A/N: I hate leaving things unfinished, even if it takes an extremely long time to complete. Sorry for abandoning a story many of you enjoyed so much. Life happens, priorities happen, but I never stopped thinking back on this story or reading the kind reviews and messages many of you sent. Consider this an abridged apology and an opportunity for me to kick back up in telling this story. I have a few more things to say, but I'll share the rest down below.

*This chapter has been rewritten and NEW CONTENT has been added halfway through. I would suggest rereading the chapter as some parts have changed and may confuse you later on (what else is new), but, if you wish to forge ahead, skip to the **NEW CONTENT BEGINS** line and read on.*

She could hear the crackling of a fire nearby. The hair on her arms stood on end, reaching out toward the fire as chills raked over her. Unnatural. She tried to open her eyes, but each time she caught a glimpse of the soft glow in the room, her eyelids drooped shut again—insistent on blocking out the light.

"Wake up, Hermione. He's on the move," a voice tugged at her ears from a distance. "You must wake. They are all in danger."

"Danger?" her voice was broken, and her throat burned.

" This is what you've been preparing yourself for—what we've been waiting for ."

Hermione tried to make sense of the words the man was saying to her, but she didn't understand. She was tired and sore. Her mind kept telling her to sleep. Her body agreed and urged her to rest, but her heart thudded in her chest, fighting the exhaustion. Her fingers twitched involuntarily with each heartbeat, rushing blood to their icy tips.

"Hermione, please, you must move," the male voice pleaded to her again, straining more and more with each word.

"But… I'm so tired." She attempted to openher eyes again, but they only flittered before closing.

"Hermione—" The man stopped suddenly. She could still sense his presence, but he was quiet and his essence unmoving. In the distance she heard another whisper. It was deeper, rougher. Hermione strained her ears, attempting to listen over the sound of her thrumming heart. The voice grew closer. She felt a pull in her chest; it was nearby. She felt the need to go to the voice, to meet it halfway, and greet it.

The voice disturbed the silence, becoming clear. When it whispered, she could've sworn the being was right by her side.

"Kill."

Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright.

"The basilisk!" She was brought back to reality with a jolt. The room felt too hot, but chills overtook her body. Her head pounded unmercifully and the foul taste in her mouth was akin rotting apples. A sense of nausea filled her throat and nose. Hermione's breathing was labored as she tried to will herself not to vomit on the common room floor. She never thought she would have to actually face the basilisk. She had hoped she could convince Riddle not to go through with his schemes somehow, but even she knew she had never gotten close enough to him to make a difference. Now, it was too late.

" Fickle humans, flock and feast, for you are the prey and I am the beast ," the basilisk hissed in a slow, sing-song voice. She could hear its scaly body dragging through the sewage system hidden behind the stone walls underneath the Ravenclaw tower. She knew the sewage systems didn't run throughout the tower, but the basilisk's voice poured in from all sides, cutting through the silent common room. She couldn't help fear the possibility that the deadly serpent Herpo the Fowl brought forth thousands of years ago would hunt her down in her isolation for an easy meal.

" Herpo the Fowl, my kin knew him by name; they were the oldest, the first, and I, the very same ," it hissed, almost as if it had read her mind.

Hermione swallowed, but the heaviness in her throat didn't leave. She knew she should get up and do something, but she couldn't move. She felt as though she had already been petrified as fear gripped her.

"A gift to the king of the ambitious house;
a chicken; a toad; and, the feast, a mouse.
The beast was the one that was hidden below,
what Slytherin reaped all shall know ."

She stared into the fire. She remembered everything: the spiked cider, Christopher telling her to leave the party, Hagrid standing in the foyer, and Riddle. How had she not seen it before? He must've concealed himself with a shroud of magic—an illusion of some kind—but she felt stupid. She had danced with the devil, feasted with him, and desired his touch.

She remembered how soft his lips felt against her own, and against the hollow of her throat. She remembered how his fingers traced her skin tenderly, almost endearingly, and how she loved every second of it. Hermione reached up her hand and rubbed her neck. Her stomach rolled. She felt like a fine layer of scum rested on every part of her that he had touched.

She could hear the whispering of the basilisk retreating, vanishing in the distance. She pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the couch until her feet touched the floor. Hermione looked down at her tattered dress. She wiggled the toes on her left foot that had long since been freed from her shoe that was nowhere in sight. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to form.

