"Malfoy, get off the bed," I growled, and resisted hexing his sorry form.

"Wh – wha - ?" He finally got up, and the way he sprung up reminded me of the Granger girl. On seeing my face, he rolled his eyes and made a move for his sheets, but stopped when I said, "She's gone."

"Hermione?" Trust Abraxas to remember weird names and state obvious facts this early in the morning. "How?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have wasted my time waking you up," I snapped. "I actually don't care where she is, but I'm still worried she might find a way to reverse the Promise."

He groaned, and buried his face into the pillow. "Can't we just assume she's gone to find Dippet? She can't find a reverse spell to a dark chant in just a few hours, Tom. Honestly, not everyone is like you."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Abraxas."

"Says the teacher's pet. Fuck off and feed yourself. I want to doze off for a bit. I had the most wonderful dream-"

"Later, Malfoy."

In the end we headed to the Hall together – my morning walk lasted longer than I expected. I never doubted that morning was the best time to contemplate on one's thoughts. But today, I was a little more preoccupied. I'd never be able to find out more about the bushy haired Granger girl – well, a simple, "Crucio," might actually work, but Abraxas wouldn't let me. Not yet, he'd say. And not her.

Because she was a remarkable being, and if I could conclude that in the few hours of being in her presence, it must mean something.

We sat at the usual place – Abraxas at my right, a never-been-occupied seat at my left – and the pompous coot who called himself our Headmaster struck his goblet to get our attention. I was actually too busy in a glaring competition with Avery, but Abraxas nudged me to look.

Granger was standing by Dippet's side, a blank look on her face. It seemed as though she didn't need connections after all. She'd changed into the Hogwart's robes, and I briefly wondered if she had already worked all of this out. Which house would she be put into? I reckoned Ravenclaw.

"Now that I have your attention," Dippet's voice rose, "I would like to introduce the new sixth year transfer student who arrived this very morning, Ms Hermione Granger.

'Ms Granger has transferred from the Pureblood Tutoring school,, as have many students. Although it has been a few days since the academic year started, I am quite certain she shall feel welcome here.

And now, for a brief Sorting ceremony."

It was all happening too fast. Surely he hadn't met her until a few hours before? But then I saw her gaze fall on one professor, and she smiled at him.

Dumbledore smiled back.

Of course. I knew this was planned. How could he be so bold as to send another to see me dead? And did she tell him about the Promise?

Actually, on second thought, she'd better not. I'd be expelled.

But what if Dumbledore preferred seeing me dead over seeing me expelled? What if he showed her the Reversal, if there was one?

I swallowed.

The hat sat on her head for quite a while. She must have been debating with it. I wondered which house she wanted to be placed in. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw sounded likely. Surely she wouldn't want to be placed in Hufflepuff, or worse, the Evil Slytherin House (insert eye roll).

"SLYTHERIN!"

…Or she would like Slytherin. Her target is in it, after all. I so do feel special.

The table cheered – not that they actually cared, they just had something to talk about – and incidentally, the seat next to mine was the only one empty.

Avery looked at the girl, looked at me, and scowled.

So very special.

"I'm not going to trade places with you, so don't ask," Malfoy whispered.

Damn.

Her lips were trembling a bit. I was probably the only one who noticed. She didn't seem afraid, but more like I was a pain in the ass which she just couldn't get rid of. It annoyed me. Sure, Dumbledore had sent her, but her plan had backfired and nothing could be done about it. Surely he'd release her from his services or something?

As soon as she sat down, the table was throwing questions at her. It seemed that the inappropriateness of a young miss sitting next to the "coldest of men" didn't strike anyone as odd. If I had been Abraxas, she'd even be getting death glares from the girls.

"Aren't the Grangers purebloods?"

"Avery, she transferred from the Pureblood Tutoring School. Do talk sense."

"Your name is weird."

"Did Dippet test your magical ability? Or was it Dumbledore? You know who they are, right?"

"Your name is weird."

Where did you first hear about Hogwarts? Oh, wait…"

"Your name is weird."

"Shut up, Heartus," I snapped, and instantly the table fell into a silence.

