AN: Hello, my awesometastic-slash-divalicious readers! Remember what I said in the last chapter about wierd timelines? You do? Good. *hands out Tomione badges and lemons* Just kiddin' about the lemons...those come later. Muahaha! (I heart smut.) *ahem* Thanks for the reviews! My happy dances have become nightly now.

The Great Hall was filled to the brim when Hermione and Elphy arrived fifteen minutes late. A second helping of platters steamed on every available surface, candles twinkled overhead, and hungry adoscelents crammed the benches in house color-themed cliques. Meredith Smith, despite last night's blow-out, still sat beside Riddle looking for all the world like a regal queen on her throne, Hermione noted as she approached the emerald strip of Slytherin. Meredith ignored her and Elphy as they sat down beside Abraxas and Dolohov, turning her back on their side of the table completely in favor of coddling Riddle. Elphy's lip quivered a little.

"Where's Regulus?" Hermione asked, noting his absence as she glanced over the sleepy Slytherins.

"Hm wha'?" Abraxas noisily swallowed a mouthful of pancakes, clearing his throat. "Excuse me. Regulus is indisposed at the moment."

Indisposed? She frowned. "Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine," Dolohov interrupted suddenly, voice cold, and his already severe face looked even sharper as he narrowed his eyes at Hermione, who stared back at him in mild surprise. What was he so worked up about? Dolohov looked away after a second, mumbling, "Black just needs some rest is all. He's got a…fever."

The four of them fell into awkward silence. Elfy hadn't said much all morning and wouldn't talk now, for she was currently tracing a 'M' into her oatmeal with a frown on her china doll face. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Meredith shoot her ex-best-friend several glances throughout the period.

Somehow, Hermione didn't think Meredith really hated her.

In Potions Slughorn reminded the class of his soiree tonight and the female Slug Club members fell into excited chitters, at which he grinned indulgently. "Please ladies, calm down! There will be plenty of time for fun tonight and I look forward to seeing you all dressed up for our happy get-together," he added, winking, "That statement extends to the gentlemen also, Tom."

The class laughed and Riddle nodded, a perfected smile sliding onto his comely features with ease. "Of course, professor."

Slughorn commenced with the lesson and as he lectured them Hermione let her thoughts drift from cauldron handling and potion ingredients to the upcoming night. However, unlike the other girls she did not think of dresses or dates, but of the Despicable Concoction. The time had finally come to put it to use. Tomorrow Dumbledore would leave for Germany and make wizarding history, except his time things would be going a bit differently...

Hermione resisted the compulsion to take out the Despicable Concoction now – just to check on it, she told herself – for she only had to wait a little longer until step four would be complete. Hopefully, they'll be no repeats of last time's disaster, she thought.

"Looking forward to the party tonight?" Riddle murmured and she looked up, surprised, but his dark eyes were on Slughorn's enchanted chalk, which scrawled instructions across the blackboard at a rapid pace.

"You could say that," Hermione replied evasively, wetting the end of her quill in ink before she updated her notes. "And you?"

"I am anticipative," he said evenly and the meaning underlining his words made her feel as if she were missing out on a joke. One of his long fingers curled out and traced a crack in the desk. Hermione found herself watching it. "Meredith will look lovely, I'm sure."

That snapped her out of her trance. Looking away, she forced a smile and said, "Yes, you two make a…nice couple."

Courteously, Riddle said, "Thank you."

Hermione didn't reply.

Transfiguration passed at a painfully slow pace and instead of the usual vigor Hermione felt during Dumbledore's lessons she felt only anxious, eager for class to end and the room to empty out. Halfway through the period she excused herself and left for the bathroom, going to the very one that led to the Chamber of Secrets and was fortunately abandoned ever since Myrtle was murdered.

Hermione felt a strange sense of déja-vu as she knelt down on the gleaming tile floor and pulled out her potion, a vat of room temperature hot chocolate she'd nicked from the kitchens, and a mug from her beaded bag. It's like second-year all over again, just with different ingredients, she thought, grinning ironically.

She cast a Heating Charm on the hot cocoa and poured the steaming liquid into the cup, adding a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg. The Dumbledore of her time had told her he would never be able to resist a good hot chocolate with cinnamon and nutmeg, especially from a friendly student. Next, Hermione uncorked the Despicable Concoction potion and held it below her mouth, whispering, "Grindelwald."

The potion hissed menacingly as she poured it into Dumbledore's drink. Hermione muttered another spell, one that would dispel the heavy scent, and the smell of chocolate filled the bathroom.

So far so good.

