Disclaimer: One day, I would love to wake up as J.K. Rowling, but alas, today is not that day.

THE CYNICS

Chapter One

Of Wandless Battles and Snakes

She was being chased, and there was hissing all around her.

"Why are you running?" a deep, velvety voice called from behind her. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sounded vaguely familiar, as if she had met him before but couldn't quite place him. Terror shot through her spine, although she didn't know why.

The castle was empty, but she didn't think about that. All that mattered was getting away from him, before she suffocated, before she drowned…

She turned down an unfamiliar corridor on the seventh floor. Flying past Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, past the painting of the Three Fates spinning their green thread, past the statue of Salazar Slytherin, she ran as fast as her petite legs could carry her. Her heart felt like it was about to implode, and her breath came in quick, sharp pants which pierced her chest. All her muscles burned. She had been running for hours.

"Please, just leave me alone!" she burst out, the urge to sob overwhelming. "Please! I… I don't want it! Not anymore!"

"You can't lie to me, pet," came the reply, and he sounded darkly amused. The hissing grew louder. "Don't forget, I have seen your heart's true desire. Stop running, and I will give you all."

Don't listen to him! she snapped at herself, gritting her teeth as her body started to slow down of its own accord. It was so tempting…

She took a sharp left, and stopped short in shock. She was suddenly on the second floor, in the girl's lavatory. No! How? There was no way to leave, other than the way she had come. Horror began to build inside her, and she quickly spun, needing to go back, but she couldn't. He was there.

She backed away, her eyes widening. "No… stay away…" A gasp left her mouth as she unexpectedly tripped, and fell to the ground, landing hard.

He was coming closer now, and as he passed the torches on the walls, the flickering light illuminated him. She stared at his face in fear… there was something about him, despite his lack of features; something she recognised…

"Granger!"

She knew who he was, but in her terror, couldn't place his name. Who was he? How did she know him? Did it really matter, now that she was cornered and he was going to kill her?

"You wanted my knowledge, my power," he murmured, sounding disappointed. "And now that you have tasted it, you flee? How can you truly be a Gryffindor, when you shy away from the energy which burns inside you? How can you truly be a witch, when you shrink back from the energy which flows through your veins?"

"Granger!"

"I should have never come to you," she whispered. "You're mad."

"Only as mad as you are, pet." His eyes flashed predatorily. "Was it not you who had them under your wand? Was it not you who uttered the first curse? Was it not you who would have left them to d-"

"GRANGER! WAKE UP!"

Her eyes flew open. For a split, panicky second, the pitch-black darkness of her surroundings made her believe she was still in that bathroom, and her heart squeezed in fear. Her wand, stashed under her pillow, was already in her hand before she became aware of the velvet canopy of her bed and the clock on her bedside table, which read 3:23 am. Lavender Brown was standing over her, her face twisted in irritation.

"Merlin, Granger," she snapped, sounding annoyed. Her brown hair was sticking up at angles, although she didn't seem to notice, and her nightgown was creased and rumpled. "You're meant to be the smartest witch in our year? Are you so daft you couldn't have at least put up a Silencing Charm? Some of us need to get our beauty sleep, you know." She gave a disdainful sniff.

"Clearly, not you," Parvati Patil's sleepy voice grumbled, causing Hermione to flush. She was glad that Lavender wasn't able to see it in the dark.

"Sorry," she said quietly, quickly stowing her wand back under her pillow. Her mind recognised, though, that Lavender had convenientlyforgotten to mention that this was only the second time she hadn't put up the charm, and she had been having the nightmares for months! It was completely unfair, but she wasn't up to arguing, especially in the middle of the night.

Lavender turned and climbed into her own bed. "Yes, well, don't forget it again!" she huffed, and then the dorm was quiet.

Looks like I won't be getting anymore rest, Hermione sighed, slumping back into her bed. She never could fall back asleep after waking from a nightmare. She was honestly surprised that it had taken until now for her to be woken up – most times she woke on her own just after midnight, drenched in a cold sweat.

Usually, she never remembered what the nightmares were about, but this one was clear as day. She heard the callous voice, saw the darkness of the bathroom, felt the freezing stone beneath her. It had been so vivid, and extremely terrifying.

She frowned as certain details were called to mind. Hissing… green thread… Salazar Slytherin…

Hissing…

Green thread…

Salazar Slytherin.

A soft groan escaped through Hermione's parted lips; her Ravenclaw best friend had called it correctly. Her obsession was getting out of hand, and it had even been spilling into her dreams.

"Always right, aren't you, Padma?" she murmured, although she wasn't too surprised. She had been fixated on her little project for over a year now, and in that time had even dropped a robe size because of it. Madam Pince had actually tried to ban her from the library for a week when she had found Hermione in there during dinner three nights in a row. She had thought that she had contained her obsession – her grades hadn't slipped, and she still spent as much time with Neville and Padma as she had before this whole debacle had even started – but this was just proof of the opposite.

