Once again, Hermione found herself sitting in a classroom, being taught things she had long-since mastered. It took a lot of self-control to stop herself from pulling out a book and just spend the entire hour reading, but she knew she couldn't. After all, Hogwarts was the most advanced wizarding school of the time; it wouldn't do for her to seem like she already knew the material. So, holding in a sigh, she forced herself to pay attention, taking notes in much the same manner she usually did in History of Magic, just to keep herself awake.

As she was writing, inspiration struck her; she needed to 'help' Tom Riddle. And in order to do that, as much as she wished there was a different way, she had to get close to him. Luckily, he had presented her with such an opportunity, more than once.

Which was why, later that day, she found herself talking to him over the Slytherin table at dinner.

"Tom," she began uncertainly, "does your offer still stand? Of… helping me catch up?" She couldn't believe what she was doing. She had learned almost everything a year ago, at least. But there was no other way of doing it, short of "Avada"-ing him in his sleep, which she knew probably wouldn't work, anyway.

Tom smiled slightly, which he didn't seem to do very often. "I'd be glad to," he said. "How about tonight after dinner?"

Alone. With Tom Riddle. She could hardly believe it. She could hardly stop herself from wincing and running away. She was certain it was a mistake, that he was just going to kill her, plain and simple. Or torture her, force her to tell him about the future, what was going on with him. How he did it. How he was supposed to do it. Oh god.

"Perfect. I'll meet you in the common room."

What have I gotten myself into? She asked herself, trying to think of a subject Tom could possibly help her with, in case the entire situation wasn't simply an excuse to inflict pain and extort information.

The too-big armchair did nothing to soothe Hermione's nervousness, and she, sitting on its edge, could do nothing but inch further away from it's overwhelming cushions. She sincerely hoped that Tom would hurry up, because she was quickly losing her nerve. Already, she was restraining herself from rushing off to her dorm and hiding under a blanket until she could go back to her time, where everything made sense, where she wasn't forced to consort with Dark wizards in order to, hopefully, save the world.

She heard a door click shut, but the sound was so soft she didn't pay attention to it. In fact, she didn't even realize that she was no longer alone until Tom spoke. "Hello," he said, greeting her. Startled, Hermione almost jumped, but managed to catch herself in time; she didn't want to seem needlessly on edge.

"Hello," she responded, calming herself. "Thank you for agreeing to tutor me."

"No problem," he answered casually, as if he did it on a regular basis. Though she had no doubt that he probably could have tutored most of the teachers at this point, Hermione doubted that he took time out of what had to be a very engaging quest for power very often.

"At Tarnley, we were learning about Dementors and patronuses at the end of last year, and I'm afraid I didn't do too well. There's just something about the charm that I can't manage – and I hate to not be able to do something. So I was wondering if you could help me figure it out; tell me what I'm doing wrong." She looked at him hopefully. She knew he didn't want to do it – of course, Defense Against the Dark Arts had to be his least favorite class – but he couldn't very well say, "No, sorry, I'm learning to be an evil overlord, and teaching people how to resist me is against my moral code." Besides he had already offered, after all. Hermione would have appreciated the irony if she hadn't been so worried.

"Of course. First, you must be sure that you know how to properly say the incantation. 'Expecto Patronum.' Say it."

"Ex – expecto patronum," she said, making sure she stuttered it a little.

"Good. Now, close your eyes." The only thing Hermione wanted to do less than close her eyes whilst alone with Tom Riddle was draw unneeded attention and questions by refusing. She asked for help, and now she had to let him think he was giving it; the only way to do that would be to follow his instructions, no matter how foolish and unsafe they seemed. "Think of the happiest moment in your life. The happiest thing you can think of – focus on that moment. Forget about everything except that moment…" His voice was barely more than a whisper now, and more soothing than it had a right to be. He paused, waiting for Hermione to complete her visualization. She saw it in her mind's eye. Harry, swallowing the potion, the one she had chosen, and walking safely through the fire. She had been so proud of herself. Only twelve, breaking Professor Snape's riddle and allowing Harry to move on, to save the world for what would be the second of many, many occasions. "Okay," he said in the same quiet, calming voice, "say the incantation."