A jolt of pain sparked in her temples, causing her to double over on the edge of the couch. She winced, cradling her head in her hands. Hermione could hear a mumbling in the back of her mind, forcing its way through. It called to her by name. She feared it was the basilisk and pushed back harder against the force. Her vision grew splotchy and began to fade. Unable to withstand the fight, she let the guard she kept on her mind drop. Her head tingled from the sudden cease in pressure and tension.

"Why must you always fight me with such vigor?" The voice sounded exhausted.

"I don't take kindly to invasions of my personal space," she ground out angrily to the empty room. "Who are you?"

" Oh, come now, Hermione. Haven't you figured it out by now? I have contacted you in the past, yet you still question who I am. It's a bit embarrassing on your behalf ."

"Alphard…? Is that really you?" Hermione asked.

"Who else would it be?" Alphard taunted.

"I've been hearing voices for longer than I care to admit," Hermione sighed and wiped at the sparse tears that had gathered in her eyes.

"Hermione, the basilisk…" he began.

"I know. What am I supposed to do?" She felt sick again.

"You have to stop it," he said.

Hermione barked a cruel laugh between sniffles.

"Do you really think I could stop a basilisk? Especially against Tom Riddle? He probably had this whole thing orchestrated and placed me here in the tower to save me for last."

" Do you honestly think I, a son of Slytherin himself, would leave you defenseless? You can speak to serpents can you not ?" Alphard asked her sharply.

"Just because I can talk to them doesn't mean I can control them," Hermione said.

"Have you ever attempted a command to your familiar?"

Hermione pondered his question. She always had firm debates with her serpentine familiar, Nyoka, but she never had issued a true command—then again, Nyoka had never went against her suggestions either.

" You are just as good of a match against Riddle, Hermione. You are the closest thing to an equal he has, and I believe he is quickly learning that ."

"I'm no match for him," Hermione scoffed. "I am certainly not his equal either. I am not a killer."

"And neither is he, Hermione. Not yet," Alphard's voice pleaded with her, begging her to have faith in herself—and possibly in Riddle.

"What do you think his intentions are, Alphard? He doesn't plan to teach the beast how to box step. He plans to use it to harm muggleborns—to carry out his own version of justice based on Slytherin's cruel ideals."

" His intentions are clear, but he still isn't Salazar Slytherin. He isn't my fathe r," Alphard said, grimness lacing his ethereal voice.

"No, he's worse." Alphard sighed again. "How are you reaching me, anyway?"

" We are connected in unnatural ways, Hermione. The dark magic I used bound us together in spirit and blood. Part of me lives within you, and it's that part of me that can reach you. I've tried tapping into your mind numerous times, I've sent you dreams and visions—but I sense something other than I invading your mind, something much akin to that of divination. I am not sure if it is related to your being from the future, but it is possible ."

She considered his perspective as she had experienced a sense of déjà vu as of late. Hermione had always believed divination to be a foolish bit of trickery to entertain unwed women, and yet the prophecy had been true enough for Dumbledore to place his faith in it. Hermione had woken many times from strange dreams, but she could scarcely remember them. She hoped the supposed inklings of the future would fade; the last thing she wanted was to become a mockery like Trelawney.

"What do I do?" she asked Alphard.

" It's not what you do, but what you are capable of doing. Hermione, I know very little of Tom Riddle other than he is a pawn in Slytherin's greater ambitions. I am not entirely sure what his personal motivations are or what he is capable of, but what I do know is that he's still young. He still has a strong mind, a willing spirit, and a heart. It might not be his redemption, but it's certainly not a vice ."

"So you're telling me to have a heart to heart with the future dark lord?"

" I am telling you to do what is necessary to stop him, but to remember that he is still human. He knows pain and suffering just as well as you or I, Hermione. We are all victims of circumstance, but that doesn't mean we can't change our course ," Alphard said.

"What if he won't listen to reason?" Hermione asked.

"Stop the basilisk first, then stop him," Alphard's voice was grim. She didn't know if Alphard meant she should kill Riddle, but she didn't want to. There had to be another way. She would not become him.

" If you have a choice, then choose wisely—if not, you know what you must do ," he said. She felt Alphard's presence fade from her mind. The dull throbbing from her imminent hangover returned. She knew that the longer she sat idle the closer the danger was to the students. However, she didn't want to charge headlong into the possible danger; she needed to strategize. She scoffed. Strategizing. How could she strategize for something like this? Especially alone. No, she would do this her way. The Gryffindor way. She hated to rush into things, but it was a choice of rushing into them, or them rushing at her. When push came to shove, Hermione would shove back. She only hoped that she would be strong enough to knock Riddle off his feet.