Another groan escaped her. It didn't matter. This meant nothing. She wasn't going to stop.

Especially not when she was so close.

She could feel it in her bones: any day now, she was going make a breakthrough. She had been watching the Slytherins closely for months, and the contents of her trunk proved it. Carefully stashed away and locked with a spell she was sure none of her Third Year (and rather vapid) dorm-mates would be able to get through were some of her most prized possessions at the moment: notebooks, filled with all sorts of careful observations, theories and lists. Lots and lots of lists.

She wasn't delusional. She knew she was obsessed, but she was yielding results, so did it really matter? It was all there – all the pieces of the puzzle. She just needed to put it together.

Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes to get rid of the last remnants of drowsiness and slipped out of bed. There were still four hours before breakfast – plenty of time to get some work done. She glanced around her area of the dorm, looking for the pile of books usually kept at the foot of her bed. When her eyes landed on the book perched on the top of the pile, she snatched it up and headed for the bathroom.

First, she was going to wash her face and get into some comfier clothing. Then she'd be having a date with her new favourite book of late, Hogwarts: A History.

"You look like dragon dung," a soft voice greeted her as she descended the stairs from her dorm, causing her to pause. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the tall, slightly round boy waiting for her.

"Well, thanks Nev," she said wryly, injecting only the smallest amount of sarcasm into her voice. She continued down the stairs, and stuffed the Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions textbooks she was holding into her bookbag. "I'm sure any girl would be thrilled to be told that first thing in the morning. Good morning, by the way." Neville Longbottom returned the sentiment and chuckled, and she cracked a small grin. As she got closer to him, though, she couldn't help but add, "You smell like dragon dung."

Immediately, his cheeks reddened, but he looked rather pleased. "I've been up since five in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout."

"Oh?" Hermione adjusted the heavy bookbag on her shoulder and quirked an eyebrow as they began to leave the Gryffindor Common Room. "Don't let Padma hear you say that, I know what she'd say." Adjusting her voice to mimic their other friend's more feminine, high-pitched tone, she said, "Oh, really? Neville, I didn't know you were into the older, dirty type!"

In truth, Padma would probably have been even worse, maybe tacking on a quip about Sprout being a 'seedy character' or him trying to 'sow his oats' just to take the mickey. Hermione wasn't quite that mean.

"I was just helping her with a new batch of rare plants that came in!" he exclaimed, reddening even further. Hermione laughed and patted his shoulder fondly.

"You know I'm only teasing, Nev."

"Yeah, well… you and Padma are two beans in a Puffapod," Neville grumbled good-naturedly, shaking his head. As they stepped onto one of the moving staircases, he glanced at her. "Guess what plant we were working with?"

"Bubotubers?" she guessed idly. "Chinese Chomping Cabbage? Angel's Trumpet?"

"Wrong on all counts," he grinned. "We got some Blue Rooster Lace."

Hermione had been expecting a story about Mimbulus Mimbletonia or Pungous Onion or some other mundane plant, and knowing that a full recount of the morning's activities was coming, had already been preparing to tune Neville out. She loved him, she really did, and she was glad that there was something he was really passionate about, but most plants were just so boring. That name, however, pricked her interest, and she turned an attentive, and slightly guilty, gaze on him, hoping that he had missed it. "Blue Rooster Lace?"

He had a knowing smile on his face which told her he hadn't missed it, but Neville being Neville, he didn't mention it. "Yep! You know what it is, right?"

"Originates in Syria, extremely elusive and said to be used in ancient and permanent binding ceremonies?"

"That's the one," Neville nodded. "Although that last part is just a myth. Really, it's only good for Healing purposes – internal bleeding and stuff like that – but it takes so long to become truly potent that we're only keeping it for research and display purposes. Professor Sprout got two specimens from a wizard friend in Turkey, and-" he said this with pride clearly etched on his face, "-she reckons I'm the only one who can help her look after them! They're really beautiful."

"Awfully rare, too." Hermione looked thoughtful. She was no Herbologist, but she recognised an opportunity for academic research when she saw one. She'd read about Blue Rooster Lace before, and it was said to be very powerful. It was unlikely she'd ever get close to one outside of school. Maybe if she had a bit of spare time from her… personal project, she'd put in an appearance. "Do you think Professor Sprout would let me have a look at it some time?"

"Oh yeah, of course," Neville said enthusiastically. "And Padma, too. She loves this kind of thing."

"Of course," Hermione agreed. Padma loved flowers as well as learning new things, so it'd be perfect for her. It would probably get her off my back as well about spending time with her, Hermione thought absently.

They discussed some of the more obscure facts they knew about the Blue Rooster Lace all the way to the Great Hall. As they entered, the delicious scent of freshly baked bread, as well as eggs, bacon and sausages hit her nostrils. She breathed in deeply. You have to hand it to the English; we do make a good breakfast. Her stomach gave a loud growl.

