*AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THE READER*

I like this chapter. Let me know what you think, and once again, feel free to ask me questions or point out any mistakes you discover. Thanks for reading!

And also, I do not own Harry Potter, or his world. Although sometimes I wish I lived in it. But J.K Rowling alone can lay claim to the brilliance of such a creation. With Warner Brothers, I suppose, although Harry Potter would still exist without them, whereas without Ms. Rowling… *shudder gasp* Let's not think about it. Alright, moving on.

*Another note, added on November 18, 2010:*

A small portion of this has been edited, thanks to Hermitt, who caught my mistake. Thank you Hermitt!

CHAPTER 5 – SHIVERS AND STENCHES

"On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student . . . on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls…"

-Tom Riddle (C of S – pg. 311)

There were four quiet beds in the tiny Gryffindor dormitory, each with hanging scarlet curtains. The only sounds in the room were those of even breaths, and the occasional lingering snore. Three pairs of eyes were shut tightly, lost beneath dreams of yelling poltergeists and swishing wandpoints. The fourth pair of eyes, however, was wide open.

Hermione stared at the top of her four-poster bed, covered in delicate graffiti from previous students. The last person to own the bed had been something of an artist; the wood was carved with spiraling flowers and fluttering birds, linked around the occasional initial or name. Hermione saw none of this.

She was not asleep, but in that stage between awareness and dreams, when everything is both possible and meaningless. The room was relatively dark although a few tentative birds were chirping cautiously in the darkness before dawn.

How can I do this?

A tear rolled down Hermione's cheek, and she made no move to wipe it away. It was soon joined by another, and then another, until her face was glistening in the pale moonlight.

She had not slept the night before, although she had convinced Professor Dumbledore that she'd share dinner with him some other time. She had given him the Sorting Hat before making her excuses, although she hadn't gone straight to the Common Room as she had led him to believe she would. By the time she'd made it up to her new dormitory, everyone else was asleep, which had been a huge relief.

The reality of her situation was upsetting, and already taking a cruel toll, but Hermione's tears in the early morning were not for the quests she supposedly had to accomplish. No, the tears she cried were born of insecurities and childhood fears, and they traced sadly familiar patterns down her face.

I've never been good at this whole making friends business.

A memory flitted across her mind, round at the edges and perfectly detailed, still containing all the powerful emotions that had first accompanied it.

It was a crisp day in October, and Hermione had been at Hogwarts for a little less than two months. She put on a brave face, but the night before last she'd cried herself to sleep.

She was in a school for wizards and witches; a whole new treasure trove of knowledge was placed at her very fingertips, and best of all, she was learning firsthand that magic was real. It was incredible, like a dream come true, and Hermione should have been ecstatically happy.

But she was not. Something vital was missing, and Hermione was all too aware of what that something was.

She had no friends.

And unfortunately for the young Hermione, the once-promising fall morning took a decided turn for the worst in what was usually one of her favorite classes: Charms.

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ronald Weasley had motioned towards the feather on his desk.

Hermione had smiled, excited to show someone that she could do it, that she was just like them… no matter if she hadn't grown up knowing she was a witch. Maybe they'd ask her to teach them, and then-

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione cried with a flourish and the feather lifted gracefully into the air. Professor Flitwick started clapping, and Hermione turned around, beaming, to look at the gangly redhead. But Ronald didn't return her smile. In fact, he glared at her rather fiercely.

Hermione's face showed confusion and hurt for a split second, but then she hid it behind a look of concentration as she pretended to be focusing on holding the feather aloft. It wasn't actually all that difficult, but anything was better than looking in Ronald's scorn-filled eyes. He obviously loathed her. A stray tear rolled down her cheek, and as the class was dismissed, Hermione lingered behind, slowly stuffing her materials into her bag. Harry Potter and Ronald were just in front of her, and Hermione couldn't help but hear the tail end of their conversation.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly." Ronald's voice had sounded unnaturally clear as Hermione had frozen for a second as though in physical pain. It didn't take a genius to figure out who they were talking about, and the poor girl had felt miserable as a fresh batch of sobs threatened to break loose. She promptly shoved past the two boys and ran to the girl's bathroom where she had felt safe as she cried her little heart out.