Hermione carefully put the cups back in her bag after casting an anti-tipping spell to keep them from spilling and got to her feet, hurrying out of the bathroom. She returned seconds before the bell rang and as students entered the hall she hung back. Pretending to have misplaced something in her bag, she watched as Riddle strolled through the door backed by Abraxas and Dolohov, and waited until the last seventh-year – Henry Clervin – left. The door swung shut behind him and she took a deep breath, looking up to see Dumbledore facing the blackboard and muttering to himself as he stroked his short auburn beard. She approached him cautiously, toasty mug of fresh hot cocoa in-hand and while waiting for him to realize her presence a scent much more tantalizing than hot chocolate hit her nostrils, sneaking through the charm she'd cast and startling her. What was that?

The steam, Hermione suddenly realized, was rising in spirals instead of a cloud as was characteristic of Despicable Concoction. The scent she was breathing in was cedar and earthly and…she smelled new parchment too. No, that can't be right, she thought, frowning. The last time I smelled a potion like this it wasn't Despicable Concoction, it was- Her heart thudded sharply and she almost dropped the cup as it dawned on her.

It was Amortentia.

Oh. Fuck.

Dumbledore turned around at the sound of her approach – and the smell of cinammon hot cocoa - and his eyes widened in delighted surprise. "Why, Miss Granger, what's this?" he asked and the warm smile on his face faltered at her wide, horrified gaze. "Ah, are you alright?"

"I…I'm sorry, I just remembered I forgot something very important," Hermione said faintly, backing away toward the door with a stunned look on her face. "Have a good weekend, professor." She stumbled out.

Dumbledore met Fawkes' beady black eyes, bemused. "I wonder what that was about?"

Fawkes chirped.

Outside, Hermione was panicking. How could this happen? She had been there, she had made the potion herself and seen it turn deep red with her own eyes! She made the Despicable Concoction. This, however, was most definitely not it! A memory rose up in her confused mind, of Slughorn saying how easy it was to turn Despicable Concoction into Amortentia or confuse the two, for love and hate were both very powerful emotions… but she hadn't confused them and neither had Riddle-

Wait.

Tom Riddle.

That...that fucking bastard!

He'd done it! He had changed the potion when she wasn't looking, she just knew it. Furious, Hermione threw the cup of hot cocoa down on the floor and it shattered into a thousand ceramic fragments around her. She ignored the portraits' appalled gasps, storming to the Great Hall. Oh, she was going to wring his neck!

Wait.

She couldn't do that. No, because if she confronted him he would want to know how she found out he changed the potion and that would raise certain questions she could not under any circumstances answer. Still, she was pissed. She needed that Despicable Concoction today, for Dumbledore was leaving tomorrow – no, not even tomorrow. Tonight! – and she had to get it to him. Yes, she would prepare it somewhere in private and within a few hours it would be ready, which would leave her just enough time to get to Dumbledore's office and give it to him...

Dumbledore had to drink the potion, because if he didn't go to Germany hating Grindelwald with every fiber in his being he would only defeat him again, and that was not part of the task. No, Dumbledore had specifically instructed her that while his past-self had been too wrought with guilt and fondness for Grindelwald, the Dark wizard must be killed for good. Dumbledore had to kill him, because if he didn't Voldemort would eventually meet Grindelwald and ask about the Deathly Hallows, obtain the Elder Wand which as Dumbledore correctly predicted had been the Light side's downfall.

She had to make that potion.

But why did Riddle change the potion? What would Amortentia do for him? He had no use for love. He was incapable of it and he would never entertain any silly girl's fantasies of him, Meredith being the one rare exception. Hermione froze as it dawned on her. Duh. Meredith Smith! It all made sense now. This explained why he had suddenly taken such an interest in the girl and why he was taking her to Slughorn's soiree tonight. He must have taken some of the Amortentia too and was planning to use it on her to do Merlin knows what. That was the question though: what did he want? If Riddle really wanted to get Meredith alone he wouldn't have to poison her, he could treat her like trash and she would still have come running.

One thing was certain, however: Meredith was in serious danger and Hermione had to protect her.

Through lunch Hermione watched Riddle and Meredith closely out of the corner of her eye. However, Meredith's pumpkin juice didn't seem to hold any of the characteristics of Amortentia, and Riddle was obviously not acting any differently. He was charming and charismatic, and as he spoke the entire table remained riveted on him, like serpents hypnotized by a well-versed snake charmer. When he told a joke every Slytherin chuckled, exchanging admiring glances, and Meredith's laugh sailed over all the rest, sweet and clear as a bell. Any other day Hermione would have felt contempt for the girl - now, however, all she felt was worry

All through Arithmancy she was frazzled. Riddle wasn't in this class and she had no idea whether or not he was with Meredith. Rationally, she knew he was not, for he wasn't stupid enough to risk being caught in plain daylight. Riddle was smart – more than smart, he was a damn genius. A cunning, lying genius. She really should have known he would do something like this, how did she not see it coming in the first place?

