****Chapter 1 & 2 Redone and updated with new information/better focus on the story line, so give it a read!****

A/N: As promised, I have started my weekly chapter update, so here is the first chapter to solidify that promise. I hope you all enjoy!

-VS

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, locations, or cleverness. It all belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Studios.

Hermione sat at a desk with numerous tomes strewn across its glossy wooden top. She sat with her head resting against her fingertips in frustration reading the same passage of her potions book over and over again to no avail. She had gotten the time and the room number correct, but it had been over an hour and a half since she arrived and there was still no sign of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He had told her to meet him in room 316C at three o' clock that afternoon so they could work on their potions project, yet he had not even bothered to show. With every tapping of feet and voices passing by the closed door of the empty classroom, Hermione would jerk her head up to see if it were him passing by nonchalantly, uncaringly, or even laughing at her for believing a single word he said.

Though Hermione was perfectly capable of doing the experimentations by herself that Slughorn had called for them to conduct in hopes of landing one of his students (or himself) a spot in Potions Today, the project was assigned and meant to be tested with a partner. With no partner present, she could hardly do so.

To hell with him. Hermione slammed her book shut angrily before standing and yanking the materials Slughorn had given her out of a crate. The cauldron clanged noisily against the rest of the materials within the crate, causing them to topple in on themselves. The loud noise breaking the silence only added to Hermione's frustrations.

She grabbed and slammed the cauldron atop the desk, caring less if it scratched the wood, and pulled out the pamphlet that would be her starting guide to conducting the experiment. She withdrew the separately bagged and labeled ingredients for the potion from the crate. Spreading them out across the desk, her irritation waned as she became absorbed in focusing on the task at hand.

Following the starting steps as listed, Hermione began adding a piece of ginger root, mermaid scale ashes, and a pinch of unicorn horn power in the small mixing bowl. As she read on, the pamphlet suggested some minor changes that could be done to help test potion outcomes. To start, she began tweaking the recipe ever so slightly by taking the dried doxy wings and placing them in a separate bowl before grinding them to a fine power as suggested. Hermione then added the purple dust to the rest of the ingredients and began grinding them all together.

The instructions then called for her to add frozen or thawed ashwinder eggs to the mixture. Hermione looked over at the small bag of magically frozen eggs in thought. Casting auguamenti on her pewter cauldron resting on the table, Hermione dipped her fingers inside to test the coolness. It was room temperature. She then reached into the crate and grabbed a heating stone; a magical stone that is used to safely heat potions—particularly given to students who are doing controlled experimentation due to the low hazard. The stone was a foot long and half a foot wide and was colored ruby red with flecks of green inside the stone. Supposedly the stone would heat when coming into contact with certain compounds found within a cauldron, but not burn any other surface.

Hermione placed the stone on the center of the empty desk behind her. She knew the method she was choosing was highly illogical when she could defrost them perfectly by magic, but she had learned a few potion tricks in Snape's class despite his constant remarks that she was a know-it-all. She knew that ingredients frozen by magic often lost potency when unthawed by magic as well, so as to preserve the ingredient, she decided to thaw them the old fashioned way; the muggle way.

She grabbed a piece of parchment, quill, and inkwell from her book bag that rested on the floor. After procuring the miniature scale that Slughorn had issued all students from the crate, she carefully removed the ashwinder eggs and set them atop the scale one by one. Leaning over, she scrawled out the approximate weight and magical density of each singular egg. Using her knowledge of arithmancy she calculated the time in which she would have to allow the eggs to sit in the water and thaw along with how far apart the stirring increments needed to be. After working out the numerical equation, she held the tip of her wand to the stone and thought for a moment.

"Using starting water temperature, increase it by 10 degrees each hour. Set brew for 10 hours. Every 2 hours sound off as a reminder to stir," Hermione watched the stone glow once, twice, three times as it affirmed her request. The green specks within the stone lit up slightly in activation and to show that it was ready for use.

