EDITED: 31 December 20145

Chapter Playlist: "Isle of the Dead" – Sergei Rachmaninoff

IV. INTRIGIEREN

"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall."

– William Shakespeare

20 November 1943

The Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

As Hermione hurriedly scribbled onto the parchment, she could feel the tiredness creeping up to her senses. Her hazel eyes, nevertheless, remain focused on the cursive handwriting. The black ink sunk deeper into the parchment almost rhythmically with each alphabet she printed; the ink's slow descent into dry, meaningless words was almost a cruel parallel to her current situation, which was spiraling out of her control (but did she have control in the first place? Hermione wondered to herself). Her existential crisis was definitely not helping.

For all she knew, the letter could be in the hands of a plotting student – or worse – sitting on Dumbledore's desk at this very moment. But logically speaking, she should not be too concerned. Both her and Grindelwald had been extremely vague in the letters, discreet in revealing their identities and locations in writing. Hermione tried to convince herself that the chance that another person may realize her identity was is zero to none, but with no avail.

She realized that she was in a classic Catch-22: she could not do anything right now without a plan, but she cannot have a plan without knowing what to do, at least until she can find out what went wrong with the letter. And right now, she needed sleep in order to perform at her potential. Even coffee and Awakening Spells were not working anymore.

"Still up, oh diligent student?"

Hermione snatched away the parchment a bit more aggressively than she would have liked. What was wrong with her lately? It seemed as if her five senses were placed under a confounding charm. For Merlin's sake, she couldn't even hear a student approaching.

It must be the lack of sleep, she decided.

Hermione immediately recognized the trademark combination of platinum blonde hair and icy gray eyes. "Oh, Malfoy," Hermione gave a closed-lipped smile. "No, I was just about to go up to the dorms, actually."

Abraxas Malfoy raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and sat down on the chair next to hers. Hermione's teeth gritted at the Slytherin's obvious disregard for her aloofness. "That sounds like a good idea right now. The dark circles under your eyes really takes away your usual charm," the blonde smirked, twirling his wand mindlessly as eyes became fixed on the fireplace.

It was extremely unusual for Malfoy to talk to her voluntarily, not that he was an unpleasant conversationalist. Hermione simply thought that he was too caught up with the Knights of Walpurgis business to notice that other students were at Hogwarts. The exception was made, of course, for some girls that he found to be compelling, which Hermione knew did not include her.

She studied the Malfoy heir's sharp features, but found her thoughts to be fuzzy and her concentration nonexistent. Her fingers unconsciously grazed over her necklace, one of the few remaining Grindelwald heirlooms and her father's parting gift to her, of which she suspected to be a tracking device.

Malfoy's eyes slowly shifted from the fireplace to the parchment in her hands. "Runes essay?" He inquired innocently.

"Why, yes," Hermione coughed, feigning embarrassment. She quickly stuffed the parchment into her pocket. "It's not going as well as I had planned. I think I might have to rewrite it tomorrow morning when my brain is out of this languid state. How's yours coming along, by the way?" She inquired with an equally innocent demeanor as she packed her books into her bag.

Maybe it was just sleep deprivation, but Hermione was on the edge about this whole encounter. Her logic and intuition had all gone haywire. Not only had Malfoy caught her in a bad physical and mental condition, but also at a time when the prying eyes of the students were blissfully closed in dreamy slumbers. There were only three other students with them in the Common Room, and they were Second Years that Hermione had seen around the Great Hall. In the event that Malfoy did decide to attack her, they posed absolutely zero threat.

"Oh, Merlin, don't even speak to me about that." Malfoy rolled his eyes, pulling out his Runes textbook. "I bet mine is even worse than yours," He gingerly flipped to a bookmarked page in the textbook. Hermione's eyes watched his every action like a hawk. "What is your thesis, anyway? Sitting in Honeywell's class for the past two weeks was like trying to decipher the Codex Gigas."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. So, Malfoy was not as intellectual uncultured as he let on. Any wizard aware of the Codex Gigas had to be at least be brushed up upon medieval history, both wizarding and muggle. It was an interesting observation, but she did not press further. The important thing was, she did not know where this awkward conversation was going, but she did know that Malfoy has piled on question after question at her, and that this was a rare event.

The only other time he had ever spoke to her was when he asked her to pass ingredient in Potions last month. Her mind analyzed the situation until she could feel the mental exhaustion slowly spreading throughout her body, making her knees weak and eyes sleepy.

There has to be an ulterior motive. There has to be. No one spoke to a stranger without seeking something in return. It was always better to be safe than sorry. She faked a yawn, and drew up her book bag.