"Hermione! Neville!"

The shout came from behind them, and Hermione turned to see a pretty Indian girl approaching them, looking cheerful and more put-together than anyone else who had sluggishly dragged themselves to the Hall. Her long, dark hair was already brushed and pulled into a thick braid, and she was smiling much too brightly for a Monday morning.

"Morning, Padma," Hermione and Neville greeted her in unison. Hermione tried not to allow too much enthusiasm in her voice (not that she was very enthusiastic at all, what with the little sleep she had gotten) – the Ravenclaw often tried to drag her into her infectious moods if she did. The bushy-haired brunette was obviously not a morning person.

Padma's smile didn't falter. "You look like dragon dung," Padma commented bluntly as she took in Hermione's appearance, causing her to scoff.

"Oh, not you too!"

"That's what I said!" Neville exclaimed. He turned to Hermione. "You never told me why."

"It's not important." She tried to say it as flippantly as possible, but they knew her well. Padma sent her a look that clearly said 'are you really going to try that on me?' while Neville just looked unimpressed. "Alright, alright, fine! Let's eat first, I'm absolutely starved."

They all trooped to their usual spot – the end of the Gryffindor table, closest to the Head Table and the professors. Hermione and Neville had chosen it in First Year, back when they had been the targets of some nasty bullying (which they still endured now, albeit in a watered-down fashion), and when Padma had become friends with them, she hadn't hesitated in ditching the Ravenclaw table, especially since she usually sat alone. That had caused her some disdainful looks from some of the Ravenclaws at first, but she got along well with the lot now, and these days, no one spared her more than a cursory glance. The Gryffindors even treated her like an honorary member – which was more than they could say for Hermione and Neville, their actual house-mates. That was due to Parvati's popularity, more than anything, but of the three of them, Hermione had to admit that Padma was much more adept at breaching social territory than she or Neville were. It was one of the reasons that made her question why Padma had befriended them, of all people, but she didn't think on it too much. She was just grateful to have her.

"So, about your dreadful appearance," Padma said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and taking a sip. "What's happening?"

Just thinking about last night caused Hermione to yawn. "I had a dream, that's all."

"What kind of dream?" Padma pressed. "It wasn't about failing exams again, was it? Because I told you – taking every single Third Year elective class is just asking for it."

"And I still have no idea how you're doing it," Neville muttered under his breath, piling his plate high with food.

"I'm doing fine in my classes," Hermione said defensively. "No, it's not that. It's just… I- I think you may be right." Her tone was grudging as she looked anywhere but at her friend. Padma didn't say anything, and when she finally did look at her friend, the other girl had her eyebrows raised.

"I get that you see me as fabulous and all-knowing – and that's very true, I am - but you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What exactly am I right about?"

Hermione looked around, as if preparing to impart a dirty secret. Perhaps it wasn't a dirty secret, but she still didn't want anyone else knowing about it. She didn't need them thinking she was more of a freak than they already did.

"My obsession… is getting a bit much," she finally said. "I had a nightmare about it."

"Aha!" Padma slammed a hand on the table a bit too enthusiastically, looking almost smug. "I told you, didn't I Neville?"

"What was your nightmare about, Hermione?" Neville asked, looking worried.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I was…running. This man was chasing me, and he was so familiar but I just couldn't recognise him. He was saying horrible things and he was just so- so dangerous." She twisted uneasily as she recalled it. "He cornered me in the second floor bathroom. I felt like I was going to die, like he was going to kill me. And… and there was a lot of hissing in the background," she finished lamely, avoiding their gazes. She quickly grabbed some baked beans and toast, just so she had something to fidget with. Ever since last year's incident, she had become somewhat restless and agitated.

Padma's smugness had collapsed into contemplation, while Neville looked downright concerned.

"It's your 'project'," Padma said slowly. "You're still trying to come to terms with what happened last year, and combined with the stress of all your classes and keeping tabs on the Slytherins…" The Indian girl looked at her friend critically. "I'm surprised you haven't had a nervous breakdown, or something. I really think you should give this up, Hermione."

That caused Herione to sit up. "But don't you see?" she gaped at her friend. "This just means I need to find the Heir sooner, so I can finally solve the mystery and move on! I can't just leave it unsolved! I've dedicated nearly a year to this!"

"How do you know it was the Heir?" Padma whipped back quickly. "What are the chances that there even is an Heir of Slytherin, let alone that he released some monster snake to specifically target you? It's a myth, and all you're going on is a pair of red eyes!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Padma," Hermione retorted, "you know me better than that. I have a lot more than a 'pair of red eyes'. I've been cross-referencing all the mentions I can find of the Chamber of Secrets-"

"-which. Is. A. Myth," Padma stated firmly. They locked eyes for a second, trying to get the other to budge as they often did when the two intellectuals butted horns, before Padma softened. As the Hall began to fill up with more people, she lowered her voice. "Hermione, I'm worried for you. You don't give yourself any free time – you're only ever studying, doing homework or looking for an Heir that doesn't exist! Sometimes you spend your meals just watching the Slytherin table, not even eating! It's not healthy."