Hermione's thoughts were cut short when the bell rang and she shot out of her seat, barely remembering to grab her bag in her haste to get to DADA - a class both Riddle and Meredith were in. She all but ran through the halls and tapped her foot impatiently as a huge, creaking staircase swept through the air and swung into place underneath her. She saw Minerva and Augusta in the hall but didn't stop to say hello. A minute later she was in the empty DADA classroom, out of breath and cursing.

"Il y a quelqu'un ici?" Professor Chanté's voice called from somewhere in the supplies closet, which had a narrow, thin door attached to it but was actually half the size of a football stadium inside. He walked out a second later, blue quill askew and a large blanketed bird cage in-hand. "I said who's – oh salut, Hermione!"

"B-bonjour," she wheezed.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just…walked…very…fast."

Professor Chanté frowned. "You should be more careful," he tsked, ushering her to the other side of the room and pushing her into a seat. "Women are fragile and while you're an excellent dueler you are not indestructible, Hermione."

At first, Hermione was irritated by this but then realized what era she was currently in – and she became even more annoyed. "I really am fine, professor," she said tartly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Oh really?" He sat on a desk, regarding her thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right. You are quite excellent at Defense after all and come close in skill to our best student, Mr. Riddle. In fact, I wonder what a duel between the two of you would be like…" he mused, a glint in his sea-blue eyes.

I don't. Changing the subject, she looked behind him and said, "What's that?"

Professor Chanté craned his neck and glanced over his shoulder at the thing on his desk. He grinned. "Oh, you'll see."

Hermione frowned. She hated not knowing things.

At her expression, Professor Chanté pursed his lips and seemed to be in deep thought. After a minute he stood. "Ok ok!" he said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "I'll show you but you have to promise not to tell any of the others, I want it to be a surprise. Venez!" He gestured for her to follow and she did, trailing after him to his desk. Up this close, Hermione realized it wasn't a blanket covering the glass cage but a strange black veil and as Professor Chanté took hold of it the material shimmered, twinkling as a thousand stars do in the dead of night.

"Wow," Hermione murmured, transfixed.

"It's spider silk embedded with diamond dust, helps keep them calm," Professor Chanté explained, pausing for effect. "Ready?"

Hermione leaned in. "Ready."

He whisked it off and she gasped. It was like the alternate universe version of the time Gilderoy Lockhart had brought demonic pixies to class, except this time there weren't creepy little blue creatures with golf ball-sized eyes and wiry antennas spitting on her, but what looked like two white flames bobbing serenely behind the glass. Exposed to the light, their flare brightened and they swayed toward Hermione. Her heart beat a little faster and that scent appeared again, the one that reaked of Dark magic and overturned dirt. She almost thought she heard little whispers in her head, crooning soft nothings to her… What were they saying?

"Do you know what they are?" Professor Chanté said, interrupting her thoughts. He was right beside her, blue eyes lit by the ghostly creatures' glow and blonde hair a shade paler under their iridescence.

"Will-o'-the-wisps," Hermione said immediately. "Where did you find them?"

"I was in Dublin with some friends. We got drunk and stupidly went out to some forest, set on finding a banshee – Merlin knows why – anyway, I lost my way and almost face-planted right into a swamp when these little buggers showed up. I thought they were fireflies at first, but when I took a closer look…" he trailed.

"I thought they'd gone extinct."

Professor Chanté looked boggled. "Extinct! Where on earth did you hear that?"

She frowned and was about to explain just how the effects of deforestation and ozone depletion had wiped the will-o'-the-wisps off the planet, but snapped her mouth shut when she realized he would have no idea what she was talking about. She was in the '40s! According to Muggles and wizards alike, global warming and UV rays didn't even exist, and CFCs were a good thing.

Oy.

"Er, never mind, just a stereotype, I guess," Hermione lied.

"Many wizards think they're only myths," Professor Chanté said empathetically. "I'm surprised you recognized them at all, they're quite uncommon."

She shrugged. "I read a book on them."

"You read many books, don't you?" he observed.

"Well, yes," she started to say, but froze when he rubbed his thumb over her cheek. What-?

"Ink," he explained, holding up his stained thumb for proof.

