shock.

Meredith quickly recovered, her dark eyes narrowing angrily. "Walton, an exclusive witch from Switzerland only available in the spring designed my dress, for your information," she sniffed. "Who designed your dress?"

"I…haven't got one yet," Hermione admitted, deflating.

Meredith smiled evilly and turned away, triumph written all over her face. "And what are you going to wear, love?" she asked Parkinson.

Hermione got to her feet and left the dormitory quietly. She'd had enough of Meredith for one day.

She headed to the Room of Requirement thirty minutes earlier than the time she and Riddle had agreed to meet at, but she couldn't wait any longer to start more research. On the seventh floor, she strode back and forth three times down the left corridor, thinking I need information! A door took shape in the wall beside her and she walked through it, sighing in relief when she entered a large cozy nook lined on all sides by towering shelves overflowing with books and tomes. Lamps lit the room in a warm glow and a very comfortable-looking armchair, two couches, and wheeled ladder for reaching the higher shelves were the existing décor.

Oh, she could live here.

Hermione set to work, climbing the ladder to the highest rung and checking every title on the top shelves first. She found one book that seemed possibly helpful, called 'A History Book on the History of Books' and levitated it to the couch below with a flick of her wand before getting back to work. When the door swung open behind her she'd only accumulated two more books. Glancing down, Hermione waved at Riddle who was gazing around the makeshift library thoughtfully. He spotted her and arched a brow.

"Why look, it's a brainy book troll," he said thoughtfully. "Is it hunting season already?"

"Ha ha," Hermione said drily, although she had to shout a little to be heard from fifteen feet off the ground. "As helpful as your discriminating comments are, you'd be of much more use if you started going through those books down there." She pointed at the small pile she'd gathered thus far when he didn't move.

On ground level, Riddle propped his elbow on a dusty shelf and stared up at her lazily, smirking. "Oh, but things are so much more interesting at this viewpoint than in a bunch of old books," he said loftily.

Hermione flushed as the meaning of his words dawned on her. Is he really-? She looked down and surely enough, his black eyes staring shamelessly up her skirt. She locked her knees immediately, thanking every wizard she knew that stockings were part of the dress code. "Tom," she hissed. "Stop that and go make yourself useful!"

He snickered at her red face. "Yes, ma'am."

She watched him make his way over to one of the couches and start to flip through a text full of essays on magical book printing. Sighing, she turned back to the shelves and started searching again.

Thirty minutes later, Riddle had finished reading the half-a-thousand page books – he read even faster than she did, Hermione noted jealously – but none of them were helpful. Defeated, Hermione descended the ladder, hopping off the last rung and brushing dust off her skirt. It was nearing midnight and they hadn't learned anything. She would have to wait until next time to find more books.

"I can't believe none of those books had anything on essences," Hermione said temperously. "What's wrong with those authors? How could they skip such an important subject?"

"Well, all the texts you chose are written by wizards that practice Light magic," Riddle observed, glancing at her slumped form in the armchair from where he was stretched across the couch, hands folded behind his head and ankles crossed in the perfect picture of relaxation. On the cover of Vogue, of course. "Did it ever occur to you that essences are a dark mode?"

Hermione frowned. "How do you know that?"

He rolled his eyes. "You read 'Destruction of Darke Texts,' didn't you? It's glaringly obvious."

She huffed. Sure, when he said it like that he made her sound like a complete idiot. "Ok, Mr. Brainiac. Any other enlightening suggestions?"

He raised his brows at her biting tone, smirking. "Maybe tomorrow. I'll keep you posted."

After a minute or so, Hermione hesitantly broke the silence. "One of the books I destroyed was a book on…necromancy." She glanced at Riddle quickly to find him staring at her intently, all traces of humor gone and replaced by a look of intensity that made her pulse speed up. She swallowed and continued. "I wasn't sure what that would mean for the essences, but it's a field of Divination so I asked Regulus about it-"

"Regulus?" he interrupted sharply, sitting up. "Why did you ask him?"

Hermione blinked, bewildered by the abrupt change in his mood. Slowly, she said, "He takes Divination and I needed to learn about death omens-"

"I take Divination also, Hermione. Why didn't you come to me?"

"I…didn't think of it." He was starting to scare her and she swore that, just for a second, his eyes had flashed red. "What's the big deal?" she asked, boggled.

"Our deal was that I would help you figure out what that stupid smoke is and get rid of it, not Black," he hissed so viciously she flinched. He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away. His magic crackled dangerously in the air and she stayed very still, not daring to move for fear it might…set him off.

"I don't want you to be alone with him again."

"But he didn't do anything wrong," Hermione said, confused. "He was just helping me!"