"Expecto patronum!" she said in a loud voice that sounded like a scream in contrast to Tom's tone. She opened her eyes in time to see a silvery otter come out of her wand, and she was upset that she hadn't remembered to be bad at it. Still, she couldn't help but be proud; the patronus looked almost solid, not like the obviously insubstantial one she managed to produce in her fifth year. It looked like she could pet it– without realizing it, she reached out to touch the otter, and it disappeared. "It looked so real," she whispered in awe.

"That was one of the best patronuses I've ever seen," said Tom, slightly skeptical. "Are you sure you've never done that before?"

Hermione blushed. "Never that well. It's normally just a blurry, faint light. It's never taken on a corporeal shape before. Thank you." Hermione hadn't thought it possible for thanking someone to be so difficult. It felt unnatural, and the words tasted strange. She didn't realize until then exactly how close she was standing to Tom. Close enough to touch.

She almost reached out for him, suddenly craving human contact. But before the motor impulses reached her arm, she remembered who he was, and knew that he had probably manipulated this entire situation. She could be under an enchantment right now, and wouldn't know it. Of course, her mind skipped over the fact that, if she were enchanted, she wouldn't have thought of it and wouldn't have been able to resist, and went straight to the anger and, though she masked it as best as she could, fear.

"Will you move?" she snapped angrily. He smirked, a more condescending smirk than Malfoy had ever pulled off. "I don't like people standing that close to me," she said, fighting the urge to push him away. She had almost been able to convince herself that Tom Riddle was not Lord Voldemort, that he hadn't done all the terrible things she hated him for yet. She almost saw him as a person. But she found that suddenly she hated him anyway. Not for what he had done – he hadn't done it yet, after all, and if she did what she was supposed to, he never would. No, she hated him for a far more petty, though no less effective, reason – she hated him for that smirk. The one that she thought she would never have to see, not now that she was decades before Draco Malfoy was thought of. It amazed her how that one look, that one expression could fill her with so much anger. Without realizing who it was, overtaken by the sudden rage she was feeling at seeing that goddamn smirk again, now, when she thought she was safe from it by a margin of fifty years, she shoved him, just as she would have Malfoy if he had been standing that close and her mood had been that bad.

In an instant, he had his wand out, an ugly sneer on his face. Hermione instantly regretted her unconscious action, but knew she couldn't take it back; she obviously couldn't explain that she thought he was someone else, someone not even born yet. She drew her wand in response, knowing that he was more powerful than she but hoping he wouldn't attack. "Stupefy!" he shouted, but before the word was completely out of his mouth, Hermione performed a shield charm, vaguely wondering why he was using such basic magic. She knew, though, that she couldn't stop to think about it, so she sent a stunner of her own back towards him, which he dodged with surprising agility. They opened their mouths again to continue the impromptu duel, but the spells fell flat, unfinished, when the door to the common room opened.

"Professor Rosier," Tom said nervously. "What brings you down to the dungeons?" He was doing a bad job of acting innocent, and Hermione knew that it was on purpose. From what she had heard – and witnessed – he was able to charm whomever he chose; he couldn't have gotten this far being so bad an actor.

"Mr. Riddle, of all the students at Hogwarts, I least expected you, as Head Boy, to be dueling in the common room! And with a new student, as well!" He turned to Hermione, who suddenly became extremely nervous. "And you! I would expect that you would keep to the rules for a week, at least, before dueling with someone! Twenty points from Slytherin for your inappropriate and immature behavior, and detention for you both tomorrow night!"

Hermione was shocked; had she really been dueling with Tom Riddle, the future Dark Lord? He could have killed her! Yet he hadn't – in fact, he had only tried to stun her. Something was wrong, but she didn't have time to dwell on it at present. "Yes, Professor. I'm sorry," she said in a sincere voice.

"As you should be! Now get to bed, both of you, before I make it thirty points!" He waited a moment for them to start off towards their separate dorms before turning around and leaving the Slytherin common room. Hermione heard the door close and felt Tom Riddle's gaze upon her once more, but she kept her eyes firmly focused on the door to her own dormitory, pretending she didn't notice.

I can't believe it. Not even a week into the term, and I have detention!