Hermione placed the flat stone on the empty desk behind her, lifted the half-filled cauldron, and sat it atop the magical rock. Hermione added the five ashwinder eggs to the water carefully; placing her hand inside the water and settling them individually on the bottom. The eggs began to fizz like bath salts in a tub as they began the thawing process. As the eggs would thaw within the water, the water would chill, but in response, the stone would add 10 degrees each hour as to maintain the perfect temperature for the process.

Hermione took her dry mixture she had ground together previously and carefully sealed it within a glass lidded container to preserve it until she needed it again. She cleaned off the instruments she had used thoroughly and placed them back into the crate. Afterwards, she removed another piece of parchment and sat down thoughtfully as she wrote down step by step the what she had done thus far, and then on another she—with pamphlet in hand—mapped out what she planned to do for the remaining steps of the potion.

After some time spent hunched over her writings, Hermione suddenly heard the stone chime whimsically. She looked at the clock which hung in the empty classroom; it read a little over half-past six. The mixture was ready to be stirred. Withdrawing a metal stirring rod from her storage, she stirred the eggs carefully, causing them to fizz again as they moved about the water. After allowing the eggs to settle back to the bottom, Hermione slung her book bag across her body, grabbed her wand, and left the room, careful to lock the door behind her as to leave her project and open books undisturbed.

Once at the Great Hall, Hermione took a seat next to Hagrid at the Gryffindor table. She had sat with him every day for dinner that week, and by this point, much of the student body had ceased their murmurings and staring. Yesterday Hermione had actually seen two Gryffindors sitting at the Hufflepuff table and a Hufflepuff at the Ravenclaw table. They weren't major leaps in breaching the gap between students, but it was a start.

Much to Hermione's delight, Gryffindor's bravest had slowly begun to sit near to the half-giant. He made conversation with the students that sat close by, slowly coming out of his shell. Whether the students had formerly sat with them to get to know the infamous Hermione Sivad, or simply to join in, it did not matter. What mattered was Rubeus Hagrid wouldn't be alone and that was enough for her.

After dinner passed, Hermione bade farewell to the Gryffindor crowd and notified Aviela of her plans for working on her project that evening and apologized that she couldn't join her and the other Ravenclaws for a game of charades. Hermione was thankful for the excuse; she had always despised charades.

Once back at room 316C, she was relieved to see the door still locked and her potion undisturbed on the inside. Hermione glanced into the cauldron as it rested before checking the clock on the wall. The potion wouldn't need stirring for another half hour. She withdrew a book that she had checked out of the library the day before on dream theory and the discoveries that had been made about them in the magical world.

She sat, reading leisurely, until the stone chimed for her to stir the eggs once again. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the notion that it was Christmas and she had to thaw a turkey. The length of time, the readjusting of the temperature—it had all been something she had helped her mother with every holiday season for as long as she could remember.

Hermione stirred the water as the smile faded from the reflection in the water. She longed to write to her mother, to tell her that she was fine and not to worry—despite her not knowing of her daughter's current situation. Her heart ached every time the owls brought students deliveries and parcels of all shapes and sizes from home. She wished to be one of the students reaching their hands up high to catch the gifts as they fell from the air, let loose by the talons of their couriers. Hermione had no one to send her gifts nor write to her from time to time, and despite knowing that, every time the owls swooped in during breakfast, she still caught herself looking up for something, anything.

The only regrets she had now was not giving her mother and father a proper goodbye before they parted ways. What if she never saw them again? Hermione shook the thoughts from her head as she felt her throat seize up in remorse; she didn't want to go there, not now.

Feeling weary, she sat down, returning to her readings, but never fully absorbing the material. After some time, Hermione's head began to loll and the words blurred and refocused as she attempted to shake away the tiredness that consumed her. The battle was lost as Hermione's head slid out from her hand, down her arm, and to rest on the book of dreams.

Hermione woke on the ground with a start. Her heart beat fluttered quickly inside her chest and her head felt dizzy. She sat up slowly as the world turned around her, shifting with almost a groan that sounded like the hull of a ship settling on an uneasy ocean. She grasped the side of her head. She couldn't remember what she had been doing nor where she was.