She stood and darted up the stairs to her dorm, leaving a sole, glittering shoe behind by the crackling hearth. If she went into battle, she would do so on even footing and stand firm for herself and all of the Wizarding World.

Hermione burst through the door of her and Aviela's shared dormitory. Frantic, she called out for Nyoka and searched within the cracks and crevices under the beds, behind the wardrobe, and inside their trunks. She hoped that the small serpent chose to hunt instead of go after the beckoning of the beast. The pull Hermione felt to the basilisk was immense, it was no doubt that Nyoka would sense the creature.

We seek each other out , Nyoka had said.

She regretted not keeping the serpent with her more. Hermione pictured the basilisk slurping Nyoka down as though she were a spaghetti noodle with Nyoka's tail flicking outward and smacking the slimy lips of the larger creature. She shuddered as she reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans. Unfurling them, Hermione took off her torn dress and slid on a wrinkled woolen skirt and jumper she had scooped up in haste from the floor of her room. She scrambled around for her loafers but found them nowhere in sight. Instead, she threw open her trunk and dug deep to the bottom until she found the pair of white trainers she had brought back with her. She pulled before them on and shoved the laces into the sides, not bothering to tie them.

She dropped onto her knees and looked under her bed, searching for the serpent. Nyoka was her one and only companion who knew of her personal situation aside from Alphard. After all, it was Nyoka who had made the journey with her back in time. She didn't want to see her harmed. Hermione couldn't help but feel as though she had taken the serpent's friendship—or whatever it was—for granted.

"Nyoka! Where are you? Come back," she called out. What if Nyoka had followed after the basilisk? She stood, readying herself to meet whatever was to come, when the snake slithered from the crevice in the wall. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Nyoka, I thought you had ran off," she said to the snake.

"S lithered, you mean? I was wandering after the voice I've been hearing, until I heard you beckon me, Miss Hermione ," Nyoka said.

"Nyoka, you should know better than to go off like that. What if someone saw you?"

" Someone wouldn't see me within the walls, Miss Hermione, I know you are aware of that. You're worries are greater than that of someone simply spotting me. We both know that it is the voice that is concerning you ." Logical, observing, and ever perceptive, Nyoka made the perfect companion for Hermione Jean Granger. Nyoka held a greater intelligence and intuition than any animal Hermione had met, though she couldn't help but wonder what Crookshanks would have to say if they could speak freely with one another just the same.

"Do you know what the voice is, Nyoka?" Hermione asked, her voice slow.

" It's of my own blood, but not quite the same, Miss Hermione. My kind has told stories for generations of great, booming voices that call to us, but I believed it to be just folly ," Nyoka said.

"And what do you believe now?"

"That the legends were more than just folly, Miss Hermione."

"Were you following the voice? Were you answering the call?" Hermione was nervous. What if Nyoka answered to the basilisk first and second to her? Under Riddle's rule, the basilisk would surely try to kill Hermione, and Nyoka may feel inclined to do just the same.

" We seek because we want knowledge, to understand, and to fulfill what we believe to be our duty to a higher caliber of serpent. We would present ourselves in great numbers—the eldest were always said to go first, providing ourselves as sustenance ," Nyoka hissed.

"Other serpents would give themselves up to the basilisk willingly as a meal?" Hermione gaped at the dark green snake that swayed in the corner of the room.

" There is no greater honor for a land serpent than to provide life to that of a god ," Nyoka said.

"A god? Your kind believe the basilisk to be a god?" Hermione never knew that the culture of serpents ran so deep.

" The Great Serpent is revered and stands as a symbol of the height of our kind ," Nyoka hissed.

Hermione was reeling. It all made sense as to how the basilisk was able to survive for so long underneath the bowels of Hogwarts for so many years. She knew it wasn't logical that the basilisk lived solely on small rats that scurried below the castle. For ages, serpents of the Earth would make a pilgrimage to become a sacrifice to the basilisk, to sustain it, to keep their god alive.

"And you believe the basilisk is your god? Were you following the voice as to fulfill the task your people have taken on?" Hermione's mouth was dry. She feared what Nyoka would say to her.

