Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me

URGH, I can't believe how long it's been since I last updated! I have no excuse so all I can say is that I'm so so sorry to everyone and thank you so much for your patience and support! I really hope that you'll stick with me and please enjoy this chapter!

Yeps, this is just the re-posted version cuz of some editing probs.

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Chapter 8

The sunlight glinted merrily off the towering Quidditch hoops located on either end of the vast stadium. Accompanied by the boisterous, non-stop chattering of hundreds of excited students, the entire atmosphere that blustery November afternoon was alive with grinning expectation.

"I can't believe we got such good seats this time! We're pretty much dead centre!"

Matilda bounced happily in her seat, waving enthusiastically at some girls from Ravenclaw in the tower to their left.

"Well, I can't believe we came out so early to get them! We'd better win today, I can tell you that much!"

"Don't worry; the boys have been practising like mad these past few weeks. Nobody wants to see Gryffindor lose to Slytherin, especially in the first game of the year."

Allegra stretched lithely, nudging Hermione in the process.

"You excited, Hermione?"

"Of course. Who wouldn't be?"

Wrapping her scarf more securely around her neck, Hermione could not help but laugh aloud as she surveyed the scene before her. It looked as though the every single student was there, the stands packed with solid blocks of the various house colours.

The excitement in the air was contagious, sparking that flame of youth inside her that Hermione thought had long since extinguished. Matilda shook her arm rather energetically from her right.

"Look, the game's starting!"

Headmaster Dippet was standing up in the tower directly across from theirs. His frail form looked almost as if he could be blown over the edge at any moment. Raising his arms for silence, he beamed as the noise quickly reduced to a simmering rumble.

"Thank you all for coming out this wonderful Saturday afternoon to join us for the opening match of this year's Quidditch House Cup! And now, it's my pleasure to bring out our two outstanding teams: Gryffindor and Slytherin!"

Fourteen blurs of colours shot into the air, eliciting numerous whoops and cheers. A tall figure in crimson and gold could be seen hovering in the centre of the field across from the captain of the Slytherin team. Some sixth-year Gryffindor girls seated in front of them clapped loudly, screaming 'Gideon!' at the top of their lungs.

Mae leaned over to wink at Hermione, lowering her voice to a stage whisper.

"Gid's fan club. Scary, huh?"

The two of them chuckled as the whistle sounded and the game began. Players whizzed around the field, the fierce thumps of wood hitting Bludgers and the bell clanging as points gradually amassed resounding amidst the thunderous shouts.

"Whohoo! Look at him go!"

Allegra jumped up, hollering and clapping her support as one lone figure high above the stands suddenly took a sharp turn and sped towards the lower spectator stands right beneath where they were sitting. The crowd of Hufflepuffs sucked in a collective gasp as Wills hurtled towards them in earnest, his body flattened against his broomstick as he looped around the players effortlessly.

"Wills, watch out!"

Hermione screamed as a Bludger zoomed head-on towards the familiar figure, completely caught up in the thrill of the moment despite herself. It was as if she was back in Hogwarts again, cheering on her boys as they revelled in their sport.

Amazingly enough, the Seeker seemed to hear her over the din of the crowd. His head turned in her direction slightly, just enough to apparently catch a glimpse of the oncoming danger. He visibly sped up, one arm outstretched to grab what was obviously the much-desired little flutter of gold.

A huge roar rose up from the stadium as his hand triumphantly closed in the air, drowning out the scattered boos from the opposing Slytherin house. Those cheers reached a deafening pitch when Wills led the still-following Bludger straight into Callum's bat.

"We won, 'Mione! We won!"

Laughing, the girls clung to each other, applauding wildly as the entire team landed on the grass in a back-slapping mess of robes. The sight of the seven Slytherin players alighting in a snarling, humiliated pack was the last thing Hermione saw before Allegra tugged her down the rickety flight of stairs, the throng of students around them already moving in the same direction.

"Celebration back in the common-room tonight! You've got to come, Hermione! No excuses this time!"

"Okay, okay."

Half-jogging and half-stumbling, the group laughed its way back to the castle.

-o-O-o-

"Alright, who's up for another drink?"

Raucous shouts of approval could be heard from around the entire Common Room in response to the vaguely drunken slur. Magically pulling out another stack of Butterbeers, the man of the hour tossed back one himself, heartily sprawling out on the already crowded sofa in front of the lit fireplace. Peftal, one of the more exuberant seventh-years, slapped Wills on the shoulder, clinking his bottle with his so hard that some of the golden-brown liquid sloshed on to the rug.

"You've got to tell us your secret, mate! You've kept it for six whole years; that's plenty enough!"

"Which one? How I get all this food, you greedy bugger, or how I became such an amazingly gifted Seeker?"