Hermione looked up at the white light that shone brilliantly down upon her. Despite its lack of source, it seemed to be emitting a buzzing sound like that of a street lamp in the middle of summer. She winced before turning away her gaze from its intensity. Hermione looked down at her body. She wore an ivory strapless dress that flared out and hit slightly above her knee. She pushed herself off the ground with her hands and stood.

The sparkling pearlescent floors felt like icy marble against her bare feet. As she stepped forward the room lit up further, but still holding an edge of shadow just beyond that light. She took another step. Ghostly violin music began to crescendo as it overtook the buzzing noise and began singing a waltzing tune. Another step, more strings joined in. A third step, the low chattering of a room full of guests making merriment sounded. Standing still for a moment, she looked around for the source of the abrupt ambience.

Suddenly, out from the shadows stepped various partygoers in elaborate glittering gowns and pressed suits. Hermione watched as they began to dance in sync to the music being played out of sight. Tinkling laughter chimed from the young female patrons as the men talked casually. She could hear the clinking of glasses as they touched one another and the tapping of toes on the floor as they hit with each boxed step.

Quickening her pace, Hermione moved across the room until she was nearly in the throng of the party. She looked up at the faces of the patrons. Instead of seeing young faces and soft smiles, she saw any number of animals waltzing about the room.

Each patron had their identities concealed behind the masks of their chosen creature. A white rabbit twirled about a gowned mouse. A suited frog graciously bowed to his feline counterpart. A horse in a tuxedo moved forward to embrace the peacock before him.

Hermione watched as they danced—seeming to float above the floor with each turnabout. A chill crept up her spine as she stole a glance at the wolf that waltzed by her. Where Hermione had expected to see glistening, starry eyes sparkling under the bright lights, she was only met with blackness. The masks held nothing but indefinite shadows where eyes should be.

Hermione grew anxious as the couples began dancing faster; more intently. Their movements' no longer fluid, but becoming quick and erratic—unnatural. Soon the entirety of the partygoers that waltzed about the room did so wildly, becoming almost inhuman in their actions.

A pair of dancing gazelles bumped into her forcefully, sending her tumbling to the hard surface. Hermione's heart pounded as she scurried about the floor like a rat—dodging polished shoes and stomping heels. As she attempted to avoid a pair of legs on her right, a dancing duo slammed into her from the left, sending her sprawling across the floor once again.

Disoriented, Hermione struggled as she looked up—the light from above blinding her momentarily. Through the sashaying of long gowns and slender, black legs she saw a figure standing off the floor of the ballroom near the shadows. She focused on the observer as she tried calling out for help. She reached outward, only to have her hand crushed violently beneath the shoe of a hypnotic patron. Then with a grunt, she hefted herself forward despite the pain and moved across the room quickly; weaving herself in and out of the crowd as best she could while being tossed throughout the sea of wild things.

With a gasp Hermione broke through the horde of dancers and threw herself to the feet of the tall figure. She stood up shakily—stumbling slightly before steadying herself—and looked up to face Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He smiled at her deviously before inclining his head in chastisement and reaching out to her, stroking her hair softly, lovingly, almost in admiration. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and took her hand, slowly pulling her closer to him.

Her heart beat erratically and her senses heightened—but she was not afraid. A certain itching settled beneath her skin—a wanting of sorts—but what she wanted, she could not place.

He held up her hand and ran his fingers down it, then past her arm, and to her shoulder, drawing circles lazily in her flesh. He continued his ministrations once more, dragging his slender fingers across her skin tenderly. She felt dazed and raised her silver eyes to meet his. Half-lidded, his dark eyes watched her curiously, a small smirk resting upon his thin lips.

Gripping her wrist lightly, he twirled her around until she faced the crowd that continued to dance without end, without rest. She felt his presence behind her, his breath tickling the back of her neck. She rolled her head slightly in contentment of his nearness. Riddle trailed a finger from the nape of her neck down to the exposed milky flesh of her back before running it back up once more. She sighed in contentment, feeling as though she were in a trance-like state.