" I harbor many beliefs, Miss Hermione, but none of them have proven to be true. How can I believe the Great Serpent is a god when it can be controlled by man? A god can be controlled by no one. I wouldn't offer myself up to something lesser than a go d," Nyoka hissed, slithering up the wooden pole of Aviela's four-post bed. Nyoka entwined herself around the carved post until she was eye level with Hermione.

" A god cannot be controlled. A god can be ruthless, merciful, and sustains oneself without the heed of its people. The Great Serpent is not a god, Miss Hermione. The Great Serpent answers to the speakers. If it can be controlled by them, then it isn't a god, but the one of which the Great Serpent answers to is. There's a young man the Great Serpent beckons to like a humbled servant. He speaks to my blood just as you do Hermione. The Great Serpent is nothing more than an honored King of Serpents.

" The world was once fraught with gods—or speakers—twisting their tongues to call to us, but that age passed long ago. Once there were gods coexisting as equals, partners, and lovers, creating new generations of gods with each coupling—but the world isn't what it once was ," Nyoka hissed. Hermione stared into the serpent's beady eyes, her breathing uneven.

"And what happens when there are few gods left, Miss Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head not knowing, and not trusting herself to speak.

" They either create the next generation of gods or they attempt to kill one another and hope to attain immortality by any means necessary. A god is useless unless he or she can stay alive, " Nyoka hissed. " My kind may worship the Great Serpent, but our faith has been placed in the wrong idol. For what is a thousand-year king to a god? "

Hermione's mouth was agape. Did Tom Riddle truly wish to form horcruxes and purge the world of muggleborns and muggles as to act out with godlike power? Did he desire to live forever as a way of being the last parselmouth, a living god to serpents and people alike? Did Salazar Slytherin's ambitions go beyond that of educational segregation to the creation of a supreme race ruled under a single god for his namesake? She found herself feeling angry at Nyoka for not telling her these things, but at the same time she blamed herself just the same for not knowing.

"Will you go to him them? Tom Riddle? Will you follow him now?"

" If there are two supposed gods that I may decide from to serve, why would I choose to be a follower when I could be an equal, Miss Hermione ?"

A smile crept onto Hermione's face as relief washed through her. She reached out and stroked the shiny scales of the serpent's head. Nyoka didn't see parselmouths as gods, but as companions, leaders and guides of this vast world. As it should be. Hermione didn't wish to reign over any creature—human or otherwise.

"Thank you, Nyoka. Your companionship is something I won't take for granted," Hermione said.

"I shall hold your word to it, Miss Hermione," Nyoka said as she unwound herself from the pole of the bed and down onto the wooden floor. "I f you are to face the Great Serpent and its master, then I shall come with you ."

"What if Riddle tries to control you?"

" Then order me not to obey. It is that simple. A command can be given and not be wrongful, Miss Hermione. Order me to be your familiar, and I shall be so until the end of our days or the breaking of your words that have bound us, " Nyoka hissed. Hermione didn't like the idea of commanding Nyoka to do anything outside of her free will, but the idea of Riddle taking control over her would surely lead to a worse fate for the serpent.

"Nyoka, I ask—command you to be my familiar—my companion—in this life. No paselmouth may have reign over you—and from this point on, neither shall I. We continue on together by choice, not by force. I ask this of you until the end of our days or the breaking of my words that have bound us," Hermione spoke her hisses to Nyoka. Her lips tingled at the whispers that danced from her tongue. Magic. It was more than just speech and choice but magic that bound them now. Hermione was prideful to have Nyoka formally on her side, but feared Riddle could do the same with the basilisk.

Nyoka bowed her head low to Hermione upon their agreement, in honor.

"Nyoka, could Riddle possibly do the same with the basilisk? Binding himself to it as his familiar?"

" I am unsure, Miss Hermione. I would hope to believe otherwise, but the prospects are grim ," Nyoka's voice was solemn. Hermione reached into her trunk and pulled out her satchel. Casting a charm on the bag to make it both larger on the inside, she reached out to Nyoka, gripping her gently and lowering her into the bag. She secured the buckle of the bag and threw it across her body.

"Miss Hermione," a soft hiss emanated from the bag, " if our bonds are to break today and the end of our days to come, then I am glad to have been a friend to you. "

Hermione snatched her wand from the vanity nearby and opened the door.

"I feel the very same, Nyoka." She breathed deeply and left the dormitory.