"Uh, I basically just copied what the book had said: how the declensions were changed from its original forms due to the Goblin Rebellion in the fifteenth century, and later the fall of the Holy Roman Empire in the Muggle World in the beginning of the nineteenth century," She grimaced. "I'm sorry, Abraxas, I would love to continue this conversation with you, but I really need to go bed. Perhaps we can talk about tomorrow after dinner?"

"Yes, perhaps," Malfoy murmured after the girl's retreating figure. She didn't see him tapping his nails against the wooden table in contemplation as a shrewd glint appeared in his eyes.

24 November 1943

The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Hermione knew her father's patience was slowly wearing down, for he has never taken a liking to the saying, "patience is a virtue". She needed progress to report back to him, and she was pushing on the edge of sanity in trying to dig up something—anything—that would be useful. The only possible explanation was either that Grindelwald overestimated the threat of Hogwarts, or Hogwarts was expert at hiding its secrets. Hermione chose the latter. For as much as she tried, she could not trust the disarming smiles of the professors and the happy-go-lucky mindset of the students.

Not to mention there was something really off with a group of her fellow housemates – namely, Riddle and his associates. It didn't take an idiot to notice how some members of the Knights of Walpurgis would be gone for days – weeks, even – only to turn in Hospital Wing, or how they would vanish from the Common Room every Thursday night, muttering something along the lines of "Meeting with professor" under their breath. Hermione could only conclude that the other students were too fearful to verbally speak out against the Knights of Walpurgis' penchant for disappearing.

By the time Hermione has stalked through the mahogany doors, the Great Hall was already full of the students' cheery faces. She gave an involuntary shudder. Scanning the Great Hall with one cold glance, she continued to the Slytherin table where she spotted Riddle's regal stature, surprisingly sitting without his fanatic followers. Perfect. A smirk tugged at her lips. Maybe the morning wasn't so bad after all. She chose a seat not too far from her target, and kept her attention on his every action with her peripherals.

She needed to get her act together. Now. It has now become obvious to Hermione that this task was going to be the hardest one she has yet to accomplish. The inattentive and lethargic behavior she adopted for the past few weeks need to change. She didn't have much time left.

Hermione brought the porcelain cup close to lips, and gently blew a steady wave of cold air into the tea. Her dilated pupils flashed to the inconspicuous ring on Riddle's hand before they moved onto the plate of croissants before her. Tom Riddle was the perfect chess piece, but she would need to maneuver her moves carefully. Their conversation on the Astronomy Tower a few nights before played before her mind, and she knew it was the perfect place to start. She has planned her actions the night before in the Slytherin dorm, as she lied on the cold bed and stared up at the stone ceiling, her body not a bit sleepy. Now, she just needs to wait.

And, like father like daughter, Hermione hated waiting. She took out a quill and a piece of parchment, and began to write.

Father,

So far, there is nothing new to report. My plan (of what, I cannot reveal here) has been implemented. I am watching it come to fruition.

Will speak to you soon,

H.

Hermione read over the letter for about thirty times before she enclosed the parchment in a plain black envelope. She pocketed the letter, and pulled a heavy book out of her leather satchel, Hogwarts: A History, a title so innocent and harmless that it would deter the curious eyes of the students and the professors. She would be the transfer student who is simply brushing up on the magical backstory of the school, nothing more.

10 December 1943

The Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

By now, Hermione has memorized the Knights' schedule by heart. So it was only a surprise when she realized that it was half past nine, and the empty Common Room was not greeted by its usual guests. She tapped her quill impatiently on the parchment, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Tom Riddle and his posse did not appear through the wooden door. Hermione gritted her teeth. Her fists around the quill tightened until the feather was crushed by her grip.

15 December 1943

The Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Ah.

Hermione's face lit up with excitement before the impassive shell was forced back onto her features.

She knew it. Fortune was on her side once again, and she stared at the sentence in Hogwarts: A History (or rather, life records of individuals from both the muggle and wizarding world in United Kingdom) in triumph. It seems that her curiosity has finally paid off in something tangible and valuable. She cannot believe it. She has done it. After days and nights of reading and research, she has finally found a useful piece of information, something that could give her leverage. Hermione could not contain the bubbling anticipation in her stomach. She read the entry from the muggle records once more:

Thomas Riddle II. Son of Thomas Riddle I of Little Hangleton. Heir to the Riddle fortune. Birth, unknown. Disappeared in Spring of 1920 with possible link to Merope Gaunt of the Gaunt residence in Little Hangleton. Reappeared in Winter of 1927. Death, Summer of 1943. Cause of death, unknown.