She was older now, and her tears were quieter, but no less intense. School had been hell before she'd finally became friends with Harry and Ron, and now Hermione felt like she was in the same situation all over again, surrounded by strangers and extremely far from home.

She couldn't stand laying quietly on her bed for another moment, so Hermione fumbled around in the near darkness and changed into the uniform she'd put out the night before. She grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and silently slipped out into the Common Room.

There were a few people awake, seventh-years, by the look of them, but they were arguing heatedly, and only spared her a few curious glances. Hermione pulled a scarf tightly around her neck and bent down to jam her shoes on. She pulled her hair back into a rubber as she exited the Common Room portrait hole.

She somehow found her way outside, just as the sun was peering around the tip of the earth, casting a few bright rays on the glistening grass of Hogwart's grounds.

Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and Hermione allowed them to lead her on without really paying much attention to where she was going.

Because of this, she was slightly surprised when she found herself heading down a quiet path on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione gave a wry grin when she realized where her feet were taking her.

Third year had been another lonely year. She was stressed taking so many classes, and to make matters worse, she got into a spat with Ron and Harry. For a while, her best friend had been Rubeus Hagrid, the gigantic, wonderful gamekeeper who had introduced Harry into the magical had worked so hard to lighten the death sentence placed on his beloved hippogriff, Buckbeak. She had spent hours talking and walking with Hagrid around the school grounds and the path she followed now was one of his old favorites. She was surprised to see that even in this time, it looked well worn. The trail began to lead deeper into the Forbidden Forest, and Hermione casually pulled out her wand. It was always good to be prepared.

Hermione suddenly heard a distinct grunt in the distance, and she froze immediately. What was that?

A loud roar split the air, and the leaves on the trees fluttered in response as the terrible noise was followed by the muffled sound of a human shout. Hermione felt her blood run cold. She would recognize that roar anywhere.

Hermione gripped her wand tighter and ran towards the sounds of chaos, trying to remember everything she knew about trolls.

She burst out of a tangled mess of branches and undergrowth into a small clearing at the end of the trail, and panted from exertion, although she did not allow herself a long respite. There were more important matters she had to attend to.

Such as the troll that was standing smack dab in the middle of the clearing.

The beast before her was stood roughly nine feet tall, with skin that looked like it came from a dead toad, and short legs that were as thick as tree trunks. It was facing away from her, long arms ripping up fistfuls of the ground in anger as it let out another fierce bellow. Hermione noticed it was bleeding from a small cut on its' tiny little head, and she wondered what had happened to it.

She didn't have to wonder long as the troll moved forward slightly, and Hermione was given her first glance at what had so infuriated the beast.

A large boy in Hogwarts robes was sitting on the ground, yelling at the troll (which Hermione thought was a rather stupid thing to do) and gesturing angrily with his fist. It seemed like he was issuing a challenge. He was also, unsurprisingly, a Gryffindor.

Was the boy trying to get killed?

Hermione didn't pause to think.

She ran closer towards the duo and raised her wand, pointing it straight at the lumpy back of the troll.

"Aliusque et Adem!" She yelled, praying she had remembered the incantation correctly. The troll's skin began to ripple and it looked like bubbles were forming beneath the hideously colored membrane. Then, the troll's skin began to emit a wet hissing sound, and steam rose from the troll's pores until it covered the entire ugly expanse of its' body. When the steam finally cleared, Hermione, chest heaving with adrenaline, found herself staring into the eyes of a clearly maddened, gigantic forest toad.

She stood frozen in awe for a moment. "It worked!" She yelled, as she punched the air triumphantly. The toad began to advance on her, and Hermione came to the quick realization that anything gigantic, with that bad of a temperament, was going to cause problems. She raised her wand again.

"Confringo!" she screamed, and Hermione was suddenly covered in toad guts. The stench had her retching, and she leaned over, quickly losing her dinner from the night before.

She jumped back slightly when she felt a large hand pull her hair (which had somehow escaped that blasted rubber) out of the way, but she couldn't exactly stop mid-vomit to see who it was.

When she had finished, she found herself being offered a gigantic, flowery-printed hankerchief.

"Here, miss, jus' use this ter clean up." Hermione grabbed the proffered cloth gratefully, and wiped furiously at her mouth. After she was finished, she looked up to meet a familiar face.