"Hermione," Neville piped up, before Hermione could reply, "why are you looking so hard to find pieces of evidence to support your theory? I mean-" he shifted uncomfortably when her gaze fell on him, "-the teachers said-"

"They said that I got Petrified by a book!" Hermione was incredulous; as if her friends believed that bogus story! "Why on earth would I be reading The Gorgons' Handbook in the second floor lavatory? Professor McGonagall told me it's a Restricted Section book – I haven't even been near that section of the library yet!"

"But they found it beside you," Neville reasoned. "Maybe you just…forgot, or something." Hermione could feel herself going red now, irritation flashing across her face. Now he was just insulting her. "I mean, the Chamber of Secrets hasn't been opened since the Founders' time! Their– the teacher's version of events sounds a lot more plausible than an Heir who can command a Basilisk!"

"It's not, Neville," Hermione said obstinately. "Look, I never asked you two to be involved, alright? I didn't even want to tell you about my dream, because I knew you wouldn't understand." She tried to ignore the looks that Padma and Neville exchanged. "Can we change the subject?" she bit out. Her voice sounded sharp, even to her ears.

Padma looked like she wanted to argue more – dear Merlin, Neville was right: they were two beans in a Puffapod – but Neville immediately nodded. "Have you started your Care of Magical Creatures essay on merpeople yet, Padma?"

As Padma snorted ("Finished it the afternoon my class got it, Nev!"), Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on already. What an auspicious way to start the week: arguing with her two and only friends.

The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, although the tension between the two girls was palpable. Neville tried to engage both of them in conversation, but their stubbornness eventually caused him to give up and finish his meal quietly. She knew Padma only had her best interests at heart, but she really didn't understand. As the two Gryffindors stood to go to their first class – DADA – and promised to see her at lunch, the other girl merely murmured her goodbye and continued to eat, not looking up.

"We'd better hurry," Hermione said to Neville as they left the Hall. "If you don't want Malfoy to take our duelling spot again, that is."

Neville shuddered, and even turned a little green. "Definitely not. I made a fool of myself last week with everyone looking, and all."

"You did not," Hermione said. "You were just a little nervous, that's all. If Malfoy tries to take our duelling spot again, though, I'll hex him into six ways into Sunday!"

They were the first ones there, much to Neville's relief. The DADA classroom was empty but the door was wide open, which Hermione took as an invitation to go take their favourite duelling warm up spot – a corner near the back with plenty of space and less chance of getting hit by a stray hex from another pair. She'd never admit it because it was the class she did the worst in (as minute as the difference was), but this subject was her favourite. It was just so interesting, and she loved the practical use of magic. Theory and research would always be her first love, but actually performing – actually feeling the magic tingling in her, running in her blood– it was a whole other feeling altogether. It made her feel alive, and no matter what any of the Slytherins said, she knew she was really and truly a witch… and many of them had felt the proof of that, she remembered with a satisfied grin. As they waited for the rest of the class to arrive, she began to run over useful spells in her head.

Expelliarmus.

Stupefy.

Rictusempra.

Levicorpus.

"Always in it to win it, eh Granger?" an amused voice cut through her recital, and immediately, her cheeks began to warm up considerably. Quickly, she and Neville looked up to see their favourite teacher striding through the door, his crisp, black robes billowing around him in a somewhat dramatic fashion as he entered.

"Professor Black!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Sir," Neville said respectfully.

The handsome man gave a bark of laughter as he strode to the front of the classroom. "Now, now, children," he said, grey eyes twinkling, "how many times have I told you to call me Sirius? Especially you, Neville – we're practically family, is what we are!" He placed his brief case on the teacher's desk and waved his wand at the blackboard, which began filling up with instructions of its own accord. He then turned to them, a grin on his face. "Eager for today's lesson, are we?"

"We wanted to get here before the Slytherins," Hermione said truthfully, "so they wouldn't take our spot. We didn't much fancy having to warm up in the middle of the room again, with everyone watching and all."

Professor Black nodded seriously as if he understood, which he didn't, of course. Everyone knew that the DADA Professor loved being the centre of attention. "Those blasted Slytherins, eh? Never can get rid of them!"

"You'd never see the end of it if Black heard you say that," Neville said, giving a small chuckle as he relaxed. There was something about Sirius Black that was just so…comfortable. "Ursa, I mean."

"Tish tosh," was the reply. Professor Black waved a hand dismissively. "She should've been in Gryffindor, and I've been appealing to the Headmaster to get her Re-Sorted for three years." He winked. "We all know Gryffindor is where it's at, but you didn't hear that from me, got that? I'm not meant to play favourites."

Try telling that to Professor Snape, Hermione thought, and she knew Neville was thinking the same thing by the slightly sour look on his face, even as they laughed.