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised and a little embarrassed. "Er, thanks."

She straightened, pretending to check her watch. "The class should start filling up soon," she said loudly, "so I'll – um - just go take my seat."

Professor Chanté glanced at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the classroom, which produced a rare scowl from him. "Blast, you're right." Professor Chanté threw the spider silk back over the will-o'-the-wisps and cast a ward on them before he hurried into the supplies closet, shouting, "I'll be right back!"

Within minutes the classroom was jam packed with seventh-years, who once they caught sight of the mysterious cage rushed over to gather around it. Dolohov tried to take off the blanket and cried out when an electric shock charged through his arm, knocking him flat on his back. The class laughed uproariously as he struggled to his feet, limbs twitching. Hermione however kept her eyes on the door, all thoughts of Professor Chanté and flame-like creatures dissipated, and a moment later Riddle and Meredith walked in hand-in-hand. Her magic seemed to bristle with her at the sight, but she repressed these unreasonable reactions - they were ridiculous, honestly... although she couldn't help but wonder how Meredith would react when she was inevitably burned.

Riddle caught her eyes on the way to his seat and winked. Hermione looked away, teeth gnashing. It was infuriating how seamlessly perfect he appeared, how well he could play his part, when underneath all that he was just schemes, manipulation, and sheer evil. No one even knew it! Hell, she hadn't known what he was up to until a few hours ago.

Stupid Riddle is always messing up my plans.

"The soiree is going to be wonderful!" Minerva exclaimed when she arrived, in one of her rare moments of excitement, and slapped some library books down on the desk. "Augusta is going to let me borrow one of her dresses since I don't have any." In a lower voice she added, "I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not exactly...well, you know, girly."

"No, no, you're very girly," Hermione assured, although this was a bold-faced lie. Minerva was about as girly as Horace Slughorn in a tutu after a week without shaving and deodarant.

"No matter," Minerva sniffed, tightening her prim bun and smoothing the frizzy wisps around her ears. "It will be plenty of fun. Maybe I'll even drink some spiked pumpkin juice."

"Minny!"

"Augusta said if I loosen up I'm more likely to be courted."

Hermione grinned. "Well, on any account I am impressed."

Professor Chanté called for class to start and began by listing characteristics of the 'mystery creature' in the cage, asking everyone to guess what it was. After the first two hints all the students, aside from Hermione and Tom, looked stumped, and since Hermione couldn't answer (that would be cheating!) Riddle was called.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle?" Professor Chanté inquired.

"The creatures emitting mysterious light and often appearing as death omens or to lost travelers are the will-o'-the-wisps, professor," Riddle said.

"Good work, like always," Professor Chanté approved and Riddle bowed his head modestly as the professor awarded him ten house points. Meredith beamed, whispering something to him and clasping their hands on the desktop for all to see. Hermione tried to ignore them and focus on Professor Chanté, who revealed the ethereal creatures next and let the class coo at them for a few moments before he began to list their function and natural habitats...

When class was over Hermione didn't linger - she still felt a little uneasy about Professor Chanté - and instead headed to dinner with Minerva. Entering the Great Hall the girls split up, promising to see each other at the soiree, and Hermione took her seat in the Slytherin section, once more wedged between Elphy and Abraxas. Regulus was still missing, although she now doubted he was sick in bed as Abraxas claimed. Hermione's stomach flipped at the memory of Riddle's threat and she suddenly stopped eating the delicious minestrone before her, appetite replaced by horror.

Elphy, who seemed to have gotten over her short-lived depression in the excitement over tonight's soiree, had already eaten all of her diet-approved vegetables and meat of choice. She presently reviewed every minute detail of her dress, which had been imported from Paris and cost more than five years' worth of Hermione's wardrobe plus school supplies. She yammered on about who was courting who, who was cheating on who, and the like. The Slytheriness herself was attending the party with Abraxas out of convenience, who despite all their quarrels she'd known since she was four-years old through ancient family connections and wanted to keep out of trouble at the soiree.

"What about you, Hermione?" Elphy asked, turning those kohl-lined moss eyes on her with a mischievious quirk of her mouth - otherwise known as the signature Slytherin smirk. "Are you going with anyone?"

"No, not really. I'm just meeting some friends there." At Parkinson's stunned expression, Hermione faltered. "What?"

"Well, it's just I thought that you would be the last person to go without a date what with all those rumors floating around," Parkinson said, sounding honestly shocked. "You mean to say no one asked you?"

"Well…no." Hermione's cheeks colored a little. "I'm used to it though, so-"

"If I'd known I would've taken you," Abraxas said, jabbing his thumb at Elfy next to him. "Maybe next time since I'm stuck with this nutter now."