**NEW CONTENT BEGINS**

Hermione raced through the hallway. She passed a few students who were massaging their temples, nursing headaches from the alcohol, or were stumbling back to their respective common rooms to continue the party. She was thankful to see that some of the students had decided to leave the masquerade; it meant one less person for her to worry about protecting. She felt an arm grab her, roughly jerking her to stop. Hermione's hand immediately moved toward the wand tucked within the waist band of her skirt. She locked eyes with Aviela. The blond witch eyed her curiously as Hermione's hand froze on the grip of her wand.

"Hermione, where in Merlin's name are you going? Most importantly, what are you wearing?" Aviela nodded to the unusual white trainers with black stripes running across the tops. "I like it. Is that Parisian style?"

"Just some something I brought with me from home," Hermione rambled off, attempting to slip her arm from Aviela's grip. "Are you going back to the common room? Where's Minnie? And Hagrid? And Chris? Where are they? Are they still at the ball?"

"Slow down, Sivad. What's going on? Why did you leave so early?" Aviela's smiled faded.

"Is the masquerade still going on? I need to know where they are. Can you pleasejust tell me?" Hermione was frazzled and borderline begging. She needed to know if they were safe.

"The party is winding down mostly. The professors said they found firewhiskey in a few of the punch bowls. They are shutting down the masquerade early," Aviela's voice turned harsh. She was angry. Her hard work for the event was sabotaged by troublemakers. "The faculty and staff are trying to stop the party, but some of the students are too drunk or too careless to listen and won't leave the dance floor."

"And what of our friends?" Hermione pressed for an answer.

"Minerva left some time ago. During the ball, she told me she felt off. Being suspicious of the punch, she alerted Headmaster Dippet. I never even had the chance to enjoy the buffet. I was too busy reigning in Callahan all evening. Minerva was kind enough to forcefully escort my lovelydate back to the Gryffindor common room with her," she said sarcastically. Avrin Callahan, Gryffindor's quidditch captain, had been Aviela's date for the evening. He had shown up to the masquerade already buzzed. "Callahan also verified the headmaster's concerns over the punch when he vomited all over Horace Slughorn's tail coat."

"So Minerva is back in the Gryffindor common room?"

"Yes, Hermione. It's just a little firewhiskey, why are you so stressed?" Aviela tilted her head to the side.

"Are you going back to the Ravenclaw tower?" Hermione was already stepping past Aviela.

"Yes, but I'm not sure about Chris. I haven't seen him all evening. Hagrid went looking for him."

Hagrid . Hermione needed to find him, fast. She knew that Christopher had been onto Riddle from the start. How, she didn't know, but she knew that he would steer clear of the Slytherin heir—or at least she hoped he would. However, if harm came to Hagrid, she could never forgive herself.

"I'll go find them. Just—just get back to the common room and stay there until Christopher and I get back. It's not safe to be out."

"Everything will be fine, Hermione. Stop worrying so much! If it isn't safe then shouldn't we go look for them together?" Aviela looked at her with suspicion. Hermione wasn't sure of what to say to the Goldstein twin. What couldshe say? Tom Riddle, heir of Slytherin, had found a giant serpent in the underbelly of Hogwarts and was hell-bent on taking revenge based upon Salazar's wicked manifesto? Certainly not that.

"Sorry, Aviela, I'm probably just feeling a little paranoid after downing some of the alcohol. I care about each of you and I want to see to it that everyone is safe. Because I am in the right mind and able, I figured I could offer some assistance to the staff." None of it was a lie, but it was far cry from the truth.

"If you say so, Hermione. Don't be surprised if Dumbledore sends you back to the tower. He was ushering the students quickly to their dormitories and instructing the, to stay put."

Dumbledore. A man who had no means of divination, yet still sensed the impending darkness. He had been clear that he was willing to help her with anything she may need—within reason—but even then, Hermione knew she couldn't ask this of him. He was smart and intuitive, and it served him well, but it would go against the rules to tell him of what's to come. But wasn't she already breaking the rules by trying to stop Riddle in the first place? Her head throbbed and she touched it softly with her fingertips. She could almost sense Alphard Corvus tapping his foot impatiently, spying on the inside of her mind. If she didn't get moving, she knew he would not hesitate to intrude her thoughts.

"Thanks, Aviela. I'll be back soon, just stay in the tower!" Hermione was already jogging. When she rounded the corner and into an empty corridor, she took off in a full sprint. Dhe allowed adrenaline to fuel each step she took. First, she would check by the Great Hall. If Christopher and Hagrid weren't there, she would search until she found them. Once they were located and safe, she would hunt Riddle down and end it all—by whatever means necessary.