From behind, Riddle moved one hand to the front of her neck, splaying his fingers across her throat, holding it firmly. Controlling the movements of her head, he tilted it to one side and slid his face down next to hers. Her eyes threatened to shut as Riddle breathed hotly on the shell of her ear. Her hands swayed back and forth slightly as her eyes attempted to follow the blurred forms that were the dancers.

Hermione gave in, closed her eyes, and leaned into the towering form behind her, finding something soothing in the contact between her back and his chest. But it was though there was something more that she wanted—something that she needed. Something that would not rest until she was satisfied.

A series of whispering voices rushed up, stirring up something lurking in the deep—something dark. They grew in loudness, in aggressiveness—male, female—all at once. The whispers ushered themselves from the depths as they flicked off the tongues of various apparitions.

Then, all at once, every sound stopped; the voices, the chatter, the music, the clinking. All ceased to exist when Tom Riddle spoke.

"Kill."

Her eyes shot open as his sweet hiss reverberated against her very being. Hermione outstretched an arm as the guests suddenly became aware of her and began screaming, pointing at her fearfully. In a rush she moved across the ballroom, orchestrating a dance of violent proportions. Her feet stepped expertly, her body moved precisely, and her arms whipped wildly, dancing a dance of death and destruction as she found what it was that she needed: blissful chaos.

The patrons stampeded the fallen as they fled toward the edges of the light and into darkness. Riddle watched his puppet promenade uncontrollably about the room. She was his discovery, his creation, his device, and his work of art in the making. He was creating a masterpiece with every step she took and every spin she executed. Their performance was one that would not soon be forgotten.

He closed his eyes, listening to the anarchy that fell upon deaf ears. They had deserved the hand that fate had entailed Riddle to deal them. It was his duty to purge the world of their sins and contemptible ways. He was not the darkness blocking out the light, but the shadow damned with a never-ending vexation from afar. He was not the stoic prince in disguise, but the affirmed king upon an iron throne. He was not the traitor in the midst, but the messiah come to deliver his people and rain his judgment like fire from the sky.

The masquerade attendees fell one by one, their bodies thudding to the floor. Riddle stood, a wretched smile creasing his porcelain face as he watched the madness that ensued, drenching the once beautiful scene in red. The world slowly began to crumble away. The light faded, giving into darkness. The shrieks that pierced the air ceased as all things fell to nothingness.

The girl in the serpent mask kept dancing.

Hermione slowly came to as she woke from her slumber. She lifted her head up groggily, taking note of her aching back and shoulders as they both came in contact with the back of a hard, wooden chair. She rubbed her hands over her face and open and closed her formerly clenched jaw.

"Nice of you to finally wake," a voice said from a few desks down.

Hermione immediately jumped in surprise, nearly going for her wand, until her eyes focused upon the form of Riddle who sat straight backed in a chair, casually reading a book.

Feeling embarrassed, Hermione fumbled to smooth her frizzing hair down and wipe off drool that had dried on the side of her face from her deep sleep. He hadn't seemed to notice, and if so, he did not care. Hermione cleared her throat before speaking.

"Nice of you to finally show up," she spat at him as she rose from her seat, suddenly remembering her reason for being there.

"I was occupied and had other matters to attend to."

Like opening the Chamber of Secrets.

"Well, don't let me keep you from your duties then," she scoffed as she rounded the table to peer into the cauldron. The ashwinder eggs were gone. Hermione felt panicked. She must have not heard the chiming in her slumber. Perhaps the eggs had ruined.

"I stirred the ashwinder eggs because you were obviously unable to do so. They finished about twenty minutes ago," Riddle said lazily as he flipped a page of his book.

Hermione glanced up at the clock resting on the wall of the classroom. It read 2:46 in the morning. She groaned slightly. She had planned to leave the cauldron after its final need for stirring at twelve, then go to her dorm for the night, allowing the eggs to rest in the lukewarm water until that next afternoon. Yet, here she stood with an inexcusably late Riddle and a cauldron of missing eggs.