Elphy snatched Dolohov's latest edition of the Daily Prophet, rolled it up, and smacked Abraxas over the platinum blonde head with it. "OW!" he shouted, fixing his hair and glaring at her. "What the hell, Elphy?"

"That's what you get for being an inconsiderate git," she said icily.

"You're so oversensitive," Abraxas sneered. "I can't say one damn thing without getting hexed, whacked, or jinxed-"

"Well, it's not like I'm deaf, you idiot!"

Promptly, they broke into one of their infamous arguments.

Dolohov sighed, straightened out the wrinkles in his Daily Prophet, and went back to completing a crossword puzzle. Hermione looked down two seats to see Meredith trail her manicured nails down Riddle's arm and intertwine her fingers with his. For some odd reason, she felt a weird twinge in her stomach at this and her magic gave a terrible jerk, straining to swat those hands away. Hermione forced herself to keep looking, however, and made sure Riddle didn't offer her anything to drink.

Even if she did detest Meredith. A lot.

Hermione sighed.

When dinner was finally over Elphy shot out of her seat like a rocket and grabbed Hermione's hand, dragging them out of the Great Hall within seconds. Meredith watched them go, eyes slanted into brown slits and mouth pursed. She still didn't see why Elphy affiliated with the Mudblood, but she was sure she'd come crawling back to her soon enough. At least she hoped Elphy would come back...

Once in the dormitory, Elphy took one look at the packed room filled with yammering girls getting ready for bed and grabbed a nearby lamp shade. She put it to her mouth and taking a deep breath, bellowed, "ALL GIRLS NOT ATTENDING THE SOIREE TONIGHT LEAVE NOW. I REPEAT, LEAVE NOW OR ALL YOUR UNDERGARMENTS WILL BE FOUND ON TOP OF THE ASTRONOMY TOWER SATURDAY MORNING, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO KNICKERS, LINGERIE, GRANNY PANTIES, AND 100% COTTON..."

At this, the disbelieving looks on the Slytherins' faces gave way to fear and various girls yanked their robes on over nightgowns, hurrying out of the dorm grumbling and squealing when Elphy shot a Stinging Hex after one of them. "Much better," she said approvingly, looking around to see only other Slug Club members in the room, sans Meredith, Fabia, and Parkinson. "Now we can get ready."

"You are truly crazy," Hermione said, shocked.

"Merci, mademoiselle," Elphy simpered, falling into a graceful curtsy. "Ready to get dressed?"

"Oh, I'll get dressed later. I won't take long anyway," Hermione lied. The truth was she hadn't got a dress. Who had time to get wardrobe fittings when there was so much to be done? "Besides, I have to go make a potion for extra-credit-"

Elphy groaned. "Oh come on. Can't it wait? I'll do your hair and everything!"

"Maybe another time," Hermione said vaguely, already halfway out the door. "See you soon!"

She raced downstairs and out of the dormitory, running all the way to what would be Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in the future. She arrived there breathless and sweaty and locked the door behind her, glad no one would probably be coming to the taboo bathroom anyway since Myrtle had been killed here two years ago. Hermione took out her beaded bag and waved her wand, summoning all the necessary items for the Despicable Concoction. She got to work instantly, brewing and preparing furiously, and the potion was just pinkening when she heard a proud, smooth voice speak from behind her.

"Back so soon, Miss Granger?"

"Hello Helena," Hermione greeted, stirring the mixture carefully, and glanced at the haughty, beautiful ghost. "You saw me here earlier?"

"No, I was watching a very close game of Wizard's Chess between two second-years," Helena said, gliding forward to hover before Hermione. She peered down the cauldron. "Despicable Concoction, hm? Whatever you must be up to must be much more exciting than a game of chess."

"Exciting wouldn't be the word I'd employ," Hermione grumbled.

"No matter the adjective, I want to know who this is for," Helena said covertly, whisking back several feet and perching on a sink. Her long skirts pooled on the floor in a puddle of translucent silk and velvet. "Is it that man again? Are you getting your revenge?"

"No, unfortunately not."

Helena sighed heavily, suddenly a deal less interested. "Shame."

Hermione sat back. The potion was a deep ruby sheen now, but it would be another hour until it was ready for a name. "He is the reason I'm doing this at all though," Hermione added, checking her watch only to find Sluggy's soiree started ten minutes ago. Damn, she was late!

"Oh shoot!" she cursed, jumping to her feet and blitzing to the sinks. "I have to go now. Could you make sure Gregovitch doesn't come in? I really need to keep that potion here."