Stupid, Tom Riddle. Don't you know that Slytherin is playing you for a fool even from the grave?Hermione cursed Riddle over and over again, calling him by every muggle and wizard curse she could think of. She knew it wasn't his fault. The circumstances, the childhood, the lineage—Salazar Slytherin had a master plan. How he had made it work thus far, she didn't know, but something deep inside told her that Grindelwald wasn't innocent either; his endeavors were reminiscent of Slytherin's.

Hermione remembered reading up on the war and of Grindelwald's ultimate defeat at the hands of none other than Albus Dumbledore, future Headmaster of Hogwarts. The exact details of it all were sketchy at best, but even still, she believed Dumbledore had regrets. From what she could understand, they had once known each other. Maybe they had even been close.

At present, the wars raged on—all of them. Grindelwald's against the Wizarding World, the Third Reich's against humanity, and her own internal struggles that were so very insignificant in the greater scope of things. Death had already encased the world in an iron grip, and Hermione only hoped that she could prevent, at the very least, one more life from being taken tonight.

Hermione reached the foyer of the school. Each member of the Hogwarts faculty stood outside of the Great Hall. Even the staff members who didn't chaperone the dance were there, standing about in night gowns and robes, their conversations creating a hum that resonated throughout the castle. Dippet wrung his hands nervously, no doubt worrying about how he was going to address the issue to parents and the public. Slughorn chastised a Slytherin boy, but not as harshly as he did the Gryffindor girl he moved onto next. Some of the ghosts who served as waiters were recounting who they saw nearest the punch bowl right before the first symptoms of drunkenness were reported. The head girl and boy were present, both looking worse for wear. Hermione had no doubt that they had partaken in many glasses of spiked cider. Dumbledore stood off to the side, directing students to return to their dorms. His posture was stiff and his eyes were as alert as ever, twinkling fiercely in the torchlight.

"Miss Sivad? What on earth are you doing here?" Slughorn hobbled toward her.

"Professor Slughorn," she nodded to him in recognition. "I came back to see if any assistance was needed in handling the masquerade."

"The remaining students are being taken care of as we speak, therefore I believe it would be best for you to return back to your dorm for the evening."

"I see. I would love to, professor, but I must find my friends. I've been worried sick about them," Hermione attempted to prey on his sense of honor.

"I am sure they are fine, Miss Sivad. We have directed each remaining student to where they need to go. If they are not in the common rooms, they are in the infirmary and you can visit them tomorrow morning, I'm sure. Now, run along!" He guided her by the arm toward the hallway of which she had just came from. Hermione felt panic rise in her throat, so she formed a lie on the spot.

"But, professor, I can't." Hermione turned to him, feigning desperation in her eyes. Slughorn had always been a bit of a pushover, she only hoped he would believe her false testimony. "You see, the person I am looking for is Christopher Goldstein. Do you know of him?"

"Ah, yes. The Goldstein twin, Aviela's brother, correct? Seventh year, as well. I regret not inviting him to the club. He was ever so shy, but he seems to have branched out and made some decent friends." Hermione's brow furrowed. Friends? The only friends she could think of were the ones that Slughorn probably couldn't even name due to lack of ever acknowledging their existence.

"What do you mean, professor?"

"Why, he has been in the company of Tom and the Malfoy boy for the past month or so. They seem to have taken him under their wing. The Goldstein boy could definitely use some guidance from his peers," Slughorn laughed. Hermione's stomach twisted. What has Christopher been doing with Riddle and Abraxas? She had noticed him absent more than usual, but she hadn't really thought anything of it.

"Has he really made friends with them, then?" Hermione ground her words out carefully.

"Oh, yes. I would like to think so at least. Tom, Malfoy, and their crew have taken him in quite well. It's a very generous thing, don't you agree? The boy could use some connections." Slughorn winked down at her. She took note of how endearingly he used Riddle's first name, yet formally referred to Abraxas as "Malfoy." It wasn't a group of kinsman-ship like Slughorn believed. They were the Knights of Walpurgis.

Then, it all became clear as the fog in her mind vanished like rising vapor. The masquerade, the spiked cider, Christopher's absence, the awakened basilisk—it was orchestrated, all of it.