Known associates:

Thomas Riddle I: Father

Mary Riddle neé Smythe: Mother

Merope Gaunt: Elopement in 1920; possible marriage and pregnancy

Hermione let out a shaky breath.

Could this be it? Could this be the missing link? If this piece of muggle information were true, it would shift the direction of plan entirely – though, not in a bad direction. Her hands jerked, and the book was dropped ungracefully onto the floor. Hermione, for once, however, did not seem to pay attention.

Gaunt.

Now this was a surname she could work with. Hermione immediately recognized the House of Gaunt from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, a list that Grindelwald had forced her to memorize. It seems that her father's effort was not in vain.

Gaunt.

The House of Gaunt was extinct, that was for sure. The last remnant was thrown into Azkaban in the summer of 1943, and died an untimely death. Hermione remember seeing the news all over the Wizarding newspapers. Back then, she thought of nothing but the stupidity and uselessness of the weak wizard. The least he could do was to kill those Muggles with a bit of anonymity and a plan.

Death, Summer of 1943, Hermione read the line over again, even though Thomas Riddle's entry has been imprinted into her brain. The House Gaunt went extinct this summer, and it seemed that the Riddle Family suffered the same fate at the same time.

"What a coincidence," she murmured to herself, deep in thought. Of course, this summer was also when her wand finally recognized the Stone of Resurrection. She would never forget the warm tinge of the vine wood in her hand, and how she apparated back into her lab, a genuine smile of triumph appearing on her face as she organized the scattered books and potions from her rage and desperation back to their usual positions on the shelves.

She pieced together the information effortlessly. There was no way the last Gaunt in Azkaban heir killed the Riddles; he had nothing to gain from their deaths. But to die so mysteriously, it had to be the handiwork of an expert wizard.

Besides, the name 'Thomas Riddle' was way too conspicuous to go unnoticed. It would take an idiot to not link the elder Riddle with the current Tom Riddle. Hermione has to admit that the notion of Tom Riddle – wizard extraordinaire, Slytherin price, the king of Hogwarts – being born out of a relationship between a muggle and a pureblood was rather absurd. But, it made perfect sense. This would explain Thomas Riddle Senior's mysterious disappearance in 1920 and reappearance in 1927, the same year that Tom Riddle Junior is born, if Hermione did her calculations correctly.

Hermione sneered. A muggle and a pureblood. What a delightful combination indeed.

And the Stone…

Hermione could feel her heart thumping against her chest. The Stone of Resurrection was on Tom Riddle's ring. How a sixteen-year-old halfblood wizard came across one of Death Hallows, Hermione has no idea. Though, if Riddle is the son of Merope Gaunt, then his pedigree could at least give him unparalleled access to magical power. Maybe, Hermione pondered to herself, hugging her knees closer to her chest, the Stone was in the hands of the House of Gaunt?

She raised an eyebrow. Even though she did not want to admit it, she could not comprehend how such a precious magical artifact could be in the ownership of a disgraced and impoverished family, albeit pureblood.

Before Hermione could proceed further with her deductions, she heard the Common Room door swing open. She froze.

"Oh, he looked positively mad! Tom, you should have seen Macmillian's—" Lestrange stopped as he and his friends stepped into the Common Room, and his eyes spotted Hermione in the corner. "Why, Granger, what a coincidence!"

Hermione nodded mechanically. "Yes, what a coincidence indeed," She murmured, and met Tom's penetrating gaze. She looked away, however, in the case that her facial expression could betray her. "Riddle, Lestrange, Nott," Hermione acknowledged the three Slytherins. They all look disheveled, especially when compared to their usual impeccable fashion and mannerisms.

How reckless of them, Hermione thought sarcastically. She made a note to herself to write down the date and time of their entrance. To understand their schedule was the most important aspect to her plan, so Hermione can seamlessly fit into their lives.

"If you will excuse me,"

Not forgetting to pick up the population registry charmed to appear to be Hogwarts: A History, Hermione stood up, much more sudden than she had expected.

Climbing up the stairs to the Girls' Dorm, a million questions flashed through Hermione's mind. Why do the Slytherins adore him if they knew he was un-pure? More importantly, how did Riddle do it? How did he manage to charm the students and professors, playing them like ragged dolls on a string?

Knowledge was power, and power was control. So far, she had far too many questions but no answers. If she doesn't find answers to them soon, she knew she just might form an obsession with the enigmatic boy.

