Tom sighed audibly as he finally gave up on his task, having to exercise his considerable self-control to prevent himself from cursing Hermione's irritating cat who was perched on their brown armchair, staring intently at Tom. When Hermione had first begun on Hogwarts, Tom made a cursory attempt to enter her room, mostly testing to see whether the room was warded and if any straightforward spells would grant him access. When the room was decidedly not forthcoming, he had ceased his attempts, deciding that the effort required to access the room was not worth the reward.

Back in September, the attempt had been nothing but a reflex, like a snake testing out the boundaries of its surroundings to assess the limitations and test for weaknesses. Now, Tom had tried in earnest to take down Hermione's wards. The timing had been perfect; she had headed to the library, which gave Tom two hours at minimum. But he had to admit that the wards were seemingly impenetrable; magical force would simply not suffice. Hope was not lost, however; if Tom knew anything about wards, they would generally only prevent those from entering who did not receive consent from the creator. As though I needed another reason to obtain access to Hermione's bedroom.

The fact that Tom was unable to enter Hermione's bedroom only made him want to search it more, and not only because of the thrill of a challenge to someone like Tom who rarely encountered such obstacles. No; it was because a witch who had so heavily warded her bedroom did not do so for idle reasons. She was hiding secrets much more serious than a false last name.

Tom still hadn't been able to ascertain how Hermione knew about his activities in sixth year. Although he had thus far been unable to master the art of Legilimency, his Occlemency skills were exceptional. Even Dumbledore had been unable to penetrate his walls, and even if Hermione was a prodigy, Tom begrudgingly had to admit that there was almost no chance that her skill exceeded Dumbledore's. And even if it did, somehow, he would at least feel the uninvited presence of another, and he had never felt Hermione make even the smallest attempt to invade his mind.

The source could not be Myrtle's ghost, either. When Tom heard that Myrtle had chosen to spend her afterlife on earth, he panicked momentarily. Luckily, however, Myrtle held enough distaste for Olive Hornby to haunt her almost immediately following her death. One had to admire the depth of her spite. The haunting gave Tom a valuable opportunity to speak to Myrtle; he told Olive, of course, that he wanted to pay his respects. He fed Myrtle the same story, playing the sweet prefect as he gently questioned her, finally learning she knew nothing of value, as he had hoped.

The only person who Tom had confided in regarding his lineage and subsequent opening of the Chamber was Malfoy. This realization had initially given Tom pause; after all, Maloy had clearly been very attracted to Hermione. Tom saw the lust in his eyes when he delivered the assignment and when the blond later spoke of the results. Malfoy's saving grace was his deeply held prejudice; his enthusiasm for Tom's activities the previous year stemmed almost entirely from the fact that they were directed at Mudbloods, and although Malfoy's attraction to Hermione never waned, it became intermingled with deep disgust and self-loathing after he learned that she was not the pureblood witch he believed her to be. No, it wasn't Malfoy.

That left one possibility: Dumbledore. It was the most obvious one, after all. Hermione was in a very intoxicated state that night in the hallway, and she had said it was the old man. The simplest explanation would be the believe her; but why tell her anything? What was their relationship? They would have to be extremely close for Dumbledore to share his suspicions about Tom. Their closeness would also explain his seeming fondness for her that developed slightly too quickly, and the fact that she was admitted to Hogwarts as a transfer student. But how did they know each other?

Tom thought about all this and more while he walked the familiar path the library, easily keeping his fake smile plastered on as he discovered with disappointment that she wasn't alone. Hermione's books that she brought down with her were splayed across the small table she sat at, with Todd sitting next to her in a corner he had staked out for himself, where he balanced his parchment on the corner while he wrote.

Why had he come down here? Several people in the library had already spotted him, eyeing him with a combination of curiosity and lust, the proportions of which were determined by the source. He walked over to the already crowded table and sat opposite Todd. Neither of them had noticed him yet. Tom pulled out his Arithmancy book and placed it more forcefully than necessary on the table, causing Hermione and Todd to look up.

"Er—Riddle—you're here." Always so articulate.

"Hello, Todd," Tom replied, widening the smile as he greeted him. "Hermione," he nodded, dropping his tone slightly. Tom always enjoyed watching Hermione's reaction to him; she tightened for a moment with a palpable discomfort and then looked at him, her wide brown eyes blazing.

"Hi, Tom," she replied shortly, moving her Potions textbook over a few inches in a show of welcome before returning to her work.

Tom decided to take the opportunity to be productive; he knew there would be no prying Hermione away from her own work, at least not with the unwelcome presence sitting across from him. After Tom finished the reading he had brought, he surveyed the library and spotted Black and Potter arguing as they walked into the library. They were such an odd couple; she had a straightforward snobbery to her that Tom associated with proud purebloods. Although Potter was from a family of similar status, he had the type of attitude that made light of everything, including blood status. In fact, one of his close friends was a halfblood, whereas he could never imagine Black associating with anyone she considered to be below her. Her and Malfoy really would have been a better match, but Malfoy seemed to be interested in almost any woman but her, despite the absurd rumors Tom always heard about them. Why would they have gone through the trouble of breaking off their betrothal to sneak around?

