CHAPTER THREE

Hermione found it unnerving by how filled the Great Hall was on the first day the students whom had left for the holiday returned. She was wearing her uniform. A black skirt that reached her knees, dark tights to help keep her legs warm, a white button-up shirt with a Gryffindor tie around her neck, and her cloak draped over her arms. She hadn't seen Tom since he kissed her outside Slughorn's office. Hermione hoped that he thought it was a mistake and would finally leave her alone.

"Miss Granger," said a deep voice by her ear.

Hermione shied away from the warm breath and looked up to see Tom Riddle standing beside her, "What?"

"I thought we were getting passed the hostilities," he chuckled with a smirk on his lips.

Hermione took a step back from him in case anyone turned to look at this odd pair, "You thought wrong. I'm going to eat breakfast. Goodbye, Tom."

She knew that if she immediately let her guard down, Tom would lose interest and she would not get a chance to stop him if that happened. Hermione turned away from him and felt his fingers stroke her hair which was clamped up in a bun. He had gently grabbed one of the many straying locks of dark, curly hair.

She squinted up at him over her shoulder, "I'm not a toy for you to play with, Riddle."

He studied her face for a moment then sighed, "You still haven't told me why you hated me."

"I wouldn't use the past-tense," Hermione rolled her eyes and continued to the Gryffindor table.

Tom tensed his sharp jaw line and gave each pair of eyes watching him a glare. Those intruding students, mostly naive boys, quickly turned back to their plates of food. He wondered what he could do so that he could be next to this alluring young woman. After a moment, the infamous mischievous glint sparkled in his dark eyes and he strutted to where Hermione had taken a seat at the Gryffindor table. Hermione felt someone tap on her shoulder but when she turned to see who it was there was no one to be seen.

The girl sitting across from her indicated Hermione's other shoulder with the teeth of her fork and, when Hermione turned that way, she was blinded by a mop of dark hair and warm lips pressed against hers. Hermione knew who had kissed her and decided to let him get what he wanted just for a moment. She told herself that it was to keep him on a baited line and definitely not because he had a talented mouth ... definitely not. The girls surrounding Hermione giggled quietly and exchanged looks of surprise.

When Tom parted his lips from hers, Hermione's roommate piped-up, "What a little liar you are, Hermione Granger!"

The girls snickered around her and Hermione felt her face, which had been flushed by Tom's lips a moment before, drain of color. Before she could come up with an explanation, Tom sat with his back against the table beside Hermione.

He cocked one brow down at her and peered over his shoulder at the girl who had called Hermione a 'liar', "What has she done to upset you, miss?"

Hermione wondered why vomit was not surging up her throat at his feigned kindness towards the student. She guessed he was putting on a show to win Hermione over.

"She said that she was single," replied the girl, whose voice had gone up a lot of notches at the fact that Tom was gracing her with his greatly-sought-after attention.

Hermione rolled her eyes just before Tom turned back to gaze down upon her, "Well, clearly she's been mistaken."

His deep voice and warm gaze, which Hermione could still see a shard of deadly ice right through it, did not fool her. Hermione tilted her head and said with forced infatuation, "I guess so. You are always right, aren't you, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom leaned down to whisper in her ear, "And I always get what I want. See you in class, beautiful."

Hermione only realized that she was spilling ink onto her desk in Slughorn's classroom when her jittering hand dipped her pinky into the black substance. She was so nervous about this particular class that she was absentmindedly stabbing her little jar of ink with her quill. There were only a few other students in the class besides her and no sign of Tom yet. Professor Slughorn was seated behind his desk, munching away on a box of crystallized pineapple while grading some extra credit assignments at the last minute. Hermione had been ignoring his hints to come speak to him.

Before she could answer his last attempt, the seat beside her became occupied, "Hope no one is sitting here."

It was Tom Riddle. Hermione watched him set his book bag on the floor between their feet and caught a whiff of his sandalwood shampoo.