Wagging his eyebrows flirtatiously at an adorably blushing younger student sitting near him, the boy launched into a detailed and hilariously exaggerate story merging his two most admired talents together.

"He's quite the show-stealer, isn't he, Gid?"

Elbowing the relaxed Captain none-too-gently in the ribs, Constance threw a cushion playfully at Monessa, causing her to shriek and teeter on her perch atop Callum's lap. Hermione laughed as a mini-cushion fight ensued, artfully dodging the flying weapons as they were hurled haphazardly across the small circle of cushy chairs.

"Pretty good moves there, Granger. Sure you don't want to rethink that anti-Quidditch thing?"

"I'm pretty sure, I…"

"What do you mean, anti-Quidditch?"

By now, the faint Scottish drawl held a distinctly drunken edge to it. Draping an arm affectionately over Hermione's shoulders, Wills squeezed into the chair right beside her. He grinned cheekily at her, deftly replacing her empty bottle with a fresh one.

"You're not anti-Quidditch, are you love? I heard you out there, you know. Yelling for me, watching my back, screeching your support…"

Planting a quick kiss on her cheek, the boy teasingly nuzzled closer. Hermione swatted at him good-naturedly, knowing his character well enough by this time to not be offended or take him too seriously.

"I beg your pardon, I wasn't screeching. And if I remember correctly, I happened to save you from getting your head bashed in so I should think that you ought to be grateful."

"Can't you tell? I'm plenty grateful, love. Love, love, my love."

Pulling her into a loose hug, he flashed her a heartfelt smile. Hermione returned it with one of her own, her cheeks warm with gentle pleasure.

"Oi, oi!"

The exasperated tone was accompanied with a slightly raised eyebrow. Gideon flipped his wand at the chestnut-haired boy, effectively levitating the open bottle in the other boy's hand into his own.

"You're drunk, mate. Can't have you harassing the girls here, now can I?"

"Girls or one girl in particular?"

The group burst into laughter, with even Gideon joining in despite his reddened face. Mercifully for him, no one called him on his lack of response to the question. Clearing his throat, he leaned forwards with what Allegra called his 'captain-expression' on his face, but not before kicking Wills rather obviously in the leg.

"But seriously, this has got to be the best thing that could have happened. I know Baulmar and he's a nasty piece of work. Those Slytherins have been playing dirtier and dirtier ever since he became captain. We're lucky the game ended so quickly or else we would have been in a rough ride."

"Yeah, remember that little stint Peonie pulled last year? Peonie, my arse! That beast of a witch nearly broke my damn shoulder, I tell you!"

Sounds of agreement came from the rest of the Gryffindor team, each relating their own catalogue of near or real injuries sustained at the hands of the Slytherin team. Hermione listened quietly, sipping her drink as she leaned back into the chair. Wills' arm was still around her, comfortably serving as a neck rest even as he participated somewhat loudly in the conversation.

"I can't believe he did that! Ruddy bast…!"

"Language, Ronald!"

"Yeah, well, you know what I mean! Got me right in the back too! Could've broken my spine and left me paralyzed!"

"Actually, Ron, that's probably what he was trying to do in the first place."

"You know what? I bet it was! I swear, the next time I see the little sod, I'm going to hex him so bad that his balls are going to jum…"

"Ronald!"

Hermione blinked. The sight of the sleeping unicorn painting hanging on the wall was surprisingly blurry. Rubbing her eyes, she shifted in her seat. Her head was pounding all of a sudden, the contents of her stomach churning restlessly. She felt utterly exhausted.

"Hey, are you alright, 'Mione?"

Allegra carefully plucked the dangling bottle from her limp grasp. She peered at her friend's pale face in concern, gently brushing the hair from her face. Hermione managed a weak smile, sitting up straighter.

"I'm fine; it's nothing. Probably just tired from all the excitement today."

The arm around her shoulder tightened minutely as Wills turned to her. There was genuine worry in his eyes, oddly discernible and clear despite his intoxicated state.

"You're tired an awful lot, love. Maybe you should get it checked out."

She shook her head, extricating herself from his hold and standing. The room seemed terribly stifling for some reason, the endless chatter and general partying creating a dull ache in her chest. She could feel the rest of the group staring at her now.

"I'm really fine. It's just all the stress and everything; I've stretched myself too thin. I think I'll just go to bed early, okay?"

A round of nods and murmurs came in response. Hermione didn't realize just how tired she really was until Monessa stood as well, linking her arm through hers protectively.

"Why don't you stay here tonight, Hermione? You can bed with me, if you want. We just won the first game of the year; I'm sure Professor Merrythought won't mind."