Helena regarded Hermione for a long minute that felt like forever, braiding her long flowing hair absent-mindedly, and her fingers went in and out of the moon-white locks as rapidly as a weaver's hand plucks at a threaded loom. "Hm…"

"Please!"

"Well, I could get Peeves on it, I suppose," Helena mused and met Hermione's pleading eyes in the mirror with stony ones. "However, you would – what do you children call it these days? – 'owe me one.'"

"Sure, that's fine," Hermione said, casting a Hair-Smoothing Charm and straightening her robes in a futile effort to look presentable. She charmed away a potion stain. "I'll be back in about an hour, ok?"

"Do not fret, Miss Granger," Helena said and there was a rare smile on her chalky lips Hermione didn't have the time to decipher. "No one shall touch your little potion."

When Hermione finally reached the soiree she entered the normally empty but now extravagantly embellished Hogwarts ballroom, which was lined on all sides by champagne-gold drapes that reached the floor and strung tinsel. Tables filled with food and crystal punchbowls were in the back, a quartet of goblins played strings on a hovering platform, and the dance floor was a maze of swirling dresses and dress robes. The few students on the sidelines were sipping at pumpkin juice that smelled suspiciously of Butterbeer and Prefects conversed in close-knit groups, watching everything around them with beady eyes.

Hermione looked around the beautiful room searchingly. She saw Minerva in a black silk dress dancing with Henry Clervin and Augusta flirting with Professor Chanté, who looked handsome in his formal robes and was chaperoning – but there was no sign of Riddle. Panic momentarily engulfed her. Was she too late? But no, Hermione caught a glimpse of flawless dark skin and a daringly-low neckline, and following it she found Meredith, looking very pretty in her sleeveless purple gown and laughing at something Riddle had said. She didn't, however, sport the usual signs of a person under Amortentia. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

Seeing Riddle, her breath cut short.

He was…dashing. Striking in his beauty, like Lucifer before his fall. The robes that hung drably on the other boys were elegant and sleek on his sinewy physique, and his eyes were black fire against chiseled cheekbones, which looked sharp enough to cut glass under the shadowy night sky the ceiling had been enchanted into. Hermione felt more inadequate than ever watching him move across the floor with Meredith, whose attractive face suddenly looked much less impressive next to Riddle's effortless allure. Hermione even forgot her anger for an instant in her mesmerism.

"You're staring," Elphy sang, startling her, and Hermione turned to see her friend laugh. "He's so handsome, isn't he? Meredith is one lucky bitch."

"Bitch is right," she said automatically and Elphy snorted in agreement. "Where's Abraxas?"

"Oh, he got drunk ages ago." Elphy glanced down and blinked, shock registering on her features as she looked Hermione over. "Oh my… where on earth is your dress?"

"I didn't have time to get one," Hermione said absently, trying not to lose sight of Riddle and Meredith in the froe.

"Why didn't you tell me? I must have twenty extra and that's just in my trunk!" A house-elf hopped by and Hermione struggled to see past its platter of flower-shaped citrus to the couple nearly swallowed in the crowd. "Hermione, are you even listening?" Elphy snapped.

"Yes, yes," Hermione said distantly. "Sorry, I'm just…distracted."

Elphy followed her gaze to Riddle and sighed. "Look, they won't last long. Tom rarely ever dates and when he does it never lives longer than a week."

"How do his…relationships…usually end?" Hermione said curiously.

"For girls, in heartbreak, but Tom is never affected. No one truly strikes his fancy, I suppose." Elphy's eyes lighted on Abraxas, who was snogging a giggling Hufflepuff, and rolled her eyes. "I'll be right back, princess."

Hermione watched Elphy wriggle through the crowd and her long strawberry blonde hair, which was twined into an elegant up-do and spritzed with silver glitter, disappear in the mass of shimmery dresses and shawls. Hermione looked around, realizing she couldn't see Riddle and Meredith anymore, and worry had begun to set in when someone else came up to her. Horace Slughorn, to be exact. Oh, please no, she thought as he stepped forward, blocking her view with his wide girth. She craned her neck, but by the time she caught a glimpse of the dance floor it was only to find Tom and Meredith were nowhere in sight. She lost them.

Riddle, where are you? she thought furiously. Magic charged through her, as if her anger was a catalyst, and it danced over her body and down to her fingertips, humming menacingly.

Slughorn had reached her, having waddled his way through the sea of students, and instead of greeting her with one of his pleased smiles as per usual he was frowning. "Miss Granger, were you, ah, aware that this event required formal attire?"