Hermione's mouth fell open as she craned her neck upwards, squinting in the early morning light. There, before her, stood none other than a young Rubeus Hagrid.

He didn't have a beard (though his chin could never have been called cleanshaven), and his wild black hair twined a little ways past his shoulders, but Hermione would have recognized his warm, familiar black eyes anywhere.

"Erm, miss?" Hagrid was eyeing her as though worried for her sanity. Hermione came out of her stupor at the sound of his voice.

"Are you alright?" she cried, reaching up and frantically patting the large boy all over, though she had to stand on her toes to do so. He let out a grunt when she accidentally brushed over a wound on his shoulder, and Hermione gasped when she that the hand she quickly pulled back was covered with red, sticky blood.

"You're hurt! What are you doing? We've got to get you out of here!" Hermione's eyes were wild, and Hagrid probably would have stopped to protest if she had not tugged him insistently towards the path, clucking in distress over his shoulder like a mother hen.

"What were you THINKING! Honestly, how did you make that troll so angry?" Hermione's tone was sharp with worry and relief. Hagrid opened his mouth to respond, but she was shaking her head, and continuing the one-sided conversation angrily.

"That was only a forest troll, and they're so stupid that you'd have to practically stick a needle in its' eye to get it to notice you!" Hagrid grinned sheepishly at the strange young woman. She let out a shriek at this response and tugged a little harder on his arm, which made him wince. She had quite a strong grip for someone so small.

"PLEASE DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY TRYING TO GET ITS' ATTENTION? HONESTLY! DO YOU WANT A DEATH SENTENCE?" Hermione had, by this time, worked herself into a rapidly escalating lecture.

"I was jus' lookin' fer a bit o' wrestlin' practice-"

"WRESTLING PRACTICE!" Hermione held a hand to her forehead to stifle her growing headache, and then made the mistake of once again looking up at a concerned Hagrid. The sight of his familiar face, crinkled beetle black eyes filled with worry caused a wave of homesickness to wash over her. She couldn't help what happened next. She promptly burst into tears and seized him around the middle.

Hagrid awakwardly patted her back as she cried into his chest, letting out the occasional howling sentence of "Your poor hankerchief, it's ruined!" and "I absolutely loathe crying!" (this last was followed by an exceptionally loud sob which left an intimate trail of snot on Hagrid's crooked tie).

"It's alright, miss, no harm done. It wasn't that clean to begin with anyways." Hermione let out a muffled giggle, which relieved Hagrid immensely. The giggle turned into a chuckle, which caused Hagrid to start chuckling, and soon both were clutching their stomachs as the forest echoed with peals of hysterical (in Hermione's case) and utterly confused (in Hagrid's case) laughter. Hagrid wasn't entirely sure why they were laughing, but he was quite relieved that Hermione was no longer crying.

After serenading the unappreciative birds with their loud outburst, Hermione straightened up; wiping her wet cheeks with a dirty hand, as she unknowingly smeared a stripe of mud across her cheek.

She had then stuck out the hand to Hagrid.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

Hagrid grasped her hand a little too strongly, and Hermione heard several of her knuckles crack.

"It's a pleasure ter meet yeh, Miss Hermione. Jus' call me Hagrid. All my friends do."

He released her hand and Hermione exhaled happily.

"Yeh can keep that handkerchief if yeh like."

"Oh, right, thanks for that. I'm sorry I made such a mess, I didn't realize the spell would be quite so effective." Hermione glanced down at the once-pinkish cloth and blushed.

"Don' worry about tha,' of all things. I've always got an extra around somewhere. And that spell was brilliant, fer a moment there, I thought that toad was looking ter squash yeh! Next time, though, yeh should watch me wrestle the creatures. They have a terrible stench, but once yeh've gotten over that, they make the best wrestlin' partners!" Hermione was somehow looking down her nose at Hagrid sternly, although he was at a loss as to how such a short little person could make him feel as though her were suddenly three feet tall.

"I certainly will not come 'next time,' and neither will you! And I hope that you were not implying that you've participated in such reckless behavior before. And there will be no 'next times!' That troll could have killed you!"

