Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the world.

Chapter 3 - Slytherin Dorms - September 13th, 1943

Tom let a sigh out through his nose as he fiddled with the Gaunt ring after dropping his bag onto his bed. With a groan of exhaustion, he flopped down beside it on his back and ran a hand down his face, speculating on everything that needed to be done but momentarily pausing his thoughts on his potions project. He'd need to use Abraxas's connections to source Angel's Trumpet, seeing as it was a highly regulated herb in the Isles.

'Legally,' he mentally scoffed.

Slughorn was as Slytherin as the rest of them and as a Slytherin, he would know that legality was the least of their concerns. Tom liked to think he only added it as a joke to scare the Gryffindors.

...

Speaking of Gryffindors, he allowed his mind to trail to his partner. He would have to gift some more crystallized pineapple to his professor for that move.

Tom hated to admit that he couldn't read a person and it usually wasn't the case...but with Miss Granger-Riddle, he'd gotten nowhere so far. It had been a week and she was only in two of his classes.

Not to mention he hadn't managed to run into her outside of class anywhere in the castle.

He could tell that she was a dutiful student, enthusiastic even with the way her arm shot in the air at each professor's inquiry. He could also see that she kept detailed notes, from what he'd managed to observe from their measly shared two classes. He could not, however, find anything personal about her.

He'd asked Rosier, whose family had a French line, to see what he could find out. Although with the war and with his cousin, Vinda Rosier, positioned as Gellert Grindelwald's right hand, he was warned that information may be slow.

She knew about him though and she was curious, that much he could see if her questioning glances told him anything. It did, however, annoy him that she made no obvious move to investigate, at least to his knowledge.

'And that's the crux of it, isn't it,' he thought, affronted.

Because on the surface it appeared now that he cared to find out more about her than she, him. And with her being a mudblood too? Tom found it unacceptable, that he, the heir of Slytherin, should have to lower himself to find information on someone who should be a non-entity to him.

Also, he didn't want to admit that it chaffingly reminded him of his grandparents and father. When he'd met them, he'd been enraged to discover that they'd known all about him...had even known that he'd been at Wools, yet they'd left him there to rot.

He shook his head.

He was getting ahead of himself, it was still unknown whether their shared name was a coincidence or not.

Recalling her physical appearance, he pictured her brown, kinky curls which had been tightly braided into neat rows against her scalp; her complexion that was only a shade or two lighter than her hair and her eyes which were a striking warm brown. If he was being honest, there was nothing in her features that truly shouted 'Riddle'. Her lips were rather big, her nose a bit wide and her eyes almost cat-like. In the muggle world, she would certainly be considered an ethnic minority, in Great Britain at least.

He could tell that she had observed him almost to the same degree that he, her and was almost curious as to her thoughts before he stopped himself.

All the same, he would use this opportunity that Slughorn had so graciously provided him to find out everything he'd need to know about her and once the itch was scratched, he would go back about his plans. He had big plans after graduation that deserved every single bit of his attention, such as travels and career prospects, but most importantly, his ambition for the future of Wizarding Britain.

Gryffindor Tower - Same Day

Hermione returned to Gryffindor tower after finishing her classes for the day and decided to get a head start on some homework in her dorm before dinner. She'd desperately wanted to join Géraldine in the library after Wizard Studies but admittedly, she was still shaken from her experiences the previous year.

The library at Beauxbatons had been her sanctuary, she was positive she had spent more time there than anywhere else in the castle for the five and a half years of study there. Incidentally, it was also the library she had been in when the castle had been attacked last February. It had been so sudden and absolutely nobody had been prepared.

One moment she had been at her table, the same one she had always studied at since her first year; the next second, someone had grabbed her by the scruff of her robes and flung her to the floor.

Hermione was ashamed to admit that at that moment, upon seeing the scarlet robes of Grindelwald's soldiers, her mind had gone blank.

All she could think of had been that they'd been assured the castle was safe. Having one wizard standing over her while the other was kneeling at her side, pawing at her robes...in her shock, she'd forgotten every offensive and defensive spell she had ever known.

It had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her life; she remembered vaguely that they had demanded if she was a Kama, or a Sambiani, two names she recognized as pureblood families of African descent. Before she could open her mouth to answer, curse or even scream for help, the men had been stunned on the floor beside her as one of Hermione's professors had appeared out of nowhere, pulling her up by her arm while telling her to hurry.

Professeure Delacour had then helped her escape from the castle. And although it had been illegal, she'd used legilimency to find what her home looked like and created a portkey to get her there safely.

Hogwarts was considered safe, especially if the rumour was to be believed that Grindelwald feared Dumbledore. Despite this, Hermione refused to be caught unawares again, not until the wars were over and perhaps not even after.

Walking in through the portrait hole, she heard her name being called. Looking over to the couches, she saw the three students she'd met earlier that morning.

They waved her over, and curiously, she went.

"We were wondering if you play quidditch?" Ginny asked, "we're having a pickup game before supper, so we figured we'd ask you and your friend to join."

They had such pleading faces that Hermione was almost tempted to give in if it weren't her awful fear of heights.

"That's very kind of you to ask...unfortunately, I don't fly and Géraldine went to the library right after our last class today," Hermione replied, as politely as possible.

"What do you mean 'you don't fly'? Do you not know how? I could teach you if you'd like," this reply came from Ron, who was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "I mean- I've helped teach loads of firsties who've had trouble with it," he explained quickly, causing both Harry and Ginny to snicker behind their hands.

"Come on, the weather is nice out...I mean, if you'd like?" he asked, holding his hand out and looking a bit unsure. Hermione couldn't bear to crush this sweet boy's enthusiasm, so she took it.

Following him back out of the portrait hole with the other two following behind, she laughed nervously.

What was she doing? She was afraid of heights!

But her mind blanked as soon as she took his hand, and now it appeared as if she were just bumbling along beside him. She supposed her plans for the day changed, so much for getting a head start on homework.

For the rest of the day, she'd humoured Harry and the Weasleys, not once thinking about the wars or worrying about being in the open. She didn't even pause to ponder the scrutinizing pale green eyes of her potion's partner as they passed him on the way outside.

For that afternoon, Hermione was just a regular teenager without a care in the world.

A/N: If anyone is curious, my face claim for Hermione in this story is Kourtney George. I just think her hair is perfect.

Also, ya, I don't fck with Weasley bashing. Not in this house. No Sir.