He whipped around to face her and the fury plain on his face was so concentrated and frightening she shrank back, blanching. "You should know better than to try and defy me, Hermione," he snarled. "Unless you want your little boyfriend to get hurt."

Anger went off in her like a lighted match and she jumped to her feet, glowering at him. "Would you grow up? He's not my fucking boyfriend, just because I hang out with him. I can talk to the opposite sex!"

Riddle was in front of her in an instant, gripping her tightly by both wrists, and she cringed. "Listen closely," he said in a deceptively soft voice. "I am going to speak with Black no matter what you say and even if you try to get cozy with him again he'll know better than to-"

"Cozy?" Hermione interrupted furiously. "What the hell does that mean?"

He smirked at her. "Well, maybe those rumors about you weren't completely untruthful."

"Oh kiss my arse, Riddle," Hermion snarked, shoving him back. She grabbed her schoolbag and wand with shaking hands, marching toward the door angrily. "You're acting like a two-year old brat. I'm out of here."

She stormed out of the Room of Requirement, quivering with fury, and was stomping back to the Slytherin common room when she saw Gregovitch round a corner ahead, his gnarled fingers illuminated by the lamp he held in front of him. "Who's out of bed?" he called, bi-colored eyes snapping around him alertly. "Come on out! It's off to the headmaster's office with you!"

Blast! Hermione had forgotten to cast a Disillusionment Charm in her hurry to get away from Riddle, but the girl's bathroom was just a corridor down. She ran there and Gregovitch hobbled after her, shouting more threats as she escaped into the loo.

Looking around her, Hermione realized she had gone into the very bathroom Riddle had murdered Moaning Myrtle in. Moaning Myrtle hadn't come back to Hogwarts yet, however, so she was alone. She slipped into a stall and locked it, waiting until the sound of Gregovitch's clumsy footsteps – he had a limp from slipping on a puddle of spilled potions some decades ago – faded away. When she was sure he was gone, Hermione stepped out, checking the empty room around her.

It looked much the same as the one from her time, except newer and shinier - and it wasn't quite as smelly. Hermione stared at the serpentine-necked faucets, where Harry and Ron had gone down into the Chamber of Secrets. She shook the pictures of bulbous yellow eyes and a hand mirror away and strode up to the sink to rinse her face. A few frustrated tears had escaped her as she left the Room of Requirement and she wanted to erase all evidence of them. Riddle would not make her cry. He was just lashing out – for whatever reason – and trying to get to her.

She wouldn't let him.

"Are you alright?" A voice said from beside her and she jumped, shrieking.

Hermione spun around to find the Grey Lady staring back at her serenely, her waist-length hair shimmering in the filtered moonlight over her long cloak. She tilted her head in greeting. "I apologize for startling you. I am-"

"Helena Ravenclaw," Hermione finished, surprised.

"So you are as smart as they say," the ghost intoned thoughtfully.

"They?"

"Oh, just innocent talk among the no longer living," Helena said, waving her hand with a short, bitter "ha."

"I thought you only talked to Ravenclaws," Hermione said, confused as to why the ghost was here in the girl's bathroom with her of all places.

"Usually, for they are the most intelligent in this castle, but there are the occasional exceptions," Helena trailed, circling Hermione in a gentle, slow float. "Such as yourself and-"

"Tom Riddle."

"You are very perceptive," Helena observed. "What else do you know?"

Hermione shrugged. "Things."

"I was in the Ravenclaw common room when I sensed your magic," Helena said, gazing with whitish eyes as translucent as egg membrane out of the window at the night outside. "I was also curious, I admit, to see what the source was. You must be very angry."

"How…how do you know that?"

"Your emotions influence your magic. Anger happens to be a very powerful emotion, which is why your magic was so potent tonight." Helena turned her stony gaze on Hermione. "Very intriguing." She paused. "What has caused you to be so ill-tempered?"

Hermione scowled. "Nothing."

"Oh, a man, is it?" Helena said knowingly, her deep voice echoing around the vacant bathroom in varying waves. "They can never take a hint."

"No, it's not that," Hermione disagreed, thinking of how angry Riddle had been when she told him she met with Regulus. "I just…don't understand him. He's impossible. I don't want to understand him!" What more was there to know anyway? He had been a hateful orphan, become a brilliant but Dark wizard, and killed any person that got in his way. What was the point in trying to comprehend someone like that?

"Ah, there it is again," Helena said, peering at Hermione intently. "Your magic is so easily triggered."

Hermione huffed. She never had been very good at controlling her emotions.

"Well, I have to go. It's late," she muttered, straightening, and Helena Ravenclaw nodded, a graceful bob of her fluorescent head.

