Chapter 11: Ladies First

Tuesday, September 30, 1944

8: 57 P.M.

"...the patrol schedules will be due in my office by next Friday night, no excuses, and I advise you both to keep an open mind concerning the annual student activity over which you both have control", Dippet droned swiftly from his domineering perch on the imperial Headmaster throne on the other side of his scrupulously neat desk. "Oh, and do try to keep a close eye on things. Merlin forbid the events of a year and a half ago ever repeat themselves". Immediately, Hermione realised to which events Dippet was referring... but they didn't know that.

"Of course, Headmaster", Tom Riddle said, his voice, as always, managing to find the ideal balance between courteous and disinterested. He was sitting casually in a stiff backed chair identical to Hermione's, his chin resting on his right hand in mock interest, she was sure, and his other arm hanging listlessly off the end of the left armrest. Hermione had not seen him move one inch in the past seventeen minutes.

'Of course?' 'Of course,' you little snake? Liar! "What events?" she asked shrewdly, levelling what she hoped was a captivating stare across Dippet's desk at the short but authoritative man. She still couldn't absorb how austere and empty the headmaster's office looked without Dumbledore's loads of trinkets and inventions littering the desks and tables. Austere and desolate and deserted. She resisted shaking her head in pity. Headmaster Dippet: what a truly boring man.

Dippet exaggeratedly ruffled through his various layers of robes and pulled out an ornately carved gold timepiece. Opening it, he impatiently glanced at its face, and then snapped it shut in businesslike fashion. "Had I the time, Miss Nefertari, I would not hesitate to thoroughly answer your question. But, as I'm sure you realise, I do have a slightly important job, I do have a school to run, and I do have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore in five minutes that simply cannot wait."

What a self-absorbed little weasel! She watched in disbelief and resisted rolling her eyes as Dippet busily tapped his stack of parchment several times on desk until the edges were exactly aligned. He probably leaves it there just so he can straighten it like that and look official during every meeting he has. Suddenly, as if struck by an idea, the man's beady eyes left hers and shifted to her male Head counterpart. "Why don't you explain the situation to Miss Nefertari on the way out, Mr. Riddle?"

As if by magic, the Headmaster was temporarily redeemed in her eyes, and Hermione pivoted in her seat, glancing expectantly at the boy beside her. Riddle's eyes, which, seconds before, had been distant and bored, now blinked back to the meeting with a start, narrowing and lowering treacherously on Dippet. She held back another smirk, her third in two days, fearing that Draco was beginning to rub off on her after all of the time she had spent with him. Yes, why don't you explain it to me, Mr. Riddle?

Riddle, however, didn't even acknowledge her inquisitive stare. In a bored yet respectful voice that Hermione knew had to be an act, he said, "Sir, don't you feel it would be best that she heard it from someone like yoursel—" "Oh, not at all, not at all, Mr. Riddle. You're Head Boy, I'm confident you'll do an admirable job," Dippet said hurriedly, cutting him off as he glanced back down at his papers.

Only Hermione saw the dark expression that danced across Riddle's face for a fleeting moment as he stared hard at the man in obvious dislike. But then Dippet stood, and the look instantly morphed into one of polite interest as the Headmaster waved his hands at the Head Boy and Girl like he was shooing cows out into a field. "Now, go on, go on, you two. I have business to attend to!"

As she and Riddle shot out of the Headmaster's office, Hermione felt like a bouncer had just flung her out of a twenty-one-and-older club. The meeting had gone so quickly when compared to Dumbledore's long-winded hour to two hour conventions, she was left wondering how Dippet had even managed to cover everything so speedily.

He must have forgotten something, she concluded. With a pang and a wave of homesickness, Hermione's churning stomach told her that he forgotten to offer them a lemon drop.

Abruptly, she remembered the person with whom she was standing alone and in the middle of a relatively deserted hallway. Her heart began to pump rapidly in her chest, and Harry's voice floated through her memory, 'You've never met him face to face... when there's just you, and just him, and nothing else in between but your wands...'

Hermione, get a hold of yourself! She quickly scolded. He's not going to murder you in front of the Headmaster's office!

Flinging her dark brown curls over her shoulders, the refreshing aroma of freshly-washed hair mingling with the musty, damp scent of the dimly lit corridor, Hermione turned to Riddle and hoped she came off more confidently than she felt as she asked with a grin, "Do you ever get the feeling we're under-appreciated?"