The rest of the class trickled into the room in small groups; or at least, the Gryffindors did. The lion's side of the room quickly filled up. Lavender and Parvati came in a few minutes after Hermione and Neville, and when they shot the brunette dirty looks, Neville looked at her questioningly. She just gave a minute shake of the head. Antagonism from them was nothing new.

The Slytherins arrived in one big pack, as they always seemed to do. Why, Hermione never knew, especially when they seemed to thrive on the principles of 'every man for himself, and don't expect me to catch you when you fall off of the broom I just cursed.' As seemed to be her habit these days, she couldn't stop her eyes from scanning the new arrivals. One of them was the Heir, she could feel it, and the most obvious candidate was Malfoy. He was a bigoted Pureblood git, after all, just like his House's Founder. His family was rich and influential, and had a history of being sorted into the snake house. He even had a personal vendetta against her!

The problem was, he was too obvious.

Professor Black leaned against the blackboard nonchalantly, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on many of the Third Year girls. The chattering in the room was loud and excited, and he cleared his throat twice. "Alright, alright, settle down!"

It was impressive that he was able to silence a Slytherin-Gryffindor class in less than five minutes; even more so that he had their undivided attention, at that. He looked appraisingly around his class, leisurely taking a head count. When he got to the Slytherins, he paused.

"And where, may I ask, are Potter and Black?" he asked in a thick, Scottish accent, causing the class to laugh. He had regaled them – "incredibly irresponsibly," he boasted – with many anecdotes of his time at Hogwarts, and several such stories had featured McGonagall asking much the same thing about him and his best friend James Potter some twenty-odd years ago. When no one replied, he quirked an eyebrow and turned to the Slytherin girl sitting closest to him. Her pretty, vaguely Asian features twisted in exasperation, and despite the fact that Professor Black would never be caught dead wearing a similar expression, the resemblance between her and the professor was incredibly obvious.

"Harry's helping my idiotic brother finish his DADA essay."

"Oh, that's right," Professor Black said, tapping a finger on his chin. "You probably put him up to that, didn't you, Ursa? I forgot that you all had that six foot essay on vampires due." The class groaned in disappointment, and he snickered and waggled his fingers at them like a child. "Haha, tricked you! I didn't forget at all, and I expect all of those on my desk at the end of the period."

He gestured to the blackboard beside him. "Moving on, while we wait for the Disastrous Duo to arrive, please read the instructions on the board. It's Monday, which means it's the weekly duelling tournament. As you can see, I've upped the ante – winner gets 150 house points and ten galleons." Excited whispers filled the air – the next Hogsmeade weekend was coming up, and it would be nice to have some extra change. Ronald Weasley perked up at that, and Hermione huffed when his obnoxious red head obstructed her view of the board (and the Professor).

"Yes, yes, I know. Money makes the world go round – and it also makes for lovely House competitiveness, am I right? This will be fun. I've made a little adjustment to our usual rules, though. To prevent a House from trying to advance their bestduellers by purposefully losing to them," his eyes darted quickly to the sighing Slytherins, although he looked more humorous than suspicious, "you're going to have to be partnered with someone from the opposite House." Groans met this announcement, and Hermione felt a hand on her arm. Neville looked slightly ill.

"There goes my chance of going down softly," Neville muttered to Hermione, who patted his shoulder. He wasn't the best dueller – he really only liked this class for the teacher - and had been allowing Hermione to beat him every week so he wouldn't have to face anyone else.

"You'll be fine, Nev," she said encouragingly. "Just try and disarm them, like I showed you. You don't have to go for an all-out fight."

He smiled weakly back at her. "Maybe if I get Goyle or Crabbe, I'll have a chance," he said hopefully.

"Not bloody likely, Lumpy Longbottom." Draco Malfoy had heard his last comment, and was now sneering at the two of them disdainfully. "I highly doubt you'd be able to disarm a shrub, let alone an actual wizard." Immediately, Neville's face flushed, and he dropped his gaze.

"You use that term dreadfully loosely," Hermione retorted scathingly, rushing to her friend's defence. "I don't think you or your two oafs would count as actual wizards in any sense of the word."

"Shut it, Mudblood," Malfoy snapped. "No one asked for your filthy opinion. Honestly, I haven't a clue how Longbottom manages to stay around you for so long – every time you open your gob, I want to puke."

Hermione glared at the snob. "In case you hadn't noticed, I-"

"Oi!" Professor Black was now trying to regain their attention, and as before, it worked near instantaneously. Hermione's mouth clicked shut, and she sent one last glower at Malfoy before facing the front. Again indulging in a slight dramatic flair, the professor magically produced a tall, pointed wizard's hat and announced that he would be drawing pairs from it.

Please give Neville Goyle, Hermione prayed. Or Crabbe. Either, as long as he gets one! He dreadfully needed a boost in confidence, and beating either Tweedledum or Tweedledee would accomplish that.