Hermione, who was in no mood to think about frivolous things like dress codes, did not respond to this comment kindly. "I am aware, professor," she replied, a smile warm as the arctic pasted on her face, "but quite frankly I don't care to wear a frilly dress and establish any connections with snobby aristocrats or Pureblood prats."

Slughorn looked shocked, but his face soon turned red with indignation. "Miss Granger, how dare you even suggest, even imply such things!" His words dissolved into a sputter as Hermione grabbed him by his waistcoat and Slughorn met her eyes, gasping. "I-I am appalled at your behavior! What in blazes has gotten into you?"

Riddle has.

Hermione called on the Founder's Magic, which came eagerly and begged to be used as it spun through her veins. Staring into Slughorn's piggy eyes intently, she said, "I was wearing a dress tonight, it was green and sleeveless, quite tasteful if you do say so yourself, professor. You wanted to talk to me, but being the party host you were much too busy and sadly didn't get a chance. You hope I enjoyed myself."

"I hope you enjoyed yourself," Slughorn slurred.

Hermione let him go and started looking for Riddle.

In the back of the ballroom, Tom plucked a flute of sparkling cider off some house elf's tray and poured two drops of Amortentia into it – just enough for an hour or two, although he wouldn't need that long. The deep red potion turned the drink the slightest shade darker and Tom felt anticipation coil low in his stomach as he re-entered the dance floor, finding Meredith within seconds and offering the drink to her with a charming smile.

"Thirsty?" he asked and she nodded, beaming.

"Thank you, Tom," Meredith said, bringing it to her glossed lips. Admiration saturated her gaze and Tom soaked it up like a bone-dry sponge in the desert, smirking. "You're always so thoughtful."

Something caught her eye over his shoulder – no, not just something. That bitch! It was Hermione Granger and she wasn't even wearing a dress. Meredith scoffed. So she really didn't have one, did she? Meredith had figured she'd just been too embarrassed to admit she bought hers from some Muggle trash store, but this was so much better. Ha! And Slughorn was telling her off for it, too! Served that skank right for trying so hard to weasel her way in here and steal Meredith's place. Dirty whore.

Suddenly, the strangest thing happened. Two things in fact. The first had to do with Hermione Granger, for she leaned forward - actually grabbing Slughorn! – and as she said something the Potion Master's face abruptly emptied of all emotion, like he was on dope or something. The other strange thing was a buttery warm feeling that spread through every inch of Meredith and her surprise was replaced by the feeling of utter completion. She hadn't felt like this since she'd had that abortion, since father started drinking and got that dirty Halfblood mistress, since mother found out about her and Elphy, and it was all because of… Tom Riddle.

Tom saw the expression on Meredith's face glaze and go slap-happy with unbound affection. He held out his hand to her. "Come, Meredith."

"Yes, Tom." She followed him off the floor, forgetting to put down her glass in her haste to please, and he led them into the hall.

Tom brought her to the classroom where he held his Death Eater meetings and gestured for her to go in. She did and kept her wide, dark eyes on him as he put a locking charm on the door and cast silence wards. "What are we doing here?" she asked, smiling widely.

"You have something that belongs to me," Tom said softly, facing her, and she was struck by the full effect of his beauty. Her breath caught. "I need it back."

Eagerly, Meredith said, "Oh, whatever it is, you can have it." How could she deny him? How could she say no to someone so beautiful and selfless? That, that would be cruel of her. Criminal. She'd give him the world if he asked for it.

His dark eyes left her face and lowered, greed blooming in his gaze. "It's that...locket...around your neck."

Meredith touched Slytherin's locket, bemused. "Y-you want this?"

"Yes." His eyes bored into hers and he brushed her hair back, caressing her cheek with the other. The glass in her hand smashed to the floor. "It is mine, after all, and I appreciate you returning it."

Meredith faltered. "Grandmother Hepzibah gave this to me," she said, confused. "She'll be furious if I give it away and has already threatened to cut me-"

"It will make me happy," Tom whispered and she sighed as his lips moved over her cheek to her ear. "Give it to me, Meredith. Now." His warm breath sent shivers down her spine.

She unclasped the necklace, holding it out to him.

Tom snatched it out of her hands and rubbed his thumb over the gold surface, memorizing the bumps and curves of embedded diamonds and emeralds. Finally! He had his locket back, the locket that was rightfully his and should have been passed down to him by his whore of a mother, who moronically sold the priceless heirloom for cheap on the streets. Oh, how he abhorred that woman.

It didn't matter now though. He had his locket.

So why doesn't it feel like enough?