Instead of responding like any normal person would do, perhaps even laughing and agreeing, Riddle stared down at her as if he couldn't quite figure her out, his almost slight form a good six inches taller than Hermione's lithe five foot seven. A moment later, he simply turned on his heel and strode briskly down the dimly lit hall toward the Head dorms, his robes dramatically billowing out behind him in a very Severus Snape-ish fashion.

Whoa, that was supposed to be a joke. For a good thirty seconds, she gawked at his back, unable to believe that anyone could be as blatantly rude as Tom Riddle was, yet charm the teachers as much as he seemed to be able to do.

All right, so don't answer me. "Hey!" she called, jogging after him when he made a sharp left turn and disappeared up a flight of stairs. The amulet thudded heavily against her neck, and she held it in place with one hand until she caught up and quickly fell into step with him, wondering what exactly she was doing. "Is Dippet always like that?"

"Always like what?" he asked in a flat voice completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever, not slowing his rapid-fire pace to accommodate her in the least.

Do you not even have a drop of curiosity in you? "Always like, 'I love myself, and as I am clearly so much more significant than any of my lowly students, let us wrap this up now before I throw you from my office so I can continue to admire my important self?' " she asked in what Ron had come to label as her "Professor Trelawney voice" (simply because she only used it whenever she was mocking Divination).

For a moment, Hermione thought she saw a smirk pull at Riddle's lips, but when he indifferently glanced at her a second later, she was sure that she had only imagined it. "Generally. Had you actually arrived on time, the meeting may have gone quite a bit more smoothly," he said acidly, his gaze darkly raking over her once more before he added silkily, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Damn, I knew that was going to come back to haunt me! "Well, excuse me if, on top of being smart enough to be appointed Head Girl, I also have a social life," she retorted. She was beginning to have serious doubts that she would ever be able to make any headway with the young version of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had in no way been exaggerating when he had said that Riddle shook off humanity. And Hermione wasn't even trying to be a pest, she was just attempting to make friendly conversation.

She shook her head in despair, noticing with an ounce of relief that they had reached the familiar painting of horse and knight. Riddle took a step in front of her, staring down the misfit knight as Sir Cadogan raised his sword and waved it in good-sportsmanlike fashion. "Time. And, no, neither of us are up for a joust today," he added witheringly as the knight opened his mouth to yell the usual challenge.

"Very well, good sir, very well! No need to be snappy about it," Sir Cadogan declared huffily. Somewhat insolently, the painting slid open with that annoying CREEEEEEK! Riddle narrowed his eyes at the knight in reply and took a step toward the portrait hole, Hermione following behind.

"Halt, you scoundrel! HALT, I say!" At the indignant cry, Riddle let out a barely audible, venomous hiss of air, took a step back, and crossed his arms, coolly setting his eyes up against the disgruntled knight. "Do we have a problem?" he asked in a voice that was too eerily calm to actually be calm, if that made any sense at all, his jaw clenched in such a fashion one would think he was up against an actual human being.

Sir Cadogan had raised his visor and was glaring furiously at the Head Boy. "Ungentlemanly conduct, I say! Unchivalrous! Disgraceful," he spat. He lifted one armoured hand and furiously shook it, wagging one shaking finger at Riddle. "Ladies first, you young rogue, ladies always enter first!" For the fourth time in forty-eight hours, Hermione smirked, and this time she didn't even try to hold it back. Without pausing to think, caught up in the aptness of the statement, she turned to Riddle, motioning toward the portrait hole with her head. "In that case, shall I go, or should you?"

As soon as the words crossed her lips, her mouth almost fell open in horror at her burst of rare but sheer audacious stupidity, and she was struck with the double urge to kick herself and clear of the area as soon as possible, and to burst out laughing. If anything, Riddle seemed completely caught off guard by her haphazard cheek as well, and this was probably what saved her, she eventually concluded.

Neither of them made any attempt to enter the portrait hole, silence building in the hall until the only sound that reached her ears was the soft whispering of the wind outside a few corridor windows. The Head Boy, for his part, studied her intently for a good minute. Instinctively, Hermione lifted her chin, reluctantly standing under his gaze... but, she relented, after her comment, she probably deserved to rough it out. She expected to see anger, hate, or at least annoyance in his face, but, strangely enough, she found... nothing.