"Finnigan and Parkinson!" At the sound of their names, the two looked at each other and exchanged curt nods, standing up to move to a corner of the room to warm up.

"Davis and Dunbar!"

"Lestrange and Weasley!"

"I'm going to have fun with this, Blood Traitor," Aquila Lestrange hissed gleefully, tossing her dark, wild curls over her shoulder. Ronald paled.

"Patil and Greengrass!"

"Thomas and Nott-"

Suddenly, the door to the classroom burst open, and in tumbled two tall figures. Hermione, having been waiting for her name, looked towards the door in aggravation. It grew when she saw exactly who was interrupting.

Here we go again, Hermione thought irately. Can't those two ever be on time, just once? They have no respect for anyone's time but their own!

Professor Black had placed the wizard's hat down, and was now watching them. "I was wondering if we were going to get an appearance from the Troublesome Two today," he said mildly, folding his arms over his chest.

The one with the green and silver tie had the decency to look sheepish, running a hand through his black, messy hair, although his companion – also with black hair, although his was perfectly kept with not a strand out of place – grinned arrogantly, his scarlet and gold tie loose around his neck.

"Sorry, dad," Aurigan Black said, not looking in the least bit bothered as he sauntered into the class and took a seat. "We were finishing our essays."

Harry Potter adjusted his glasses. "He just needed- er, last minute editing."

"I see," Professor Black hummed. "Considering you were carrying out a community service, Potter, I'll let you slide. Black, we will continue this discussion after class; 6 o'clock in my office, to be exact. Take your seats."

"Aw, come on!"

Hermione was pleased that Black was being put in his place. The annoying prat was arrogant to the core, and thought Gryffindor (and Hogwarts) were his kingdom. He had never been one of the Gryffindors to tease her, opting to ignore her completely, but his entire attitude just rubbed her the wrong way. He was a bit more bearable with Potter, though, as ironic as it seemed to put two troublemakers together to lessen the damage – the Slytherin had a calmer, less excited temperament which seemed to balance him out.

The professor ignored his son's grumbling and continued to draw pairs.

Hermione's heart went out as Neville was paired with Ursa Black, and he looked none too happy as he tried (and failed) to stare down the quiet girl. Lavender was paired with Zabini, Malfoy with Aurigan Black, and Dean with Nott, and as she scanned the rapidly dwindling pool of possible partners, she felt her competitiveness grow ten-fold. It looked like some twist of luck – or more likely, Professor Black's meddling – was going to pair her with one of the two best duellers in the class. I'm going to have fun with this, she thought, feeling her lips tug into the smallest of grins. Hermione held her breath when she heard her name being called.

"Granger and Riddle."

And there it was. Somehow, she had known that Professor Black would pair her with either Riddle or Potter. After all, they were the top three in the class, with Hermione and Riddle battling it out for first and Potter trailing not far behind. It was a hard battle, she had to admit. She always had to stay at least two steps ahead of him, or she'd find herself five steps behind. Riddle met her eyes, and smiled at her. She gave a shy smile back.

They had had a rivalry of sorts since First Year. She had first met him on the Muggleborns' tour of Diagon Alley; McGonagall had gathered up all the incoming Muggleborn students and their parents to show them their first taste of the Wizarding World, and it had been apparent even then that Tom Riddle was different. The other students in the group had been too awed to do anything but stare, but Riddle had seemed more curious than awed, and he had asked intelligent questions about every single thing they saw. It had been nice to finally talk to someone who was bookish, and it helped that he was incredibly charismatic, too. By the end of the tour, he had not only charmed Hermione, but both her parents, McGonagall, half of the rest of the parents and most of the other kids.

When they had arrived at Hogwarts, she did not talk to him. Unsurprisingly, he had amassed a sizeable group of friends on the train alone, and she didn't pay much attention to him after that – it was becoming rather obvious that he was one of those popular types, and they never had any interest at all in talking to her. She didn't think of him again – aside from hearing his name a few times in the gossiping Gryffindor girls' conversations – until she realised that she was not competing for first in the grade with a Ravenclaw, but with him! He didn't even seem to study! He had time to balance his friends, a social life and academics without even trying, while she had to double her efforts just to make sure she stayed a step or two ahead of him.

He didn't try to draw attention to himself, but it seemed to follow him wherever he went. He had never truly acknowledged any sort of rivalry, although she and everyone else in the grade knew it existed. He had been polite to her, as he was to everyone, and had continued on his way. She should have been bitter, because the situation was completely unfair. They were so very similar – Muggleborn, intelligent, studious, quiet – but simply because of his superior social skills (and his admittedly superior good looks), he was accepted willingly and gladly by the student population, while she was ostracised. She wasn't bitter though. He was just so… so…

Nice.

"Let's make this challenging for both of us, okay Riddle?" Hermione said, taking her stance in the part of the room they had been designated. She brandished her wand slightly, enjoying the feeling of her magic rushing up to meet the smooth wood. "No holding back!"