"I wrapped them in a damp cloth and placed them and the rest of the items inside the cupboard on the far left," Riddle said as he flipped another page, answering her next question as though he had read her mind.

Hermione walked over to the large wooden cabinet and began pulling out the crate of equipment once more. Riddle looked at her questioningly with a raised eyebrow. After rifling through its contents, sure enough she found the folded eggs placed safely in a wooden box. She took out the items and bagged potion mixtures, sitting them down on a desk far away from Riddle.

"What are you doing?" Riddle shut his book quietly and stood.

"What does it look like I am doing? I am doing the potions project that we were assigned to do together. But it appears that you are too busy to be a part of it, therefore I am going to continue it alone."

"If that's what you would prefer, who am I to stop you?" Riddle smirked.

"Smug bastard," Hermione whispered under her breath.

Riddle's smile quickly faded as something dark and menacing settled within his face. Hermione paled slightly, but tried to continue as though she hadn't noticed his change in demeanor. He stood still, hands clasped behind his back as he watched her work. After several moments of palpitating silence Hermione looked up at him.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Hermione grabbed the glass jar which held the dry ingredients she had processed and mixed early that day.

"This potion requires two people to be completely and fully tested. The day is done, we will continue tomorrow."

"You mean I will continue tomorrow, and you will show up when it's convenient for you?" Hermione said as she walked over and grabbed the cauldron from its previous resting place to where she currently worked.

"Of course," he smiled mockingly.

Hermione ignored him as she began to pull out her measuring flask and scales. She reached over to take out the ashwinder eggs, when suddenly the crate jerked away from her on its own accord, and began to be magically filled with its withdrawn contents before hovering to be placed back within the cupboard.

"What are you doing?" Hermione said in frustration as she walked over to Riddle who had brandished his wand and pretended to focus intently on the simple spell.

"I said the day is done. We will continue tomorrow," he ordered her as though she were a young child being told to do their chores.

"What if I disagree? What if I choose to continue working?"

"Then that is at your own risk. The halls of Hogwarts aren't as safe as the staff claims them to be. It would be wise if students did not stay out later than advised, especially someone like you," Riddle spoke plainly, but Hermione caught the dark undertone he held within his words as he looked her up and down.

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I cannot take care of myself?" Hermione asked in frustration, despite feeling slightly fearful at what meaning his words could possibly hold.

"That's exactly what I am implying," Riddle said in a bored manner. "Besides, being out of your commons after ten is a violation of school policy. You wouldn't want a prefect to have to escort to the Headmaster's office on the terms of causing trouble after hours would you, Miss Sivad?"

Hermione suddenly became very aware of the "P" that rested on the breast of his cloak. Tom Riddle always had something up his sleeve when it came to getting his way—even if it meant using his prefect status as leverage. Her eyes peered at him through slits upon realizing her lack of having an actual choice.

"Fine." She crossed her arms, averting her eyes to the classroom. On the desk where Riddle had sat laid Liquid Loveby Selpha Marvick. Hermione had been checking back each week since her first trip to the library concerning the project. To her dismay, every time she had inquired about the book it had already been checked out. She quickly picked it up and flipped to the inside of the front cover. On the last line of the catalog card, written in neat penmanship, was the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"I have not neglected the project like you were so quick to believe," Riddle spoke as he studied his wand lazily, "I have found many useful points and theories within the text. Perhaps I will even share them with you, if you will not throw around accusations."

"All right, fine," Hermione sighed. She felt guilty for suddenly accusing him of forgoing the project without founded proof. Perhaps what he was "busy" with wasn't important or even a good reason, but he did have a book pertaining to the project and had been reading it when she awoke. But ever since Riddle had invaded her personal barriers by reading her mind, she had felt frustrated by him. Every step forward felt like two steps back.