17 December 1943

Empty Charms Classroom, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Hermione dipped her quill in to the ink. After her emotional outburst in the Common Room about a week ago that had cost Hermione her favorite quill, she had to borrow the repulsive ones from her professors before the owl from Madame Featherton's finally arrived. For once, she did not know how to begin her letter to Grindelwald.

Father,

She hesitated. If someone had hijacked and read Grindelwald's owl to her, would it still be safe for her to refer to him as 'Father'? Perhaps a nickname would be better? Hermione glared at the parchment, and hastily crossed out the word. Pausing again, she mused over what she would refer to him as, without arousing suspicion from him. But nothing escaped Grindelwald without suspicion.

She tore up the parchment before pulling out a new one.

Father,

I am making progress. I have found some very interesting information regarding what you want. I cannot reveal to you what it is right now in the letter for security reasons, which I hope you can understand. I will write to you soon.

Hermione lifted her quill form the parchment, examining her cursive calligraphy with a critical eye. She mulled over the next section of the letter.

The winter holiday is almost here, but I won't be returning home this year. I am currently busy with schoolwork and I do not wish to be distracted.

'I won't be returning home' was a code that Grindelwald created, she knew, to use when she suspects foul play. Grindelwald had taken precautions prior to her journey to ensure that both of them would be prepared in case of an emergency. With specific trigger words that would be meaningless to prying eyes, it would send a warning to her father not to write until she resumes the communication. Hermione only hoped that he would heed her precaution.

Best wishes,

H.

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Leaning back into the mahogany chair, she closed her eyes.

Someone cleared his throat. Hermione's eyes flew open.

"Malfoy?"

He was standing way too close to her desk for her liking. The content of the unsealed letter laid in all its glory for his eyes, but his gray irises were focused on her.

"Granger, what an interesting place of…relaxation," Abraxas murmured, looking around the empty Charms classroom, a hint of humor laced in his otherwise cold voice."Makes me wonder if you don't feel home with our Common Room," The blonde placed a hand over his heart, his regal features twisted in a feigned hurtful expression.

This was the second time that Malfoy has caught her with a letter to Grindelwald now, Hermione noticed. Either she was living a life full of coincidences, or…

Hermione tried her best to sound unflustered and friendly. "How are you, Abraxas?"

The blonde Slytherin leaned against a desk, ignoring Hermione's attempt to distract him with small talk and examined her with a blank expression.

A minute of silence passed over the two before he opened his mouth again, choosing his words carefully. "You know, I don't know if others had noticed, but," He paused, "I see things. I notice things. At first, I thought your books—all too heavy and difficult for our classes—and your fervent writings and excessively frequent letters all pointed to an overbearing family who had high standards for your studies. But...there was a pattern to your actions. You are intelligent, but you did not seem to be the dedicated scholar eager to please her parents with O's. You are hardworking, but you are not preoccupied with academics. Not to mention you avoid deep friendship commitments like a plague. So, of course, I was curious…" He trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. Hermione followed his hand into his pocket. He was holding onto something—a wand? She gulped.

Hermione's breath shook.

"Anyways," Abraxas continued as if he didn't sense the witch's apprehension. "Imagine my surprise when I came across something that was rather peculiar," he smirked at Hermione, pulling a black envelope from his pocket, and held it in front of her wide eyes. "I believe I have found something of yours that has a tremendous value, no?"

This—this could not be happening.

No. No. No.

Hermione tried to maintain a steady breathing path, calming her racing heart. This is only a diversion from the plan, she reminded herself. No need to be nervous. The worst thing she could be right now is nervous. She cannot lose control. She has to stay in control. There was no one in the Charms classroom; the entire fourth floor has been emptied for the weekend. If Abraxas decided to duel, no one would be able to stop them.

All Hermione could manage was, "Well, what is it?"'

The frigid winter air filled the classroom. Someone had forgot the close the windows.

"Oh, I think you know perfectly well." Abraxas drawled. There was no more humor or irony in the way he spoke. "But, forgive me, this is all very fascinating." He pulled the parchment out from the envelope. "I believe you are of German descent, yes? I think Fräulein does mean 'daughter'? Now, I noticed that your dear father seemed to be very adamant about three things: Dumbledore, his death, and something else of unspeakable vaue," His gray eyes drank in the letter's content as if it quenched all his thirst. "He must trust you very much, then, to have kept such close contact with you about such sensitive matters. But the holier-than-thou Dagworth-Granger family was never embroiled in intrigues. In fact, I believe…"

Hermione could not hear anymore of Abraxas' words. All she could hear was the quickening thump of her heart against her chest and the rushing of blood into her ears. There was only one question on her mind: How?