Hermione cleared her throat and said with forced politeness, "Actually, my study partner is. That's been her seat since before fall term ended."

Tom grinned down at her after fishing his supplies out of his large bag, "I pulled a few strings. I'm your new study partner." Hermione felt her throat go cold while he continued, "Professor Slughorn seemed very confused by the change in status of my 'relationship' with you. He told me that you had requested to be reassigned just before the winter holidays."

Hermione almost lost all pretenses but managed to hold back, "How strange."

"I smoothed things over by gifting him with the fruit he's fattening himself up with at the moment," Tom continued while prematurely signing his name on the roll of parchment he would use for note taking.

Hermione listened to the footsteps of the herd of classmates flooding into the classroom. Her hair, which was tied up on top of her head, was weighing down and pulling painfully on her roots. Hermione reached up while determinedly ignoring Tom watching her and let down her thick, curly dark hair.

"You should leave your hair down more often," said Tom quietly so that no one would hear him but Hermione. "It's more beautiful this way."

Hermione rolled her eyes and flipped her hair so that it could be a curtain to hide her face behind, "Well, I like it up."

Tom chuckled deeply, "You could dress like Death himself and still grab attention."

"What are you, a fashion expert?" Hermione snapped while she scribbled her name onto her own parchment with such force that she nearly punctured it.

Tom held up both of his hands sarcastically, "I just appreciate beauty."

Hermione glared up at him pointedly, "You won't win me over with compliments, Riddle. So, just stop, okay? Just stop."

Tom pulled back her curtain of hair when she turned away from him and saw before she smacked his hand away that her high cheekbones were flushed. Hermione flipped her hair over to her other shoulder so that it was out of his reach. Just as Professor Slughorn began conducting the lesson, Hermione felt Tom's long white hand stroking her back up and down.

She squirmed away, "Please, I'm trying to concentrate."

Tom stroked her once more and patted her lower back before saying, "That's what first 'drew' me to you. Your intelligence."

Hermione scoffed, "Sure, Tom. That's what every boy notices first about a girl."

Tom's face suddenly fell and Hermione felt like what he said next was the first truthful thing he has said since she met him, "Well ... I do ... if they've got any, of course. And you do, Hermione. You do."

She looked at him then they both flinched when professor Slughorn rapped his chalk board with his chalk suspended in midair magically.

"Oi, there will be plenty of time to be all lovey-dovey later, you two." said Slughorn pointedly. "Do I need to add on to your homework?"

The class groaned harmoniously and pleaded for the professor to reconsider.

Hermione apologized, "I'm sorry, sir. Just punish me."

Tom's brows raised and a small, genuine smile stretched across his lips. There was a hint of confusion glinting in his dark eyes, as though he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about her selflessness. It was an alien thing to him. Regardless, Hermione did not notice any of this.

"You all are lucky Hermione Granger is in your year," said Slughorn to the room at large. "Very well, miss Granger. See me after class and I'll give you your additional assignment."

Hermione wondered how the class seemed to go by much more quickly than the previous ones had. Perhaps, it was because she was dreading what Slughorn had to say to her. She had a feeling he would say something more than assigning busy work. Tom told her that he'll wait for her outside in the garden … to talk. Hermione walked slowly up to Slughorn's desk and sighed.

"Don't worry, I can't think of a single thing to add to your load what with all this stuff flying around in my head." Slughorn then sighed, "Has your opinion of Mr. Tom Riddle changed, miss Granger?"

She realized he must have seen Tom kiss her, "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"What are you doing, girl?" he asked pleadingly. "He's never going to change. Not for anyone. Not even for a gifted looker like you. Don't you see that?"

"I can't give up on stopping him, professor. I just can't," Hermione shrugged with defeat. "I know what I'm getting myself into."

There was sadness in Slughorn's eyes, "Do you, child?"

"More than you think so, sir." replied Hermione, thinking of her friends whom don't exist yet.