"Until next time," Helena murmured and faded through the wall behind her. Outside the window, Hermione saw her whisk alongside Gryffindor Tower and vanish through the brown bricks. She sighed. Now she was attracting ghosts and seeing death omens? She needed to find out what those essences were doing to the Forbidden Forest, what they had possibly done to her, and...fast.

Tom glared at the door Hermione had just gone through, hands balled into fists at his sides and magic whirl-winding around him. He was a brat? She was the one who insisted on countering every single thing he said, on defying him! No, he wasn't the brat in this situation. He was Tom Riddle, brilliant student destined for great things, the school hero. He was Lord Voldemort, bound to live forever, to be more, to have more, meant for more than greatness – for godliness.

She didn't get it and she wouldn't listen… He could make her though. He could break her with the right spell, a charming smile, a little kiss – but no, he had tried that already and she'd resisted his advances. She even had the audacity to push him away.

Tom didn't understand what was wrong with her. No one had ever reacted to him like that and the fact she did, that little know-it-all Mudblood, made his blood boil. She couldn't deny the connection between their magic – between them – and he wouldn't let her. She wouldn't demean him anymore, he'd hurt her and make her regret ever leaving this room tonight. She'd beg him to come back.

What if she didn't?

Tom grabbed his hair, trying to physically shake such ridiculous thoughts out of his head, but they didn't stop coming. She prefers Black to you. She thinks he's smarter, funnier, more talented, handsomer… but he wasn't! For Tom was well-aware of his looks and if his grades weren't enough proof, teachers constantly doted on and showered him with approval and praise.

Except Dumbledore, that old coot is never impressed. He sees me master the spells, he knows how powerful I am, but he won't give me so much as a fucking house point!

Oh, how he detested that man. He would make him pay though. Oh yes, he would regret ever overlooking Tom Riddle, making him return to that wretched orphanage every summer, for persuading Dippet not to bend the rules so Tom could go on a weekend trip to Hogsmeade; for giving him that look, like he wasn't good enough, like he didn't deserve it all… for everything.

He just had to wait.

Sometimes though, Tom felt like he couldn't wait a second longer, like he might explode, and when that happened he had to hide. That was how he had found the Room of Hidden Things.

It was happening again, Tom realized with dread, with relish, with burning shame as his hands shook and vision blurred. He was losing control. Unbridled, his magic tore at the walls in hellish shrieks, slashing the ceiling into alabaster strips and shredding a shelf of books to paper ribbons. He struggled to rein it in and after a moment the magic did come back, like a hard punch to the chest that took your breath away. Panting, Tom stared in dismay at the ruined room Hermione had built around him. She would hate him when she found out what he had done-

A spasm of rage ripped through him and he grabbed the lamp beside him, tearing off the shade and snapping the whole thing in half over his knee before setting it on fire with a flick of his wand. What do I care? It wasn't enough to abate him though – she's just a girl, not even significant in the long run – it was never enough.

Why couldn't he be enough?

And she had just walked out, left him here like he was nothing, like there wouldn't be consequences for her imprudence! There will be, he thought viciously. Black would pay tomorrow night and Tom would teach him - teach all of them their place in this world. Hermione would learn how important and powerful Tom truly was. He just had to wait until Friday, and after that? Christmas vacation. Hermione, as they'd agreed, would get him out of the castle for the holidays. Ha! Even if she hadn't agreed to his terms, Tom would have made her do it anyway. He always got his way.

Even if she was an insolent witch that set his teeth right on edge, Hermione would be of use in the end. She was more talented than all of his Death Eaters combined and multiplied by ten, and when she joined him he would be even more invincible... If only he could win her over faster. If only she didn't distract him from the real task at hand with that tremble in the right corner of her mouth she got when trying to suppress a laugh, or her surprising depth that kept getting deeper, entrenching him in its mysteriousness the closer he became to her.

The room was a bloody mess but repairing itself slowly, and even the books were weaving themselves together again, pages magically binding and coming together once more. Tom sat down in a pile of rubble, leaning back against a bookcase with a heavy shudder. His eyes, he knew, were glaring bright red as they always did during his…fits.

That was what Mrs. Cole called them, for the psychologist she had forced on him when he was young - long before Dumbledore had ever come along - told her this, that Tom suffered from tantrums: inconceivably terrible 'fits' of rage that would worsen as he got older and were quite possibly genetic. Dr. Bullock didn't know anything though. He just wanted more money, so the stupid Muggle drew a random diagnosis and made a strange little orphan even more pathetic than he already was.

Tom hated them too.

For the rest of the night and high into early morning hours Tom calculated and planned, not a hint of fatigue reaching him through his invincibility. No one could reach him there. Not now, not ever.

AN: Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think. X)