Hermione walked over, closed the book on dream theory she had been reading before falling asleep, and pushed it and the other materials into her satchel before grabbing her robe off the back of her chair and placing it atop the bag. She slung it across her body and waited for Riddle.

He walked to the very back of the darkened classroom and withdrew a bundled of folded paper, then he walked back and tossed it onto the desk in front of Hermione. The Daily Prophet landed with a thud on the hard wooden surface of the table. Riddle began gathering his things, face impassive.

Hermione squinted her eyes to view the text in the dimly lit classroom.

"BROOMSTICKS INNKEEPER DIES AFTER SNAKE BITE"

Hermione paled as bile threatened to rise up her throat. The man had been a nuisance and a potential danger to her, but he hadn't deserved to die. She could have handled the situation. She should have handled the situation, but then again, Hermione had no clue that Nyoka was poisonous. What if she had gotten bitten by the snake unbeknownst to its capabilities? She paled. Hermione picked up the newspaper and continued reading.

"Three Broomsticks Innkeeper, Greg Harvens, died last week after being bitten by a poisonous snake inside the inn's cellar and collapsing, hitting his head on a barrel of mead before passing out. The coroners say that when Harvens was discovered later that night, medics which apparated from St. Mungo's went to work to revive Harvens. After several minutes of attempts, Harvens was declared dead at the scene. The incident happened on Hogsmeade weekend—an event in which Hogwarts students 3rd year and up go to the town for a day of fun. The inn expresses its relief that no students were harmed during their outing. Harvens left no will, therefore, assistant manager, Melody Malone will take over in his place and continue running the inn."

Hermione sat the paper down, her mouth open slightly and her brow knitted in guilt. Had she not been present that day Mr. Harvens never would have died. Hermione began to feel fearful. What consequences would the future hold because of her actions? She looked up to Riddle apprehensively. He stood before her, his face still impassive.

"You're afraid I will tell," Riddle said in a monotone. Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip apprehensively as he seemed to ponder a decision, putting her on edge. He stared hard at her for several moments, scrutinizing her. Hermione's throat continued to seize as her fate hanged in the balance.

"I won't tell," Riddle finally spoke, his tone almost careless. A breath that she had been holding was released.

"I didn't mean for that to happen…" Hermione said, her voice slightly pained at the thought of the old man suffering alone.

"An accident—to an extent—but it happened nonetheless." Riddle rounded the table he had been standing behind until he stood before her.. She backed away to keep a comfortable distance between them.

"Tell me this: what would you have done if your pet hadn't been there? What if he had you backed into a corner, shouting profanities, threats, brandishing a wand ready to strike? What would you do?" He looked at her intently.

"I would have broken away and ran back into the inn," Hermione said simply.

"You can't escape, he has you trapped," Riddle responded.

"Then I shout for help." She crossed her arms assuredly.

"There isn't any help to be found. No one can hear you," Riddle countered once more.

"Then I try to reason with him," Hermione said, trying to brush him off.

"He is beyond reasoning," Riddle spoke as he walked toward her.

"Then I punch him," Hermione retorted as she began taking a step back with each step he took forward.

"Physical attacks won't work, he is too strong." At this point, Riddle had backed Hermione to a wall. As he loomed down upon her, her heart began to beat faster.

"Then I simply bid him good day," she said finitely.

"Formalities won't work," Riddle laughed sarcastically as he withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his robes. He pointed it at Hermione. "The clock is ticking, he is about to strike."

Hermione tapped her foot pretending to be impatient of his imposing display. Riddle looked as though he were thinking for a moment before his lip curled slightly.

"Avada—"

Hermione reacted in a flurry. With all her might she knocked Riddle's hand with the back of hers, sending his wand sailing from his grip and across the room. She pulled her wand from her skirt pocket and pointed it at his jugular. A flurry of emotion flickering across her face all at once.

"Then I kill him," Hermione spat before bumping into him hard as she walked past him and out the door.

Riddle quickly fell into step beside her after securing the classroom's door with a locking charm.