Riddle nodded slightly and smiled again, although she noticed that this time, it looked slightly forced. Odd. "Of course, Miss Granger."

There it was again, him being so bloody nice! The formal language would have seemed rather odd on another thirteen year old, but on him, it only added to his character. Slytherins usually called her by any number of endearing nicknames – Mudblood, know-it-all swot and bushy-haired beaver being among the favourites – but he never joined in, and they didn't even seemed to resent him for it. Really, he seemed more suitable for Hufflepuff than the den of snakes.

"Alright, guys! I want a clean duel," Professor Black said loudly. "No hexing appendages off, definitely no dying. I don't fancy having to fill in mounds of paperwork if one of you little imps gets too overzealous. Harmless little hexes and jinxes, or Expelliarmus. Also, no trying to hit other pairs – I've put in the spells for that!" He sent a look particularly at Lestrange, who only sneered. "Got it?"

A murmur of assent filled the air, and he nodded. "Right. Begin!"

Hermione eyed Riddle, and she noticed he was doing the same. His wand dangled loosely in his fingers, giving off the impression that he was slightly unfocused, and she narrowed her eyes. What a Slytherin tactic – feigning distraction to lull the opponent into a false sense of security. There was some snake in him after all, but there was no point using the technique on her and he knew it. She was aware of exactly how powerful he was.

"Furnunculus!"

And so it began.

He dodged her spell easily, and before she had time to even register that fact, had shot off his own. "Petrificus Totalus!"

His aim was good. Very good. Hermione grit her teeth as she dived to the floor, scraping her knees in the process. Ouch. "Tarantallegra!"

Another dodge. "Rictusempra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Immobulis!"

"Stupefy!"

"Tarantallegra!"

Barely two minutes into the duel, and Hermione was already sweating. Clenching her jaw, she realised he was observing her, and cursed Merlin's sweaty underpants to Hades and back. He wasn't even trying! He didn't look remotely tired, his wand was still loose in his fingers and he looked rather superior.

"Exhausted already, Miss Granger?" he asked. His concerned look was very convincing.

"Not at all," she lied, picking herself up. "On the contrary, I'm just getting started. Levicorpus!"

They continued like this for some time.

As the minutes ticked by, Riddle seemed to switch from returning spells to simply deflecting them. She could tell he wasn't using non-verbal spells because his mouth was whispering the incantations quietly – even the brilliant Riddle wasn't that talented – but she couldn't hear what that incantation was. She was dying to know! How was he deflecting her so well, without even a physical barrier?

Her frustration grew even more as she realised that most of the rest of the class was already finished. The only other pairs left duelling were Malfoy and Black, and Potter and Roper.

Right. Time to give it her all.

She sent a volley of spells at him in rapid speed, as fast as her speech and wand arm could carry her. She could tell the exact moment he began to pay attention, because his body tensed and he looked almost surprised. Spell after spell flew from her wand, until finally, in irritation, she cried, "Incendio!"

She regretted it as soon as it escaped her mouth. That wasn't a harmless jinx or spell, and Merlin, she didn't want to burn him. However, she needn't have worried, it seemed. To her complete and utter disbelief... Riddle was now surrounded in a light blue, transparent shield. What in the world?

"Very good, Riddle!" Professor Black called excitedly from his seat on the teacher's desk, where he was watching the various duels with amusement. He seemed particularly focused on theirs. "Looks like we've got a prodigy here, folks. That's a bona fide Protego or Shield Charm - many grown adults can't even work that spell!"

There was a slightly smug smirk on Riddle's face now, and he raised an eyebrow at Hermione, as if to say 'well?' She wanted to scream! Clearly, when it came to duelling, he was on a whole other level of skill. How was she ever meant to compete with th-

There was a long, loud hiss, and suddenly, she froze.

All motion in the room stopped. Her eyes immediately darted around, looking for the source of that dreadful noise. Hermione's mind rapidly caught up to what she was seeing, and she forced herself to breathe. Malfoy had used Serpensortia, and now, there was a very large, very hungry-looking snake slithering in the room. It seemed to be heading right towards her – or more precisely, towards her and Riddle.

Hissing…

Green thread…

Salazar Slytherin…

BANG.

She didn't know where the noise had come from, but suddenly, everyone in the room was screaming and Professor Black was trying to get rid of the snake, to no avail. It seemed Malfoy's variant – and Dark – Serpensortia was insusceptible to the usual Vipera Evanesca, and now Professor Black was trying every Banishing and Vanishing spell he could think of, as was Riddle.

She was still frozen.

Merlin, she hated snakes. Ever since last year, she had gone out of way to avoid anything that even depicted a snake – they all brought back pangs of fear that she hadn't quite gotten over yet. Her eyes fixed on the long, brown reptile; its tongue was darting out in a way that she most certainly did not like, and it made her skin crawl. Merlin, angels and gods above, keep that thing away from me!