Hagrid was quick to stop her before she had a chance to start a new lecture. "Nah, we were jus' gettin' warmed up. Promise, miss, he meant no harm, he was quite nice to oblige me so fast-" he was cut short by the glare that had returned to grace her features, and Hagrid decided a subject change was in order.

"But enough about trolls, blimey, yeh're tha' new girl Dumbledore announced last night, aren' yeh?" Hermione knew he was changing the subject, but let it slide. She knew from experience that she would never be able to persuade Hagrid that the beast wasn't just obliging his want for a good tussle, but rather looking forward to picking Hagrid's bones out of his teeth with a toothpick. So, she let out an audible sigh before she smiled up at him brightly and answered his question.

"Yes, I was resorted last night. I don't know if you heard any of the speech, but apparently there's been some sort of curse put on me, and I can't remember anyone. To make it worse, no one can remember me either."

Hagrid scratched his head.

"I thought Dumbledore said summat like that. Great man, Dumbledore. But what an awful thing ter happen! Must be horrible for yeh, having ter get resorted, starting school again like a first year, having ter make new friends…" Hermione blinked up at him, surprised at his perceptiveness. She felt warmed by his empathy, and knew that if she could tell anyone the fears that were stealing away her sleep, it was Hagrid. It was also interesting, she realized with a sudden jolt, because Dolohov had said nearly the same thing the night before, but the future Death Eater had imagined the situation called for anger whereas Hagrid seemed to view it with a resigned acceptance.

"You know Hagrid, when I was really worried about all of those things, and I'd be lying if I said that I'm not now, but… it hasn't been difficult at all talking to you, has it? I hated all of the staring last night and it's just... well, it's just not really easy, making friends, you know? But maybe it won't be as hard as I thought."

Hagrid gave her a warm smile, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Yeh seem ter be doin' a fine job right now, Miss Hermione. I wouldna worry about making friends if I were you." The genuine quality to his voice somehow made Hermione feel a little better, and she talked to Hagrid all the way up to the Gryffindor Common Room. It was almost eight, and Hermione wanted to take a shower before heading down to breakfast. Troll guts as accessories would probably draw even more attention, and they really did not go well with the Gryffindor colors.

Although had I been sorted into Slytherin, troll guts would have been perfectly appropriate. The colors even match.

Hermione voiced this thought to Hagrid, and he looked confused for a moment before letting out a snort of laughter, which caused a few curious onlookers in the halls to stare at her with even less subtlety.

Let them look. Idiots.

Hermione tossed her hair and smiled a brilliant smile at a boy who had stepped a little too close to her and was gazing at her with a little too much interest. The unfortunate Ravenclaw got an unexpected whiff of troll, and started retching. Hermione giggled as she turned a corner with Hagrid, and the boy was lost to their sight.

Maybe I was right. Perhaps this won't be so hard after all.

And of course, she could not have been more wrong.

Antonin sat at the far edge of the Slytherin table, watching as students slowly trickled into the Great Hall. There were noticeably few students from Slytherin up and about, despite the fact that it was already ten past eight, and no one was sitting near him besides an annoying little twit of a third-year girl who was speaking loudly to a few of her friends.

Antonin was surprised when the little group suddenly went silent before bursting into a fit of giggled and excited whispers. Turning towards the doors, he expected to see Lestrange and Malfoy, surrounded by their usual gang. His face paled when he realized that the boy approaching the Slytherin table was none other than Tom Riddle.

As Riddle grew closer, Antonin swallowed audibly. Tom was quiet, but he had a confident gait and a self-assured tilt to his shoulders. He was respected and liked by students from all houses, and unsurprisingly, a shiny new prefect badge gleamed on his school robes. His robes were not expensively cut, or tailored to perfection, as were the robes of many of the pureblooded Slytherins, but they were clean and neat.

The night before, when Antonin had gone to meet him, Tom had been strangely reserved. He had not said whether his plan was a success, and frankly, Antonin thought that the less he knew of Tom Riddle's planning the better. Antonin had not asked any questions, although he had answered many. Tom seemed satisfied that the Polyjuice switch had been pulled off successfully, and Antonin made no move to dissuade him from this belief, although he'd shifted uncomfortably after remembering the looks Dumbledore had sent his way.

The girls beside Antonin had quieted again, and he looked up as Riddle slid into the seat beside him, throwing the third-years a kind smile.