Granger hadn't said a single word yet. It surprised me, because her eyes were so vibrant, even though there were waves of pain if you looked carefully – she just struck as the talkative type. But then again, she had come from a battlefield, and maybe she still behaved like a soldier. Though, the battlefield part could have been false if she already knew Dumbledore.

Now, I didn't like talking to people – save Malfoy, and even with him I didn't say much in public. But when you have a secret sitting next to you, it's inevitable, really.

"What did the hat say?"

She turned to face me so quickly it made a few people on my right jump a bit. She stared at me with an amazing intensity, the rage swimming in her orbs, and even though I didn't feel threatened, I found myself breathing carefully. Suddenly, the fire dimmed. "It didn't say much at first. Letting me do all the talking," she said calmly, "But right before it announced the house, it said, "Desire and Destiny override Bravery.""

I toyed with my food, while the other Slytherins openly stared at her. Then, I couldn't help it, "Desire. And what do you think you want?"

"I think we've established this before," she says very quietly, only for me to hear. "I want you dead."

I wanted to have nothing to do with her. Actually, I never wanted to have anything to do with anybody, but this gave me even more reason to leave her alone. I didn't want hatred to overcome me – the consequences were blatant and harsh enough in the past.

But as Abraxas pointed out to me later, we needed to keep an eye on her. She'd appreciate a few friends, he said – I snorted at that. She was getting plenty of attention, from all the sleazy males – but I didn't argue. Malfoy was free to befriend her.

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What bothered me was that he was trying to make us befriend each other.

"Say, Hermione. Tom and I, we like to finish our Arithmancy homework at the library, since it sort of sparks inspiration. We heard from your dorm mate – the girl with the unusually pale hair – that you do your assignments weeks before the submission date and, well, you're not exactly alone. Want to join us?"

I mean, what in the flipping Underworld?

Not only did he not do homework "weeks before the submission date," he wouldn't do it in the library, least of all in the presence of company. And, oh, he hated Arithmancy.

What was he playing at?

"Sure," she said, though when she met my eyes, she didn't look so sure.

Granger, meanwhile, was doing excellently in all the classes. She'd managed to befriend the Slytherin outcast, Becka Bulstrode – a quiet, frightfully thin but efficient witch – and sat in the very first desk, and rose her hand just as much as I did. She was insolent, fierce, attractive – and the only one brave enough to argue with me in Slughorn's class.

It had been a normal start, at first.

"Sorry I'm late, class," he made his way into the classroom in his weird, sheepish way. He stopped at her desk to face the others; nothing unexpected, seeing that her desk was so very in the front that it was a meter away from his own usual place. "Ms Granger, is it? Pleased to have you here, dear, and welcome, Ms Granger. My, what delightful enthusiasm! In fact – "

Wait for it…

"-it almost rivals that of our beloved Mr Riddle's!"

I flashed him a modest smile, feeling reassured when he said, "almost."

Internally, I groaned. I was being immature – I should certainly put aside this petty rivalry I seemed to have with Granger and avoid her. But then, I reflected, it's not petty when someone tries to kill you. No one had ever made me feel this insecure – not even Dumbledore, not even the matron at the orphanage, not any of the pretty purebloods who wrinkled their delicate noses as though smartass Halfbloodedness was catching.

And here, was a shrimp of a girl, who'd only been here for three days, and hadn't said much to me except, "I want you dead," and I was feeling uneasy.

Not threatened. Really.

"Ah! Would you look at that! You're in luck, my young sixth years," he picked up a jovial, I'm-fabulous tone, "For today we are going to venture into the world of Rainbow potions.

'The Rainbow potions are significant members of the Emoticus Pronshua collection of potions and spells. They include a variety of emotions. Perhaps Mr Riddle could humour us on what these potions truly are?"

It wasn't partiality, per say. But so far, in all of Slughorn's Gryffindor – Slytherin classes, it had always been me who'd raised his hand to answer.

I smiled pleasantly. Extra reading always came in handy.

"Each colour stimulates a particular emotion, "I spoke clearly, directly cutting to the chase. "Violet for Lust, Indigo for pensiveness, Blue for calm, Green for guilt, Yellow for energetic, Orange for artistic view and Red for Optimism."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Granger wiggle in her seat, obviously dying to add more. Pah. As if Slughorn would ask for other's input.

