Chapter Twenty-three: After the Party

Tom walked with Hermione back to the portal to their dorm. He seemed a bit reluctant to leave her there, and he took her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "I wish I hadn't planned this so I didn't have to go," he whispered against her lips.

"Don't go, then," she answered sensibly.

"It's not that easy, Hermione," he tried to explain. "They're not likely to understand if I don't go along. They'll think I've gone soft. I can't let them think that. Don't you see that?"

With a humorless chuckle, she said, "I know how bad Slytherins can be."

"Then I'll see you later, okay?" he said. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. And, I won't let Malfoy talk to you that way again. He'll be sure to see things my way by the end of the night."

"Of that I have no doubt," she said cryptically as she turned away from him. "Innuendo."

Hearing the password, the portrait of the dancing couple clicked open, and Hermione stepped inside without a backwards glace, closing it behind her. She knew that wherever Tom was going, she needed to be wearing something much less colorful than the silver and green domino and mask she had on at the moment.

She quickly mounted the stairs and waved her wand, and in a moment she was dressed all in black, her hair hidden beneath a cloak. She glanced at herself in her mirror and nodded with approval. Then, she quickly went down the stairs again and cast a location spell to see where Tom might be. He was still just outside the door, pacing.

If he comes in here I'll have a lot of explaining to do, Hermione thought worriedly. But soon enough, he headed down the hall and out of the castle towards the Forbidden Forest. Her spell didn't reach far enough to determine where he'd gone once he reached the trees, but she was certain to find them if she went into the woods herself.

Stealthily, Hermione went down the hallway, now abandoned, and out the nearest side door. She walked at a fast clip across the field and down the hill, heading straight for her destination. When she felt a hand grasp her arm, she gasped in surprise.

"Are you going somewhere, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked in his shrewdest voice.

"Of course not," she said. "I merely wanted a walk."

"It does seem strange for a girl from the future to be spying on her boyfriend on a night such as this," he commented dryly. "Tell me, why would you have need to suspect Tom Riddle of anything that would require such tactics?"

"He was gone all day, and now he's off for the night as well," she hedged. "I wanted to know what he's keeping from me. He didn't smell like another woman, but—"

"Miss Granger, we both know you don't suspect him of that," Dumbledore admonished her. "But even if you did, I could easily allay your fears by telling you that Tom spent the afternoon with me."

"Why would he do that?" Hermione gasped in surprise.

"Tom and I used to spend time together practicing divination—at least we did until the terrible tragedy surrounding the Death of the Muggle girl," he said. Hermione could tell he was trying to get a response from her, but she offered no bones.

"You never mentioned that in the future," she said instead. "I was always under the impression the two of you did not get on."

"Oh, no, Miss Granger," he answered with a slight smirk. "There's not a soul alive who can't get on with young Tom. He is the picture of what a young Wizard should be. Of course, only I know about his actual origins—well, Dippet and I, I should say. And you, of course."

"Yes, of course," she answered non-committally.

"And it would be such a shame if the others knew, would it not?"

"Professor, are you trying to get at something?" Hermione inquired. "Your behavior is quite peculiar. Nothing like the man I know."

"Years can change one, I suppose," he agreed. "But I do wonder, Miss Granger, why you would choose to come back to this place and time without warning, and strike up a friendship with Tom Riddle in particular, when it seemed very much as though you did not trust him when I first saw you together."

"No more than I trust anyone when I do not yet know them," she hedged.

"Indeed, yes, that is true," he agreed. "But for someone from the future, perhaps not as much? After all, I am fairly certain that you trust me?"

"Of course, sir," she said. "But I've known you half my life."

"And yet, Miss Granger, you have forgotten that I do not know you at all," he pointed out. "What am I to think of you sneaking about the grounds on Halloween night dressed all in black, but that you do not wish to be seen? And of course, headed in the same direction as Tom and his lads."

"You saw them, then?" she asked.

"I have turned a blind eye, Miss Granger," he said. "Boys will be boys, after all. They're only off for a bit of tomfoolery—no pun intended, of course."

"And you didn't stop them?"

"Miss Granger, have I ever told you what makes a man great?" he asked instead of answering her question.

"No, sir?"

"There are only two ways to become really great, my dear," he said. "Either by getting people to like you, or getting them to hate you. Gellert Grindelwald is considered great because he is the most hated and feared Wizard in the world. In contrast, I am angling to become great by showing everyone that I am kind, and dependable, and wise. But without Gellert to compare me to, would my greatness seem quite so great?"

"I—I don't understand, sir?" Hermione began to edge away from him.

"No, I don't suppose you do," he agreed as he fiddled with his beard. "Run along back to the castle, Hermione. You don't want me to take points from Slytherin, I trust?"

"Good night, sir," she answered uncertainly, and ran back to the castle as fast as she could.