Meredith watched as Tom put the locket in his dress robes pocket, beaming in satisfaction, but her smile faltered when his cold eyes met hers. "What's wrong?" she said, confused, reaching out to smooth the crease in his brow away. He side-stepped her.

"You are."

She blinked, stunned, and tears prickled her eyes. "W-what did I do?" Meredith stammered.

"You should never have gotten this locket, it always belonged to me," Tom said thoughtfully, drawing his wand. "Before you were born, before even I was born, and it's an outrage you ever set eyes on it, much less wore it to a school soiree," he sneered.

Meredith's heart shattered. "I-I'm sorry, Tom. Really. What can I do?"

He smiled softly at her, but it wasn't the same charming smile Tom Riddle usually wore. Something was…off about it. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. "Nothing at all." Meredith shuddered, her legs unconsciously bringing her to the door, and he followed, graceful feet crunching the glass shards into dust beneath him. "You can't apologize. You can do nothing at all to better yourself... You're worthless and you've disappointed me, but there's still something to be obtained out of this. And I deserve my gratification, don't I?"

"I don't understand, Tom," Meredith whimpered, now flat against the door. She wanted to leave, yet she didn't at all. Her mind told her to stay with him forever and ever, but her body acted on auto-pilot and screamed for her to run. Hand shaking, she rattled the doorknob but it didn't budge. Locked. Fear tore through her as she realized she was trapped.

Tom took her trembling hand and pulled her away from the door. "You don't need to." Staring down at her – oh Salazar, she was already sobbing – he thought of Hermione. Meredith was nothing like her. Meredith could be tricked so easily and reduced to a hysterical mess within moments, that was why he felt no gratification at the claiming of Slytherin's locket, in any of this – because she was not a prize. He had still yet to claim all that was rightfully his.

Why did that girl resist him? Anger swirled through Tom, hot and delicious. Was he not good enough for her? What did he have to do, to become to sway her? What did she want? And why shouldn't he have her? She was everything he deserved: intelligent, attractive, and sought after by others. Tom saw the way Regulus and Abraxas looked at her, the curiosity in his schoolmates' eyes, and how even Dumbledore watched her so closely. She was orphaned, she understood what it was like to have things ripped away and she could even understand him if he made her.

He'd do anything to possess her.

"Tom, I'm scared," Meredith whispered.

He started, having forgotten the girl was even there, and turned those heartless black eyes on her. "Your make-up is ruined," he stated, tilting his head. "You're a mess."

"Oh, I-I-" She tried to collect herself. "I'll fix it right now. Excuse me-"

The rest of her words were drowned by Tom's cold laugh and she froze, staring at him. "As if someone like you can be fixed," he murmured, waving his wand, and a jet of green light flew from it and smashed into Meredith's chest before she could blink. She gasped, clawing at the burn that blossomed there like a piping hot brand. Choking. "You could never be enough."

"T-Tom, please stop… I don't understand…"

These words annoyed him. He doubled the force of the spell and Meredith sputtered, falling to the floor and bashing her head on the edge of a desk on the way down. She thrashed and blood pooled from the gash on her temple, dripping to the ground and quickly spreading underneath her. His Dark magic consumed the air.

"Of course you don't," he said, smiling vindictively. "You're too dim to understand much of anything, aren't you? Pulling nasty tricks on girls you don't like to fool yourself that you're worthy of something. Oh yes, I see right through you, Meredith Smith…" He chuckled when she started vomiting torrents of saltwater. "Do you like it? I invented the curse myself," he said, twirling his wand. "If you don't bleed to death first, you'll drown yourself from the inside out."

Meredith couldn't speak through all the water exploding out of her. It rushed out of her nostrils, eyes, and ears, and her bloodcurdling scream turned into gargles as she ran out of air. Her lungs seemed to whither and shrink inside her ribcage, and Tom stood, indifferently brushing a speck of blood off his dress robes. He kneeled down beside her and in a burst of hopefulness she thought he might kiss her, but instead he pressed the tip of his yew wand to her temple.

"Obliviate," he intoned, wiping away her every last memory after leaving the soiree.

Tom stepped on Meredith Smith's twitching hand on his way out of the classroom, ignoring her whimper. His rage had been appeased, Slytherin's Locket was safe in his pocket, and victory closer than ever. How excellent a night this was turning out to be...

AN: Oh Salazar, Tom Riddle is on the warpath. For God's sake, Hermione, watch the fuck out! That boy makes me nervous.

...in a good way, but still.

Please review, lovely readers. I have homemade Tomione trinkets waiting for you!