There was a commotion in the middle of the room as people – especially those with severe ophidiophobia - stampeded over each other to get out of the classroom. As Pansy Parkinson burst out in tears, Professor Black turned from the reptile for an instant, shouting, "Stay calm everyone! For Merlin's sake, it's just a snake!"

In the moment that Professor Black was distracted, a sharp movement caught Hermione's attention, and she noticed Riddle's head bend towards the snake. Almost as if he was spitting, he seemed to be muttering some wandless spell, his tongue darted out unnervingly like the reptile's. It only lasted a split second, and then, to her astonishment, the snake manoeuvred around him and began moving towards the door. Wait- had he just told the snake to-

All those in its path stopped their shouting and scrambled away, watching with wide eyes as it left the room and disappeared around a corner. Professor Black cursed under his breath, and throwing a "Don't try anything until I get back!" over his shoulder, ran out after it.

Then there was silence. What had just happened?

Hermione felt like she had just seen Riddle grow another head. An idea was forming in her mind… one she didn't know if she wanted to look into or not. He was standing there, looking just as shocked as everyone else, but she wondered…

That was when she noticed his wand dangling in his hand – this time, he truly did look unfocused. Not even aware of what she was doing, "Expelliarmus!" suddenly escaped from her mouth. A wand flew into her hand, and her eyes widened when she realised she had just disarmed Tom Riddle, who was looking at her with incredulity. "Oh gods, I didn't meant to do that! I am so sorr-"

"Oh, that is rich, Mudblood Granger," Malfoy drawled, eyeing her as if he had never seen her before. "Are you so desperate to fool yourself into thinking you're better than Tom that you'll stoop to cheating?"

The entire class was looking at her now, and she was going very red, very quickly. What had she been thinking? Shame filled her as most of the group shot her disdainful looks and began muttering amongst themselves. She didn't know what to say – for once, she was at a loss. Looking for support, she looked for her one friend in the class. Where was Neville?

"He was sent to the Hospital Wing," a voice said beside her, and she whipped around to find Riddle less than a metre away from her. "Ursa might have been a bit too fervent with her Avis Oppugno."

"Listen, Riddle, I'm so sorry. I have no idea what came over m-" she tried to apologise, but he held up a hand. She immediately fell silent.

"Wasn't very Gryffindor of you, was it?" he asked rhetorically. "My wand, please."

She wordlessly handed it over.

His eyes once again observed her. She had no idea what was going on behind those dark, calculating eyes, but she suddenly found she didn't like that stare. Especially when she was under it. "You won, Miss Granger. My sincerest congratulations."

"I didn't win-" she insisted, but he cut off her again.

"But you did." He raised a dark eyebrow at her, seeming to weigh the pros and cons of saying whatever he was planning to say next. After a pause, he said in a low voice, "In this world, you don't survive by observing rules and nobility." That caused her to frown – he was the epitome of nobility and rule-observing! This definitely didn't sound like the Tom Riddle she had been in classes with for the past three years; the practically Hufflepuff boy she had been competing against. "You do what you can to gain an advantage." He began to move past her, towards his group of loyal cronies, but stopped right beside her. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet." There was an odd note in his voice, one that she struggled to place-

-until she realised: he sounded impressed. As if he approved of her spur of the moment, spontaneous cheating.

Riddle moved past her to join his group. More contemptuous looks were sent her way, but Hermione didn't notice. Her brain was working at a hundred and fifty miles per hour – he was impressed with her? Genius, child prodigy Tom Riddle, impressed with annoying Mudblood Granger?

And then she remembered what had happened not five minutes ago, and her brain went into overdrive - what had she just witnessed? Had that truly been a wandless spell that Riddle had been spitting at the snake? Or had she just seen Tom Riddle talk to the snake? Had anyone else noticed it too?

Judging by the crowd around him, no doubt consoling him, they hadn't. Her eyes narrowed at the back of his dark hair, and her fingers itched in anticipation. Oh yes, I saw you, Riddle, she thought.

Hermione Granger now had a new target to focus on, but first, she needed to go to the library.

A/N: And thus conclude the first two parts of my first multi-chap here. Can I get a HELL YEAH? Big thanks to Wolfman217, who gave me the the basic premise and inspiration for this story, and is also Beta-ing for me!

Just warning all you potential readers now, I'm an erratic updater, because I'm an erratic writer. I've never - no matter how hard I've tried - been able to keep to a writing schedule, so expect this to come in random bursts. I'll try and update at least fortnightly, though, especially because this story is going to take some time. I'm envisioning this as some great masterpiece, but we'll see how that turns out. :P It'll span from Third Year to graduation and beyond, but I'm not entirely sure yet how I'm going to condense the years so that this doesn't turn into a 1,000,000 word extravaganza.

Reviewers and followers get my first newborn, as well as all the Nutella in my cupboard.

~ Philaria