Hey guys,

Firstly, thank you so much for your reviews, loving them!

Just before you delve into the next chapter, I wanted to clear up some confusion:

Guest: I do have 1 point of critique; Peter Pettigrew as in the "friend" of James, Sirius and Remus wasn't born yet in 1951 or he was a baby, but not a grown man.

The Pettigrew in my story is William, not Peter. William is actually Peter's father and although I did mention Peter in Chapter One, it was only to compare his skills to his father's.

At least I think it would be his father in the timeline. If I'm wrong, feel free to correct me and I'll amend the story a bit for future chapters if need be :)

Time really is a complicated matter haha!

I know SilverySky8 already cleared it up, so a huge thank you for that :)

Previously...

She thought her only mistake would be cursing that rat, Pettigrew. But no, here she stood, in an area of the mansion she knew nothing about, or what directions she had taken to get there, with the arm of Lord Voldemort still wrapped around her.

Maybe Snape was right, maybe the Know-It-All wasn't a Know-It-All after all.

"Dead woman walking"

A smirk graced his face and she got the intense feeling he knew she was uncomfortable around him. She supposed it was quite obvious, she was ridiculously tense, every blink she made was carefully considered before she performed the action.

He slowly removed his arm from supporting her, his fingertips grazing her back with a feather tip touch. She was growing angry, he was doing it on purpose, knowing full well what her reaction would be. Besides, she knew as well as he did that, that touch was not considered very gentlemanly in the 1950's if both parties were unmarried. Usually she was in control of her emotions, normally she would be able to conceal the truth from her features, but he was making it more difficult. Maybe it was just his presence. After all, he was in the room when she had duelled with Pettigrew, and he was looking on as she had a mini panic attack just moments ago, and now he was here, with that stupidly smug look on his face. He put her on edge and she hated him for making her lose her cool. This was not the Hermione Granger, or the Hermione Burke, she knew. She needed to get her act together.

"Would you like something to calm your nerves Miss Burke?" his suave voice distracted her from her growing murderous thoughts. His ice blue eyes not letting go of her chocolate coloured ones.

Could he be trusted to give her a drink, which she desperately needed at this point, and not spike it with some sort of truth serum? Could she be trusted to not let a glass of firewhisky go to her head?

She was immediately pulled out of her thoughts again by a sharp prodding in her mind. He was trying to use legilimency on her. How dare he?! Her eyes narrowed into slits, the fury and outrage fuelling her glare. Thankfully she and Harry had practiced occlumency since their fifth year, just when Harry had begun his private lessons with Snape. They had both become rather proficient at it, Hermione finding it easy to surpass Harry's skills in the area. Ron had found it difficult, only reaching an amateur level. He wouldn't have had a chance against someone as experienced as Voldemort.

Hermione pushed him out of her mind with ease, maybe even with a bit more strength than necessary. But she didn't want him anywhere near her thoughts, she didn't want him to taint her precious memories like he had done with the beauty that was the wizarding world.

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He was the master of manipulation and he was certainly a master at hiding his thoughts and emotions. There wasn't even a flicker of feeling in his cold eyes, no twitch beside his thin lips, nothing. He was a blank canvas.

She realised how important it was that she got close to him and earned his trust, figure out what ticked him off. No-one could be that perfect at their facade all the time, he had to have tells and she was determined to find out what they were. Once Hermione Granger had her mind set on something, there was no alternative but to achieve it. She didn't give up that easily, no matter how many negative thoughts planted themselves firmly into her mind.

One of his dark eyebrows, which she initially thought was black, until she got a closer look and noticed it was actually a very dark brown, rose to form an arch. His icy blue eyes, which were splattered with tiny flecks of gold, laughed at her. Her own honey brown eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why was he laughing at her? She hadn't done anything to warrant his amusement.

His aristocratic nose led straight down to his thin and even lips, which were upturned slightly to the side. He was smirking again. He was attractive, devilishly so, and as she took her time reviewing every minuscule detail on his face, she could understand why so many fell for him, why all the women fawned over him and all the men doted on his every whim. She couldn't blame them.

Those who didn't know who he was or what he was capable of saw an attractive and successful young man, soon to reach his prime. He was going places and he was going to be someone, and he would, in their minds, hopefully be settling down soon. Seeking a wife to share a home with and raise a family. It was all the socialites could ever hope for, a rich, successful husband and sons to continue building the family name.

Those who knew what he was truly like behind the sympathetic and caring mask he often wore, were too scared to run away. He'd find them and torture them, they knew. they had his dark mark. The only way they could escape his grasp was death, and that was a step they were unprepared to take. They had families, businesses that needed to grow and a name they needed to make prominent in society. It was one thing to die a coward but another to die as a failure.