Hermione noticed that January was particularly snowy in 1945. She wondered if it was because global warming hadn't been triggered yet. Snow thick and, in some places, as hard as stone encased the grounds of Hogwarts. Hermione turned against the powerful chill, heading towards where she believed the garden to be located. The garden was nearly entirely hidden by the falling snow.

The sky above was more like a dense, grey, cavernous canopy of thick clouds. It darkened the land below. This was one of the few gardens outside the main courtyards. When it was spring, there was a fountain adorned with the sculpture of a unicorn with water spouting from its horn at the center and there were semi-circle stone benches surrounding it. Only one bench was clean of snow.

It was the one that Tom Riddle was sitting on. He was wearing his black cloak. Tom's dark, glossy hair was flipped over the high collar of his emerald turtle-neck sweater. Hermione saw that he was reading a roll of parchment that she had a feeling was not worth studying as hard as he was. Hermione ran her hands up and down her biceps with her arms crossed over her chest and hitched her school bag higher onto her shoulder before closing the distance between her and the future mass-murderer.

If he had not been gifted with his father's looks at his conception, Hermione wondered if it would be less difficult to confront him.

Hermione sat down beside him and straightened her long skirt, "You want me to talk? Well, I want to listen."

Tom quickly, yet casually, stowed away the note he was reading, "To what?"

"If you don't let me understand you," Hermione explained to him. "I don't see what's the point of this."

Tom watched her indicated with her finger that she meant the two of them to be 'this'. He shrugged his shoulders, "There's nothing too difficult that needs to be explained. I like you ... is that not an acceptable reason?"

"No, Tom. I've figured that out on my own. It's been hinted in the way that you've been stalkingme."

Tom gave Hermione a look that she suspected a lion would give its prey before saying with his deep voice, "What do you want to know?"

"Something you've never told anyone else." Tom seemed to inch away and Hermione added casually to keep him chomping at the bit, "It could be something small, even insignificant to you. But, I think you just want someone to trust ... and to gain theirs."

Silence spread between them before he spoke,"What is it ... about you ...?" He murmured, a hand reaching presumably to cup her cheek.

Hermione reached up and took his hand down to place it on the ice-cold bench before saying gently, "No one knows you, Tom. Not really. You're a mystery and evidently unsolvable. I don't make friends with people who keep secrets."

She felt something pulsing beneath her hand and realized that hers was still on top of Tom's. When Hermione retracted her hand, Tom discreetly flexed his fingers as though they had gone numb from her touch. She sniffled when her nose started to drip from the icy breeze. She fluttered her long, dark lashes while looking down at his hand then peered up at him.

"Well, if I wait any longer I'll turn into an ice sculpture. When you've decided what you want to tell me, or nothing at all ... well, you know where I'll be. You always seem to find me, anyway."

Hermione made to leave but Tom grabbed her wrist, almost hard enough to hurt her.

"Wait, Hermione." he choked out.

Hermione turned and held her books to her chest like they were a shield from the future dark lord. Tom heaved himself to his feet and once again was looming over her. He took a step closer and both of his hands started reaching upwards. Hermione took a tiny step back and he smirked. But, it wasn't a leering kind of smirk ... it was more like she had actually made him laugh inside.

Did she really have the power to make something as impossible as that happen? Tom's long, bone-white hands uncoiled his emerald Slytherin scarf from around his neck and he held it out for her.

She glanced from it to his eyes, "I've already got a scarf in my dorm."

"I just don't want any other guy thinking that he can take you from me."

"Wow, you're really that arrogant to think I'm yours?"

"I have a test to answer that question," Tom draped his scarf around her shoulders and situated her thick hair over it. "You want to know something about me? Meet me in the Clock Tower at three o'clock tomororw morning. It's the darkest hour of the day."

"Do you really think I'm mad enough to go anywhere with you alone?"

"We're alone now, aren't we?" He smiled with a hint of superiority and control. Hermione swallowed deeply, knowing he was right and that she should go somewhere more populated. He must have seen her doe-like eyes flicker with anxiety, "Don't worry, we won't be alone tonight."