Author's Note: First of all, many thanks to my lovely new beta Daine; I very much look forward to working with you on future chapters!
I know it's been quite a while since I've updated this; last semester sucked, basically, and I was busy as hell. I hope to be able to update more frequently over the summer, and to not have to accidentally go into a semester-long hiatus come fall.
Reviews are always appreciated: tell me you loved the chapter or you hated it, but pretty pretty please tell me why. Enjoy!
Hermione surprised him – she hoped – by grasping his hand firmly for assistance, instead of lightly relying upon it for balance. Maybe he would be thrown off by the unladylike gesture, not that he would ever admit it if he was; but perhaps taking a bit more control, albeit in a sideways sort of direction, would help him to see her, if not as an equal, then at least as a person.
Hermione was not used to having to try to present herself as being human; it would be a challenge to say the least. She would more than likely have to resist the urge to try to appeal to Tom as best as she could, and instead settle for making her personality as strong as possible. Not obnoxious, hopefully, but more forceful than she'd previously been willing to act.
She was almost certain that by the end of her ordeal with Tom, he would think that she was completely out of her mind. Maybe he'd find that attractive, she thought, on some instinctual psychopathic level. Birds of a feather…
She found herself metaphorically shaken out of her reverie by their arrival in the Slytherin Common Room. As expected – and dreaded – the room was completely empty with the exception of Hermione and her companion. At least, she thought, she wouldn't have to worry about Tom getting into some ridiculous pissing match with anyone who looked her in the eye. The day would be trying enough without violence.
Hermione had sadly not found the time to acquire the book on purposeful transfiguration that Tom had recommended. She hoped that she would still be able to work on her essay successfully even without the additional information, and vowed to find and read that book at her earliest opportunity. For the time being, though, she couldn't afford the lapse in concentration that regret would create; she needed to be both completely focused on both the second – and hopefully final – draft of her essay, and on not messing things up with Tom while simultaneously proving to him that she was, in fact, just as much a person as he.
This would prove, she imagined, to be one of the most difficult essays she'd written to date. Oh well. She didn't expect to save the world without a sacrifice, and in comparison to the sacrifices given by other people she knew writing an essay wasn't even on the charts.
But then, very few people that she knew had ever tried to be civil to the Dark Lord. Who was to say which was harder?
Hermione went into her room to grab her first draft, a quill, and some additional parchment from the trunk by her bed; she took her time on the return trip, making sure to clear her mind. By the time she was had returned to the common room, Tom was already seated at a table with his parchment and quill out, ink bottle slightly to his side; Hermione took a seat at the table next to him, putting their shared ink bottle between the two of them. Hopefully, it would be a quiet affair.
She began by going through her first draft and marking things that she wasn't particularly fond of. Somehow, they were managing to get along. Perhaps they were both simply too focused on their work to spent much of their attention talking; almost no words were exchanged beyond an occasional 'excuse me' when they both went for the ink bottle at the same time.
When she was about halfway through rewriting the essay, though, the conversation began to pick up. Hermione wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing for her 'relationship' with Tom, but she was sure that she worked significantly better in silence than in conversation.
She looked over at Tom to see what had sparked the sudden increase in talking, and saw the answer to her question quite easily: he was completely done with his essay. She felt marginally foolish, still working on the assignment after he had finished; she knew, however, that she would feel significantly more foolish were she to stop when she was obviously not yet done, just to seem a faster worker than she was. Hermione decided that she needed to find some middle ground and fast, before Tom's conversation diminished the quality of her work.
She stood up then, stretching her arms behind her back. They had been at work for quite a while, and she was surprised to feel how stiff her shoulders were. "I need a break," she announced to Tom, herself, and the otherwise empty room in general. What she really needed, she thought, was a nap; but she had to get her sleeping schedule back onto something at least approaching normal, or she would miss all of her classes tomorrow out of sheer exhaustion. "Tell me, what would you suggest doing to relax for a bit?" She realized right away, of course, the alternative meaning that her words could imply; it was only with a fight that she restrained the nearly automatic blush that tried to rise to her cheeks. If he suggested something that involved more than one person, she would be glad for the opportunity to see him in an environment beyond that of merely schoolwork; if he suggested a more solo activity, she would be glad for the opportunity to be by herself for a small amount of time. A win/win situation, she thought.
Tom thought for a moment. It was a rarity, Hermione thought suddenly, for Tom to have to think for a noticeable amount of time before giving a response. Spending time not thinking about school – or his genocidal extracurriculars – must have been unusual for him. Hermione was suddenly struck by an idea, a way that perhaps she could stand out.
After all, she thought, how many girls were brave enough to try to drag Tom Riddle away from his work in the middle of the day?
"Let's go have lunch by the lake," she suggested. It was a statement, not a question, and she hoped that he would see it as such.
"Certainly," he replied after barely half a second's delay. "It is getting rather close to lunchtime."
Hermione smiled brightly; she was pleased with his agreeableness, and saw no reason to hide it. Besides, she thought, he would almost certainly become suspicious if she kept her emotions as hidden as she had been trying to.
"Excellent," she said. "I'm going to go change my clothes," she gestured to her inky sleeves, "and I'll be out in a few minutes. Wait for me?" That was a question, though she hoped that he would respond in the affirmative. She had no idea as to why he would refuse, which meant that it would probably be something Evil, with a capital E.
"Of course," he responded. She gave him another brief but genuine smile before turning around and heading back into her room. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be as difficult as she had anticipated. Maybe, just maybe, this would even be fun.