The strange couple ended up approaching their table. "Hullo, Hermione, haven't seen you in a while."

Hermione smiled as she looked up, her smile wavering slightly and then re-forming into a less sincere one when she spotted Black. Interesting. "Charlus, Dorea. Good to see you both," The words sounded strange formal coming out of Hermione's mouth. "Dorea, I wanted to talk to you actually," Hermione continued in a businesslike tone. Tom watched Black as Hermione addressed her. Black was one of the most composed people in Hogwarts, but Tom knew what he saw: a twitch when Hermione addressed her. A twitch of fear. Why would Black be afraid of Hermione?

"…and I was wondering if you need any assistance with anything?" Tom had stopped listening for a minute and had no idea what they were talking about.

Black shook her head a little too vigorously for her typically subtle mannerisms. "How lovely of you to offer, but we're completely prepared."

Hermione laughed at that. "I'm a bit concerned at the volume of green."

"There's no need," Black responded quickly.

"You're not very convincing, but I'm not sure we need to meet. Can you show me any plans?"

"I'll get them to you next week," Black responded.

She had started to turn around when Tom decided to test his hypothesis. "Goodbye, Dorea." Black turned back around as though she had whiplash, icy blue eyes drowning in anxiety. It wasn't Hermione that she was scared of; it was him. And he had a feeling he knew who was to blame for this development.

"Goodbye, Riddle."

"What was that about with Black earlier?" Hermione and Tom had moved to their common room over the course of the day, Hermione still pouring over books, but slightly more half-heartedly.

"Just making sure her decorations committee is staying in line," Hermione mumbled, more to herself than Tom.

Tom slid closer to her on the couch, toying with a particularly tight curl against the nape of her neck until she turned around abruptly. "Is there a reason you're distracting me from my work or do you just find it amusing?"

"A little of both." Tom had never been a very light-hearted person, but found he enjoyed teasing Hermione more than he would have expected. "I was wondering why you were mumbling about the ball. You don't mumble."

"No reason in particular." Although Tom had yet to perfect the art of Legilimency, he was born with a natural talent for sensing when someone deviated from the truth, though Tom couldn't think of why Hermione would bother to lie to him about something seemingly trivial, unless something had happened between her and Black that explained the strange tension earlier today. But then why would Black be scared—terrified, really—of him?

"Hmm," Tom hummed, stroking her bare arm lightly, oddly satisfied at watching as small goosebumps formed on the surface. "I don't believe you."

Hermione laughed. "Not everything is a conspiracy, you know."

Tom didn't laugh, but felt a small smile form as he returned her gaze. "Hermione. We both know you're not exactly carefree."

Hermione had abandoned her work at this point, and was squarely facing him as she started tracing over his face with her hand. "What gives you that impression?"

"I've always had a gift for reading people," Tom responded easily. Despite the fact that the night after Slug Club was the night he discovered how little he knew of Hermione, he had felt more comfortable with her ever since because of how much she knew of him. He had always been a favorite of many, if not most, of the girls at Hogwarts. But part of him knew how quickly admiration could turn to fear. The fact that Hermione could laugh with him, even be with him, after she knew one of his darkest secrets was unexpectedly exhilarating. "But you've changed the subject."

"I'm—well it's a bit embarrassing, really," Hermione said nervously as she idly brushed her thumb against his hairline. "I'm nervous about the ball."

Tom didn't bother masking his surprise. "What about it?"

"Well, I was planning on avoiding it entirely, but Professor Slughorn said that we're supposed to start off the dancing, and I don't really like dancing and I don't know if I'm supposed to go alone or we're supposed to go together or—"

"Hermione," Tom cut her off laughingly. "I haven't even thought about the ball, but of course we will go together."

"And do I have a choice in the matter?" Hermione snapped.

"I don't understand why you're angry. You said you were nervous about the dance, and having a date. Wouldn't going together solve both of those problems?"

"You're missing the point, Tom. You can't just decide that we're going together, or just decide that I'm your girlfriend."

"And what would you decide?" Tom asked, his voice silky but with an accompanying edge that he couldn't entirely bite back. He could practically taste the disappointment, bitter and dry on his tongue.

"The same," Hermione responded in a low voice, her big brown eyes reassuring and warm. Unfamiliar. Tom leaned forward and caught her slightly parted mouth with his own. She tasted sweet and salty, like taffies he would get at the orphanage once a year, always in the summertime.

Hermione broke the kiss too quickly for his liking, nose still pressed against nose. "Just because I would choose the same doesn't mean you can decide, though." Her voice was harsh, but her eyes betrayed her.

Tom sprung up, having her pinned down onto the couch horizontally within seconds as he started kissing and biting her neck insistently. "I can tell you're really upset with me, Hermione," he said, chuckling as she let out a low moan.

"Tom—I—we'll discuss this later," she relented. When he finally made his way over to her mouth, her kiss was devouring. He didn't mind.