The masquerade was the perfect excuse for Riddle's first strike. The spiked cider hadn't been caused by a group of rowdy Gryffindor boys; it was the work of the Knights under Riddle's command. Having the student body drunk and wild would only make his…chase more interesting, no doubt. The awakened basilisk, the ultimate means to an end. Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to think about what Christopher's absence meant. Fear, uncertainty, and anger flooded her veins. She only knew she would find her answers when she found them. Had he willingly helped aid Riddle in commencing one of the darkest days Hogwarts would ever face? Or was he a victim or Riddle's coercion like everyone else?

"Why is it so imperative that you find him again, my dear?" Slughorn asked with curiosity. The gears in Hermione's mind began turning, fabricating a story that would capture his interest enough to let her go.

"You see, professor, I fancy him. I have since I first arrived. However, to my dismay, it has been unrequited thus far. I returned back to the common room early in hopes to wait for him when the masquerade began to get out of hand. I've been waiting since then and he hasn't shown. I fear he may have lost track of time trying to assist in the aftermath. I was told that he had been helping to guide students to the Gryffindor common room and is keeping watch beside the portrait of the Fat Lady. Professor, this may be my only chance to tell him properly how I feel. With the heightened rush of the evening and the excitement, I feel like the odds may be in my favor so much that Liquid Luck could never suffice as a replacement for this night. May I find him and confess my feelings to him? I know I may be young, but what am I to do when faced with true love?" Hermione prattled off the sickeningly sweet words. She was sure she had skimmed a Witches Romance book and read the same exact lines before—skimmed, not read, she affirmed within herself.

Slughorn pulled a raggedy, spotted handkerchief from his dress robes and dabbed the cloth at the edges of his eyes, drying up the moisture pooling within them. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes; Slughorn had always been one for dramatics. With his status as Potions Professor at Hogwarts, she didn't doubt for a second that the Liquid Luck line hooked him.

"Oh, how I remember unrequited, young love indeed. Miss Sivad, chase your dreams and follow your heart while you can. You may go seek out the Goldstein boy." He reached down and grasped her hands firmly in his. His eyes shone with tears. "I give you my best of wishes, my dear. Now, go before old Dumbledore quashes your hopes by sending you back to your room!" He whispered to her urgently before escorting her around the foyer and to the edge of the crowd, nudging her toward the corridor. He coughed and casted a disillusionment charm over her before pulling Dumbledore aside, distracting him by asking if the cider had been spiked with aged, top-shelf firewhiskey. If so, he kindly offered in between chuckles to take the remaining bottles found and find them a new home in his own personal cellar. Dumbledore did not laugh.

Hermione shook her head at the round man with the curling mustache. Slughorn's tactics with Dumbeldore proved Slytherin, through and through; even in a situation like this, the first thing he thought of was his own gains. However, in the end, it was for her own just as well. She wandlessly casted a silencing spell around her, and took off in a sprint toward the Gryffindor dorms.

He prowled, his feet barely making a sound on the wet flagstone floor below. He clutched a black, leather bound journal in hand. Holding the diary, he stroked the metal etching on the back with his index finger. The shining words read, "Tom Marvolo Riddle." In his other hand, he grasped a serpent mask.

He held it aloft, examining it as the scales glittered in the half-light. A low hissed rushed past his lips, breaking the silence and echoing off the sodden walls of the secret place below Hogwarts. He tilted his head and listened, still studying the mask. He heard the heavy grinding of stone against stone, then something else gliding across their surfaces. In his peripheral vision, he saw the shallow water moving in wide ripples, disturbed from its calm. He felt something deep within him pull toward the creature, reaching out, calling.

His widening grin was overcast by shadow as the king of serpents rose behind him, waiting for his master's command.

A/N Continued: Why did I pick this story up after so many years? Because I never forgot about it and I am finally in a position to be able to do so after graduating from college. Do I feel bad about abandoning it for a few years? Yes and no. Am I working on other projects? Yes and no. :)

- Please keep in mind that some accuracy for time periods, locations, and characters are/may be incorrect. With Pottermore, Fantastic Beasts, Cursed Child, and my own misunderstanding it's hard to keep up. Please be kind and understand that I will try my best to address these in future chapters-not rectify in older ones. -

If you have questions, please feel free to message me or leave a review with them.

As always, reviews are appreciated. Let me know if you all are still reading and if I should continue working on this fic after years of leaving it be!

If I still see evidence of some lone stragglers out there, I will post Chapter 23: Part II by the end of the week.

Constant Vigilance!

-VS