"Well, Miss Burke? As much as I appreciate the longing stares and as much as I would love to gaze upon your beauty, I'm afraid I don't have all the time in the world." Her cheeks heated up in humiliation as she remembered he was waiting for an answer to his question. He had asked if she needed a drink to calm her nerves and she had answered by goggling at him. Wonderful, she had successfully made herself out to be another of those witless, unintelligent women with nothing but sex on the brain.

"Fire.. Firewhisky please", she stuttered. This whole day was turning out to be a disaster. He gave a sharp nod, the amusement never leaving him as he turned to prepare the drink she had asked for by the bar in the corner of the room. She kept her eyes on him, she couldn't afford to zone out again, she had to remember just who she was sharing the room with. This moment was crucial, she had to make sure he didn't put anything in her drink or take her dazed state as an opportunity to attack her. She had raised too much suspicion, gaining the unwanted interest of the Dark Lord was never a good sign.

"Ice, Miss Burke?"

"No, thank you Mr Riddle." She moved over to the bar to take hold of the full glass he offered her in his outstretched hand. "Thank you", she said as she took it from him. His fingers gently brushed over hers, goosebumps rose on her flesh. She was confused, why did he insist on touching her? Was he winding her up on purpose, trying to get reactions from her? She needed a clear head and time to think everything through properly. She needed to process her reactions as well as his and she definitely couldn't do that while he was standing in front of her with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his stupid face. She downed her drink without a second thought.

"Better?" he asked, his right eyebrow rising on his face again as he watched on.

"Much. Well, I'd best be off now," she hurriedly placed the glass in front of him, avoiding all physical contact she possibly could. "You can probably tell it's been quite the night for me and I'm in need of some rest and relaxation. Thank you for looking after me Mr Riddle, I appreciate it". She meant it, she realised. She needed that comfort and the protection that he offered from the eyes eager to take in all the information. They would have been staring so they could add some exciting features into the gossip that would surely begin the circuit regarding her breakdown.

"Miss Burke, you've just drowned your liver in very strong Firewhiskey. If you believe for even a second I'm going to allow you to leave in such a hurry while under the influence, you are very much mistaken. How do you propose on getting home, may I ask?"

"The way I came Mr Riddle, apparation," she was insulted and she was sure it came across in her tone. Did he honestly think she was incapable of getting home on her own, like the rest of the ditzy women strutting around in the ballroom? She wasn't about to let him think she was an unintelligent, inbred woman with the mentality of a 13 year old school girl. He may be the Dark bloody Lord, but she was Hermione Granger, and he best not forget it! "I am not some harpy that would remain, unaccompanied, with a wizard who is unmarried and clearly has no intention of marrying me! And I am most certainly able to handle my drink, I'll have you know. I would make a wager that I could beat you at a competition Mr Riddle, however I strongly believe you'd be too cowardly to engage in any sort of competition with myself. Additionally, I am a powerful witch who does not need to rely on the capabilities of a wizard to escort her home, no matter who said wizard is, or even if I was to be greeted by a raging herd of centaurs and dragons at my front door. Yes, I had an unfortunate moment a short while ago but I think you'll find I came back from it rather well."

As she was scolding him for his assumptions that he could tell her what to do and his sexist ideologies, she had backed up, finding her way to the doors to the room. Turning the handle behind her back, so she could face him the entire time, she opened the door slightly, just enough so she could fit through the space.

"Also, I was not staring longingly at your face, it's much too hideous for my tastes." She quickly slammed the door shut, not catching his face flickering between a look of shock and anger, and stomped her way to the end of the long hallway, finding the front door directly to her right, with light streaming in. As she continued to stamp her feet to the front door, her brain caught up with her and nervous giggles escaped her mouth.

She had told off Tom Riddle like he was a child, the man who had destroyed her world. The man who was capable of destruction, and she had admonished him. Her legs carried her just beyond the anti-apparition lines and just before she apparated, she remembered she had insulted the Dark Lord by calling him both a coward and hideous.

She was a dead woman walking.

Hey guys :)

Thanks again for taking the time to read this chapter. Very much appreciate it.
I'm constantly changing the story line and my brain is very much muddled like Hermione's, trying to figure out where the story should go and what to add next.

Your opinions and directions for 1951 - The Beginning, are always welcome and accepted with open arms.
I'm so looking forward to writing the next chapter and adding another layer to the story.

I'll update again soon! Hopefully I'll see you all then :) x