How did Abraxas figure out it was her? Had she been that obvious? No, no, that cannot be possible. Even Dumbledore was not suspicious. What had tipped Malfoy off? Was it her handwriting? A lucky guess?

Dammit, think, Hermione. Think! Use your head, you idiot.

"I am reporting you to Headmaster Dippet for hijacking messenger owls," Hermione spoke again, slower this time to think over her words. "This is an intrusion upon my privacy, and a violation to the statutes of the Ministry and Hogwarts. You would be fined heavily, Malfoy, and I don't imagine that your family would be too happy about that."

Abrades opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it upon additional thinking. "Interesting course of action, Miss Granger. Though, I'm sure my welfare would be the last thing on your mind if I happened to inform others of your dubious background."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, merely stating a possibility."

To both of their surprise, Hermione laughed, albeit a bit jeeringly, in response to Abraxas' insinuations. She took her time to study the young man standing in front of her. So, he was not as oblivious and unobservant to the world as she had originally thought. This underestimation on her part has been her biggest mishap by far, and now proved to be a nuisance to her plan.

The only clear course of action now was to eliminate this nuisance. After all the years training in the dungeons with Grindelwald, this should not be a problem. Had it not been for the current state of affairs, Hermione might even have found all of this to be boring. Now, she must make sure everything was foolproof and her defenses impenetrable; there was no room for mistakes this time.

"You know what I just realized what I like about you, Abraxas?" Hermione stood up slowly from her seat. As if expecting her move, he blonde immediately brandished his wand and fell into a dueling stance. She smiled at the wand tip pointed at her. "You're so straightforward. You could have done all sort of things to me with the letter, but instead, you choose to approach me like a diplomat you are. How Hufflepuff of you." Hermione watched his face carefully as she took another step, trying to register any signs of physical reaction to her taunting. When seeing none, she continued. "But don't worry, your little scheme has not completely failed yet. You see, I have some—"

A silent spell escaped from Malfoy's wand, catching Hermione off-guard as the jet of crimson light aimed for her heart. Gasping a little, she jumped to the right, missing the curse by a few millimeters before acting on instinct, unarming Abraxas with a wave of her wand. She deftly caught the piece of wood, and gazed back at the blonde with narrowed eyes.

"Well, this is interesting." Her spoke quietly. Her soft voice did not veil the sadism underneath. She grazed toyed with Malfoy's wand as she watched his movements out of the corners of her eyes. After a brief moment of pause, she spoke again. "Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, your scheme did not fail just yet, for I have very big plans for you. Your act of altruism has helped me. So, consider this to be a token of my...gratitude." She raised her wand at him.

"What a-are you doing?" Abraxas took a step back as Hermione took a step forward. Hermione tilted her head in interest as she regarded Malfoy with almost a maniacal curiosity and excitement.

The corners of her lips slightly lifted, amused, "Don't worry, no harm will come to you," Hermione had originally planned to stun him, and dispose his unconscious body on the outskirts of Hogsmeade for the wolves to devour, but now she knew he could very well serve another purpose. "You have proved that you could be quite useful to me, Abraxas. In fact..." She trailed off, letting her words hang in the air for an effect. She lifted her eyes to his gray irises again, her face broke out into a full Cheshire grin when she saw his pupils dilating in horror.

"You are going to make yourself useful to me, Abraxas," she whispered.

In a flash, the blonde fell to the floor, stung by Hermione's body-binding spell. She kneeled next to his frozen body, smug, and snatched the letter away from his frozen hands.

She stood up again, indifferent to the obvious panic in the Slytherin at his awaiting doom. A glacial mask hid Hermione's turbulence within. But at least now, she has one less threat to worry about.

Goddamit.

Why did this happen?

Why?

She closed her eyes. Her every action was planned, and executed to perfection. What had she missed? How did Hogwarts ruin her? Merlin, what even was Hogwarts, her ally or her foe?

"Fuck, Hermione," She cursed through her teeth. If Tom Riddle was the king and Hermione was the queen set on capturing him, then Malfoy could play her spawn. Check.

For a second, she let herself relished in the surge of magic that had rushed into her wand earlier. She craved that power. She knew it. The power was addictive and haunting and enslaving; it made her feel inhuman, like she had conquered mortality and humanity. Hermione knew that in certain aspects, she was no better than her father.

Her hazel eyes were unfathomably dark, and the air around her crackled with dark magic. She smiled satisfactorily down at Malfoy. She preferred this direct method of persuasion method much better. It saved her the time and energy in trying to charm those loathsome Slytherins.

Hermione pointed her wand at the blonde. His eyes widened in fear.

"Imperio."