"Fantastic, To – Mr Riddle," Slughorn said pleasantly, "But it seems you lack a few details. Anyone willing to tell us the modifications? Dare I ask for input?"

Huh. Guess he would.

Predictably, her hand shot up in the air.

"Ms Granger. How lovely. Go on."

"Indigo isn't just for pensiveness, it gives you a sharper reality. All your senses become more perceptive –"

"If you find another meaning for the word "pensive", do let me know," I said coldly.

Instantly the class fell into a curious silence. Abraxas openly gaped at me, and believe me, he never did that.

Even Slughorn seemed a little stunned, his facial expression balancing a little alarm, confusion, and admiration. I never interrupted classes. Never.

"'Pensive" means thoughtful, Tom. Indigo gives you an intense physical awareness of your surroundings, though it's called an emotion stimulator," she said sweetly. "The truth is, none of the emotion potions create actual emotions. That is sort of impossible. They create conditions which make it possible for the emotion you desire, to surface. Oh, and you've got a few colours wrongly interpreted."

I was going to retort in such a way she'd never speak again. I was. But she wasn't done. "Green isn't guilt. It enables the taker to draw guilt out of others. Why would anyone want to feel guilty?"

"The same reason they take poison," I snarled, "It's not always for them. It could be used to eliminate a potential enemy."

She snorted. "What? Let them die of guilt?"

"Some call it torture."

Slughorn chuckled. He actually looked like he was about to point out that I was wrong – I had caught that guilty look on his face – and that made me reconsider shooting more arguments. I compressed my lips.

What I said next was something that the class would never, ever forget. It was my most humiliating moment, everybody's most gleeful jaw-drop moment, Abraxas' most sympathetic moment and Slughorn's most pleasantly surprised moment (because we really needed more of those, despite the fact he's pleasantly surprised all the time).

"What else did I get wrong?"

I swear, I said it in the least pathetic way possible. But the gasps came.

I couldn't blame them. Tom Riddle the Really Cold Genius Half Blood Prefect did not, by any means, make mistakes, and more importantly, did not ask where he went wrong.

She stared at me for what seemed like ages, but her voice didn't crack or show any surprise in the slightest. "Red. You got Red wrong, but only because there is no proper evidence as to what it does."

"Excuse me, Hermione," I interrupted, "But I happen to know of the side effects. Lightheadedness, a tendency to ignore negative qualities, euphoria…"

"And occasional glimpses of the future. Hardly qualifies as Optimistic stimulation," she added quietly. "And there lies the problem. All potions, spells and charms that are supposed to give you a view of the future are unstable because some people are simply not meant to glance at the future. True Seers can look without changing events. Ordinary wizards, for lack of better word, go mad."

"Oh, surely you do not believe in such nonsense. Not meant to see the future, indeed. That is called limiting our magical potential."

"Oh," she laughed mirthlessly, "Oh, you're quit mistaken Tom. The consequences of the Red potion do not teach us to limit our magical potential but our magical morals.

'Only some are privileged with a mindset to not tamper with the future, and are thus gifted Seers – not the other way around. I have long since learnt not to underestimate the art of divination. Why, if we didn't have limits, then one can safely argue that it is only fair to indulge in the Dark arts. Isn't that what dark wizards believe, Tom? That the Dark side is not a show of evil but a mark of liberty in exercising magic?"

And that, young wizards, is how everyone realised how easy it was to dive into exceptionally stunning silences. They held their breaths, Slughorn dimmed a bit; Malfoy kept a painfully controlled face.

Because this was the moment of truth. If I argued that yes, I did believe the Dark Arts implied liberty, the rumours about me being a dark wizard would be considered true. If I went along with her, it would mean accepting defeat and that, was something Tom Riddle the Really Cold Genius Half Blood Prefect simply did not do.

It was a moment waiting for.

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A/N: Sorry I didn't update soon. Yes, Hermione is in Slytherin – but I did mention that she looked like she was debating with it. And, as promised before, the OOCness shall be explained. Very gradually. I'm not very fond of disclaimers, but if you think it's necessary, please mention it. And do review!