Hermione smiled again, the expression feeling forced even to herself. What she really needed was to get out of there, away from all the noise and all the people.

"I'd love to, thank you. But I've still got to do my rounds first."

"Then I'll do them with you. Come on."

This time, it was Gideon who stood up. His hair gleamed in the soft lighting, dark and windblown. Hermione looked away.

"No, it's alright. I can do them by myself. I just…I just need some fresh air; it's a bit hot in here, isn't it? Don't worry; I'll be back in a bit."

Quickly moving away from them, she weaved her way through the crowded common-room and out the entrance. The moment the Fat Lady closed behind her, Hermione started running, grateful for the sting of cold air rushing past her.

Why? Why?

Her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor and became muffled as she hit grass. She didn't know how long or how far she ran until the huge wooden Quidditch stadium loomed over her, its shadow blocking out what little moonlight there was. Hermione collapsed against the side of the stadium, panting and gasping against the furious cramp in her side.

He looked so much like him. His brilliant Gryffindor robes streaming in the wind as he zipped past her on his broomstick. The carefree joy of flying marked every turn he made, his talent and love for the game cried out to her as she cheered for him from her earthbound position in the stands.

Oh, Harry.

Huddling into a dejected little ball, Hermione remembered all those times he used to practice at night, with Ron occasionally pestering him to borrow his broom. A quiet chuckle made its way pass her lips.

"I'm pathetic, aren't I?'

"Yes."

She barely managed to suppress a startled scream. A tall figure stood in front of her, his robe billowing out around him like an ominous black cocoon. Hermione pushed herself to her feet, forcibly clamping down on the heavy breaths of air her lungs demanded that she provide.

"What do you want, Tom?"

His skin was marble-pale against the rest of him, making it seem as though his head was suspended in mid-darkness. His voice was silky smooth, as liquidly tenured as fine, old wine.

"You're outside after hours. I believe that's ten points from Gryffindor. And another ten since the Head Girl should know better."

She snorted, ignoring how unladylike it sounded.

"That's right, I'm Head Girl and if I remember correctly, that gives me the privilege of doing rounds late at night."

"But you're not doing rounds; you're just sitting there laughing. At nothing."

Hermione glared witheringly at him. He must take some sort of sick pleasure in making her feel like a fool.

"Well, I don't see you doing rounds either. You're just standing there chatting. At nothing."

Ah, it truly was immensely satisfying to be able to throw his words back in his face.

They stared at each other in silence for a long while, both faces carefully wiped free of any expression. The wind whipped around them, picking up speed and blowing the flags above them into a rustling frenzy. Hermione realized that this was the first time she had really spent any length of time alone with Tom Riddle. He wasn't nearly as visually frightening as Voldemort, but the latent sense of danger was already present.

I need to get out of here.

An absent swipe at the hair off her face provided the belated discovery that the tears she had unwittingly allowed to escape must have left a path streaking down her cheeks and that the moonlight clearly allowed him to see it. Angrily wiping her face clean, she glared defiantly at him, daring him to sneer at her momentary display of weakness.

Instead, he made no comment. His eyes had followed her movements but were now focused solidly on her own. They were completely shuttered. If she hadn't known better, Hermione might have thought him an empty statute gleaming in the light. But the fact was, she did know better. She could well imagine the utter disdain and contempt that was no doubt lurking behind those dark screens.

I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore.

Heavy clouds drifted across the sky to cover the moon, throwing them into darkness without warning. His inky hair melted into the shadows of his features, all merging into a solid black mass blocking her path.

Death Eaters.

The old fear and hatred gushed up from deep within her in an unstoppable flood; it was nearly suffocating.

Hermione unconsciously tightened the grip on her wand, lifting it partially up before she realized what she was doing. Black eyes dropped to her hovering right hand, glittering strangely as he raised languidly them back up to her face.

"Do you mean to attack me?"

His voice was utterly calm, as if he found nothing unusual about the situation.

Yes, I do. Let's just get it over with, right here and now. No more of this ridiculous charade. I could just blow you to pieces and be done with it.

Hermione's sense of self-preservation screamed at her to stop aggravating him, to lower her wand before the bastard took it as an excuse to retaliate. Amazingly enough however, he had not raised his own yet. Just like the last time she had attacked him, he barely moved at all.

"No."

A dark eyebrow arched sardonically.

"Really? Then what are you doing?"

Hermione shook her head, her mass of curls dancing wildly around her face. She had no idea. All she knew was that she wanted him to stop staring at her like that. Like some kind of interesting bug whose sole reason for still being alive was that the master found its audacity in waving its feeble little pinchers rather amusing.

Her head was flipping killing her.

"I…I don't know. Just back off!"

"Why should I? I haven't done anything."