"Hello, Dolohov. It's good to see you. Did you arrive this morning? I'm assuming you spent a bit longer on the family trip?" Tom was looking down at him (he was quite tall) and Antonin replied smoothly.

"No, I actually got in late last night. Most everyone was already asleep. And yes, my mother clung to me all summer long, and begged the headmaster to let me stay with her one more day. We were in Egypt, and it was fascinating." Antonin returned his eyes to his plate, hoping that this would satisfy Riddle, who had drilled him on this story the previous night, making sure that all of the bases were covered.

Riddle seemed satisfied, because he nodded his head before offering Antonin the roll he had just buttered, which Antonin took with fingers that slightly trembled.

"Ah yes, there are several important sites there. Alright though, Dolohov. Looks like those girls are finally leaving." And sure enough, the small know of Slytherin girls were rising from the table as one, led by the Hornby brat who was once again chattering loudly.

Riddle chuckled quietly. "Good work. She'll be spreading that around the school for the rest of the day. I'm pleased the Polyjuice switch worked so well. We may have to use it again in the future. Anyway, I'm not sure how much time we've got before Malfoy and Red get here. I have a favor to ask of you. It has to do with the new girl."

"The one who got cursed in the Unspeakable study?"

"Yes. I had an interesting… run-in with her last night, while I was in your body."

Antonin's eyes widened. "Does she know-"

"What? Dolohov, don't be ridiculous. She had no idea it was me. She didn't even recognize your face. Whoever performed that curse did a good job of it." Riddle's voice held a tinge of longing.

"Did you talk to her?"

"Of course. I can't believe the curse had an effect on us as well. You realize, Dolohov, that our memories have been tampered? She could have been your girlfriend, and you'd have no idea. Hell, she could have been in Slytherin for all we know!"

Dolohov hadn't thought about that. He shrugged. "Well, she's definitely not now. I find it hard to believe that she could've been one of us, because surely the hat would have put her back in here? It seems like she comes from old blood though. Those aunts of hers sound strange. I wonder how the Unspeakable made them exempt from the curse?"

"Yes, I think Dumbledore was curious about it as well. I got to hear his entire speech just before she got sorted. So you see why I'm interested in her?"

Dolohov nodded. "Yes. It would be good to know more about her."

Riddle gave him an approving glance. "My thoughts exactly. I get the impression she's a brain. It's hard to get into those ministry studies, especially as a student, especially into the Department of Mysteries. I set it up last night for you to befriend her. I walked her to Dumbledore's office, and I talked to her quite a bit."

Dolohov grimaced. He wasn't much of a talker and it sounded like Riddle had made him out to be one. Now she'd be expecting him to appear like that. It was hard not to groan at the thought.

"You look like you've swallowed a lemon! It won't be that bad. She was actually pleasant to talk to, better than the usual idiots. Anyway, find out what you can about her. I told her it made me angry that my memory has been tampered with and I'm pretty sure she'd not that happy about it either. Find out more about the spell, if you can. And don't mention a word of this to anyone. Just try to be her partner in Potions, sit by her in classes, that sort of thing, and you can report back to me. If people think it's strange that the silent, haughty Antonin Dolohov is suddenly befriending a virtual stranger, just play it off like you're attracted to her. She's actually quite pretty, although her hair is incredibly wild. Oh look, here comes Malfoy. They're going to be asking you where you were last night, and I'll try to help you make it look convincing. We'll talk again later tonight if we get a chance." Tom buttered a third roll and Antonin couldn't suppress the shiver that went up his spine at the sight of the knife in Riddle's elegant fingers. Riddle didn't miss this, and raised an eyebrow in silent mockery.

Antonin turned to Malfoy as he came over to them, with Lestrange and Avery trailing closely behind. He pushed his feelings to the backburner and quietly responded to their polite inquiries.

I'll have plenty of time to think about how much Riddle terrifies me later. For now, I just have to remember what we learned in History of Magic last year about stupid Ancient Egypt.

After the curiosity of his fellow Slytherins had been assuaged, Antonin felt a prickle of awareness which caused him to straighten in his seat. Someone was watching him. Slowly, he turned his head to the High Table, unsurprised to meet the steady gaze of Professor Dumbledore.

And then he shivered again.