Despite his utter lack of expression, she knew he had to be thinking something for those sixty seconds, and she didn't especially feel like finding out what was running through his mind. It was easy to see why many of the younger students - and many of the older, even - crept around Tom Riddle with an air of nervousness, dislike - or fear. Subconsciously, she felt her hand inch closer to her right pocket and her wand inside of it...

At last, she let out a sigh of relief when Riddle took a step backward, ridiculously far out of the way of the portrait hole. "Oh, no, I wouldn't dream of obstructing pure-blooded royalty, Nefertari." In one flowing move, he held out his hands graciously, as if ushering her through the door, and bowed his head slightly. "Do go in. I insist."

This time, Hermione couldn't keep her mouth from completely dropping open, and frankly, she didn't care; her mind momentarily became paralysed in surprise before it took off in a dizzyingly fast whirl. Did the past version of Lord Voldemort just mock purebloods? Still mentally stunned, Hermione physically lifted her chin and snapped acidly, "Well, how very considerate of you, then." Obediently, she climbed through the portrait hole, Tom Riddle's empty smile and burning eyes following her as she passed him by.

Blinking in the bright glow of the crackling fireplace, she slowed her gait, slowly regaining enough control of her mind to consider what had just happened. She had just insulted Tom Riddle. He, in turn, had insulted her, for Hermione was now sure that that was what Riddle's comment had been, an insult. Things had not gotten off to a good start. If she ever wanted to find out anything even remotely useful about the young Lord Voldemort, Hermione realised that she was going to have to lay down some rules, and she was going to have to lay them now. She considered kicking off their next delightful little discussion with, I suppose you don't really mean to act like you've always got a wand jammed up you arse, but wisely opted against it.

"Listen, Riddle," she began carefully, "We're going to be working together a lot this year. Unless we want to be miserable, and unless we want to grate on each other's nerves all the time, I suggest we find and agree upon some sort of communication that's going to work."

Riddle, who after following Hermione through the portrait hole had not stopped walking, was by now halfway up the staircase to his room. At the rate they had been going, Hermione honestly expected him to ignore her and continue on to his bedroom, but he surprised her and spun back around casually, three steps from the top. "Nefertari, I do believe that's the most intelligent thing you've said since we've met." The scary thing was, he sounded like he honestly did believe that.

Hermione sighed. Pulling her long, cool tresses off her shoulders, she frustratedly piled them on top of her head and collapsed onto the only piece of furniture that would allow her to sit and still see Riddle: the high-backed, fluffy leather armchair. "Right, I can already see an issue: I'm a talker and you're not. All right, for some absolutely mad reason, you just met me, yet you completely dislike me. Okay, no hard feelings, I can deal with that. But that still doesn't help us figure out how to tolerate each other nearly enough to make our school run smoothly!"

Riddle had not moved from his position on the third step from his bedroom door, but one hand was now raked through his dark, tidy hair. "All right Nefertari, it's this, or it's nothing," he snapped, sounding annoyed. "I don't give a damn if or when you decide to do whatever it is you like to do. However," he paused, accenting the word however, "I will ask that our common room be used for official business only, and not for any kind of the social gatherings that you apparently seem to thrive on. Will that satisfy you?"

Hermione mulled over his proposition, mildly surprised that Riddle had been the one to offer it. Although she couldn't exactly see how this agreement would directly benefit her, she was willing to make the deal with the devil if not to ensure that he didn't come into her bedroom at night and murder her from pure aggravation.

Stop it, Hermione, he hasn't completely become a deranged psychopath yet! Well, she figured, the Room of Requirement would suffice just as well for any midnight parties. "It could work," she slowly relented. "Good". Riddle spun around and stiffly stalked to his room. "It's been an absolute pleasure working with you, Nefertari. Preferably, we won't have to do it again anytime soon." Hermione paused and then, on inspiration, cheerfully trilled "Goodnight!" as his bedroom door loudly banged shut.

The moment he was gone, she massaged her throbbing temples and closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart back to a normal pace after getting into a near-argument with Tom Riddle. Heaven help her if she ever did. Under her breath, she muttered, "Idiot."