Harry sat on the couch in the Room of Requirements and looked at his best friend, who lay beside him. Hermione snuggled up in the blanket and to the black-haired wizard. She was very tired, of course, it was nearly midnight, and Harry wasn't sure if Hermione fell asleep already. He watched the little flames in the fireplace while he stroke Hermione's hair absentmindedly. He was thinking once again about the last days. His mind was full of tricky questions, which Harry couldn't answer.

Was acting normal now more difficult and more strenuous than fighting in the war?

Harry's first reaction was, yes, because in the war he could have been just himself. Here, in 1944, he had to watch not to tell too much about the future, and to no one. Neither to Professor Dumbledore, the only man, Harry trusted at this time. It wouldn't be good; because Dumbledore would never grow to the man the wizard got to know at the age of eleven. Knowing how you would die... knowing about your own death, Harry feared even Dumbledore wasn't brave enough to make the same decisions, which he did in Potter's past. The young man shut his eyes and lay his head on the rest. In fact, Harry doubted that he would make the same decisions twice either if he knew the end. He might have the possibility to save Ginny... and her mom and dad... and her brothers... and a lot of his friends if not all. Now he might save his own parents... Harry knew he wouldn't let them die once more, not one of them if he'd be able to prevent it. Harry was sure he'd do everything he could that this wouldn't happen again!

And if that means that he won't be born, it must be ok. It must for the others.

Anyway, Harry also knew that he had plenty of time until his birth or until 1999. He wouldn't be able to control everything in detail.

Harry closed his eyes for a single moment and he summed up everything. The Potter had lied about his age, because — well, actually in his time he was almost 19-years old and Hermione almost twenty. The new school year in 1944 had already begun and Harry had told Dumbledore to be one year younger than he really was. He had also told the professor that Hermione was going to be 18 on 19th September. The Potter knew she would hate him like poison as soon as she found it out because Granger hadn't had a look at her new passport.

The wizard looked down at his sleeping best friend and smiled.

This morning Hermione sneaked out of the kitchen silently where the little House-elves had made her breakfast, delicious breakfast. Hermione remembered the scrambled eggs and sausages with the toast, and of course the muffins she got at the end. With her third cup of coffee in one hand, she was on her way to the library. For his own best, Harry didn't decide to join her after that horrible morning. "This prat…" Hermione thought hate-filled and remembered the hours after waking up in the Room of Requirements. Harry had a horrible idea.

"Hermione," he announced in a business-like voice, "we have to do something with that ugly scar on your arm." The witch rolled her eyes. Oh boy, he was so slow… because that was her very first fear after waking up in 1944 and the false person to find out first that she wasn't pure-blooded, although Harry had insisted on that stupid fact.

"And you'll hate me for what I'll do to you," Hermione tensed. Oh, she knew how stupid this reaction was because Harry would never ever harm her.

And then she looked at him and his voice whispered in her head: "But I will." She looked stonily.

"It won't take long, I promise," were the next words he told her as he sat down beside her and took his wand.

Then he grabbed her hand roughly and pointed his wand at her ugly burnt-in inscription of Bellatrix.

"Harry! No!" Hermione shouted enraged and tried to release her arm, but screaming didn't help. Punching either, nor slapping his face.

Hermione fell down on her knees. She immediately felt the pain pumping through her entire body, but she wasn't able to utter a peep. Not anymore, not when she was watching at Harry, her best friend, who wrote something on her bare skin, like on parchment.

Bellatrix curse hurt less.

It was as if her heart broke — the person she trusted the most betrayed her. Right now, after all, they went through…

Hermione shuttered instantly and recognized that she had already entered the library and was on her way to her most favorite seat. The young witch sipped her cold coffee before she put it on the desk. The enraged Hermione turned on the heel and headed to the bookshelves, still Harry on her mind.

"How could he dare?" she hissed while she was looking for another book of magic history.

"How could he dare and overwrite the word mud-blood and replace it by pure-blood? How could he dare and add the word dirty?" the young woman thought bitterly.

Hermione was furious and caught in her own thoughts.

"Who?" was the simple question and the witch froze.

She hadn't recognized she wasn't alone.

Hermione slowly turned her head and found Riddle standing on the other end of the shelves, amusingly smirking. "You!" Hermione looked at him in disbelief. That was the moment he went to her in slow motion, like a cat hunting mouse.

"But I haven't done anything to you," he murmured sweetly to her in a very soft voice. The sound would make her flesh crawl if it wasn't Riddle.

Then he stopped right in front of Hermione and looked down at her, smirking.

She crossed her arms. "I didn't mean that," she intended harshly, she knew she acted like a child.

Tom leaned against the shelf and in the close distance he mumbled: "Then tell me."

His voice sounded as if it was magic itself that spoke to her.

"Had he this charisma and effect on all of the people around him?" she wondered for one single moment.

Nonchalantly, she told him the very first idea which entered her mind: "Do you know only one of the moments when your best friend behaves like an idiot?"

Tom Riddle's grin faded and he looked seriously down to her.

He couldn't remember calling someone his best friend.

As Riddle didn't say anything, Hermione added: "I'm sorry I bothered you with such things…"

Then she turned and left the area of magic history.

As she sat down and sipped her coffee she recognized, that Riddle had followed her. He even sat down opposite her. "You didn't," he answered playfully and looked at her for a long time.

He didn't know why, but she was somehow different than any other woman he met before.

And he knew he had to find out why.

And then both started reading the books they grabbed earlier; however, Hermione was suspicious because of his behavior. Tom Marvolo Riddle didn't seem the guy for an average, informal conversation.