In fact, Tom Riddle took a step closer, his taller frame looming over hers deliberately. The scent of pine and male surrounded her, serving as yet another reminder of the potential danger she was in. Hermione's eyes darted to the left and right. There was no one around.

Of course there's no one! It's midnight and you're alone on a deserted field with a pissed off Voldemort. Good one, Hermione!

"I told you to back off! Don't you dare come any closer to me!"

Her arm lifted fully to point directly at the boy's chest. A mocking smirk finally curved the corner of those full lips, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Or what? You're going to hex me? Do you think you could ever hurt me…Hermione?"

Her name rolled off his tongue smoothly, the darkly intimate tone sending odd shivers down her spine. It was a calculated attempt to unsettle her and it worked. But the problem was that Hermione was not sure whether it was because of the way he said it, or because he said it.

"I'll do my damnest to try, Tom."

Her use of his name sent another shiver down her spine.

The heated feeling curling around inside her seemed to double, finally deciding to settle heavily in her stomach. Whatever her reactions were however, his seemed to be the same.

The boy frowned, his back stiffening automatically as he stared down at her pale face with a completely different expression. The deliberate emptiness was gone, replaced by an odd and unwelcome curiosity.

Once again, absolute silence encompassed the two of them in a tight cocoon. It was strange how the lack of external noise seemed to create an inner ringing that reverberated around the inside of her head and tried to squirm its way out of her eye sockets. If it wasn't for the rapid thumping of her heart and the shallow breaths she sucked in between her teeth, Hermione would have sworn she had gone deaf.

"Why?"

The word was harsh, almost pushed out unwillingly.

"What?"

He made no reply and Hermione figured he must have changed his mind about whatever it was he had intended to say.

The clouds passed as moonlight once again illuminated the pair. As if suddenly released from a Confundus charm, Hermione realized how ridiculous her overreaction had been and abruptly lowered her wand. Brushing off her robes, she made a show of fixing her hair, preparing to walk back into the school as quickly as possible.

"Why are you so against me?"

What a question!

She scoffed at the preposterous intimation that he cared. She knew he didn't. And he knew that she knew. The only reason he was asking was curiosity, plain and simple. She was an oddly-shaped puzzle that didn't, and wouldn't, fit into the perfectly laid-out plan of his life.

"Really, Riddle. You don't seem like the type who would care what others think. Isn't that the whole point of your 'I'm so cool, stay away from me' image? Don't tell me that's just an act?"

He answered quietly, almost to himself.

"Is that so? Funny, you barely know me. Anyhow, I will not stand for unprovoked dislike, especially from someone like you."

Mudblood Granger.

It was as loud and clear as if he had said it. The tautly-drawn cord finally snapped.

Stalking right up to his cold face, she laughed hysterically, heedless of the way he stiffened in warning at her physical closeness.

"You're nothing but a hypocrite, you know? You and the rest of your pathetic little house can pretend all you want that your blood is somehow different than the rest of ours. That it's somehow better. But deep down, you know it's all because you'll need some sort of excuse when you discover just how much you suck."

She leaned upwards, almost brushing against his chest as she whispered the next taunting words in his ear.

"But you know what the funniest part is? It's you, oh high and mighty Tom Riddle. You, of all people, you know perfectly well that you're no different from me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The deep sound of his voice rasping right beside her had Hermione jerking her head back. Frozen in place, she could only stare wide-eyed into the narrowed black ones mere inches from her own.

Oh crap. Did I just tell him I know about his past?

Frightened hardly did it justice. Scared shitless would have been a more fitting term, courtesy of Fred. Regardless, Hermione refused to back down or back away. The boys had often lamented this particular trait of hers, particularly in situations where her stubbornness put her in danger. Thankfully, split-second thinking put a much-needed filter between her whirling mind and her mouth.

Hermione physically bit down on the trembling stutter that threatened to blow her cover, the taste of blood dampening her tongue as she accidentally scraped the inside of her mouth.

"What I mean is that our blood is the same. You are no better or worse than me."

He made no reply, seeming to have gotten his sudden outburst of emotion under control again. Believing herself to have gotten the last word, Hermione stomped off, unable to resist hurling a parting shot over her shoulder at the dark figure watching her closely.

"You know, all that this delusional bigotry will earn you is a life of loneliness and pain. And that is more cursed than anything to do with blood because you do it to yourself."

And with that, Hermione walked away.

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A/N: So, I wanted to make it so that Tom's reaction to Hermione is not so much like/dislike, but something heavier that moves him past that indifference stage. Of course, I had to stick Wills in there cuz he's just too much of a lovable rascal...

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed that and I'll really try to get this updated more regularly. Thanks for reading and please do review - it keeps me motivated beyond what you can imagine!