"That's what I wanted to hear," he said in a casual tone despite what had just taken place. "In a situation as such, you don't always have time to be rational. You can't simply wish it away, you have to act. In a matter of your life or his, of life or death, you cannot hesitate to strike, lest you be stricken. I had no intentions of using an unforgiveable, but would he have been so hesitant?"

Hermione ignored him. He had a point and he had made it well. She knew that if it came down to it, down to her life or someone else's for the sake of getting home and completing her mission, if she had no choice and no other options, she would kill. Then again, she was quite sure the innkeeper wasn't going to use an unforgiveable on her, but if he didn't, what had he planned to do as he had begun pulling her through the cellar? Hermione didn't want to think about what would have happened, but neither did she want to think on what had happened either. She wondered if Riddle would have so readily used the spell even at this young of an age. She knew that he had only been trying to provoke her into saying what she would ultimately do, but knowing that it was that particular unforgiveable nearly rolling off the lips of the same being that killed countless innocents... it was something she never wanted to hear.

After walking in silence with Riddle escorting her for some time, he spoke up once more.

"What is her name?"

"Whose name?" Hermione asked flat-toned.

"Your snake," Riddle said casually.

"Her name is Nyoka. How did you know it was a she?" Hermione knew how he knew; it was due to being a parseltongue, but she wanted to hear the lie that he would choose to give as substitute to the truh.

"The markings on her tail, obviously," Riddle said coolly. Had she not known of his abilities, she would have never been suspicious. His ability to lie and do so easily, without fault, and be believable unsettled her.

They walked in silence a while longer.

"Nyoka is a strange name," Riddle said plainly.

"I didn't pick the name," Hermione nearly laughed sarcastically in thought of the snake's guile.

"Then who did?" Riddle questioned, looking out of the corner of his eye suspiciously.

"My father did. He did the experiments, not me. He just gifted Nyoka to me because he thought us fitting for one another," Hermione said calmly, rivaling Riddle with her ability to lie so quickly and successfully.

"Hm…"

Or at least she hoped.

They did not speak again until Hermione reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower. She wasn't going to thank him for escorting her—he had practically forced her back against her will, so she settled with nodding to him before solving the day's riddle the winged door knocker had to offer. Once solved, the door opened and she stepped across the threshold.

"If she were mine, I would name her Nagini," Riddle told her as ambitious thoughts swam through his head.

Hermione froze, the gears turning and clicking together in her head. Her mind immediately floated to Harry's talks of a large, green snake slithering across the floor of a large home. Then her thoughts drifted to Harry seeing through the eyes of a snake as it attacked Mr. Weasley violently at the Ministry.

If she failed, would that mean that Nyoka, who had become a confidant to her, would ultimately become Nagini, the Dark Lord's own subject?

More importantly, in the consequences of cause and effect, does that mean in her time that she had already failed?

Hermione straightened her back before turning to face him. She couldn't fail. She wouldn't let down those back home. She planned to succeed, no matter what it takes—even if it meant never returning home.

"Tomorrow," she affirmed and closed the door shut behind her.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was tough one to write because I feel I needed a little more tension between Hermione and Tom before things start to level off and we delve in deeper as Tom discovers who Hermione Sivad truly is. At this point, we are seeing Riddle's focus shifting. He is becoming interested in her reasoning and rationality of things, bringing upon his dilemma of trying to understand her. There's a lot of foreshadowing taking place in this chapter, some obvious, some not so obvious, and some you will find out about in the next few chapters. Now that the story has its base, the Chamber should be opening within the next two chapters or so. I will probably make it a two-parter but they will be posted as two separate chapters and will be considerably long. With Halloween coming up next month as well as the Halloween ball in the story, I'll try to make it super festive, fun, and heart wrenching-in a good way.

Feel free to review, message me with questions or comments, favorite, and follow!

Reviews help give me motivation to try and crank chapters out as quickly as possibly, but hey, do what you must!

Until next week, thank you for reading, for the support, and for all the watches, reviews, etc.!

Constant vigilance!

-VS