A Thanksgiving present for my American readers. Relatela, thanks for the review! Hogwarts Headgirl, glad you liked it. And the guest with the history bent, yes, it was a historical reference. Thanks to JKR for all the original work, I merely play here. One further thing: this chapter and the next are sort of twinned, but still tweaking the next one. Hopefully I will get that up tomorrow or Saturday. The chapter titles are a hint, hehe. Enjoy!

"I think that will do," Hermione said, pulling on a finely knit grey cardigan over her white blouse. The navy skirt was sufficient for Slughorn's supper party, and she rolled her eyes when Sophie pursed her lips and offered a matching headband with grey roses on it, while Olivia pinned a small circlet brooch in silver to her sweater.

"Much better," Sophie said when Hermione put the headband in her hair impatiently. "You don't want to look plain."

"I want to look like myself," Hermione retorted, wordlessly blocking Olivia's attempt to transfigure her Mary Jane heels higher. "Enough."

"Oh fine, have it your way," her roommate sighed, then looked at Sophie as Hermione left the room. "What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall in that room when Tom sees her."

"I'm more interested in being a fly on the wall in the hall when he gets her alone," Sophie snarked.

Hermione found Phineas waiting nervously in the common room, sporting a nicely cut set of dress robes. "Shall we?" she said politely, and took Phineas' arm as he moved them toward the exit of the common room.

"Yes, about that, Hermione…" he trailed off rather helplessly when Hermione caught sight of Herecles Potter lounging against the wall opposite their common room, dressed very spiffily in his own dress robes.

"Phineas…" Hermione began warningly, turning on her housemate who removed his arm quickly from hers and pushed her toward Potter.

"I'd better go get my date," he squeaked as Herecles said, "Yes, Phineas, Augusta is waiting, and you know how she hates to be kept waiting."

Hermione watched her cowardly friend hurry off toward the Gryffindor tower and turned her attention back to Herecles, who looked pleased with himself.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, and he grinned.

"I'm helping you, Hermione. Don't worry, I don't consider this a date…I'm still getting to know you, after all, and I was invited in my own right."

"I'll go by myself," Hermione said, and walked by him at a good clip. He caught up with her and stuffed his hands in his pockets, saying good naturedly, "You don't mind if I walk with you, do you? We're going to the same place after all."

She stopped, exasperated, and whirled to face him. "What part of this situation do you not understand? Tom Riddle will hex you into oblivion, literally, if he even thinks you are interested in me. Which, you just admitted you are not; so why set yourself up for another trip to the infirmary in the best case scenario?"

"I didn't say that," Herecles said slowly, his blue eyes earnestly appraising. "However, it looks to me like to start, you could use a real friend, one who is actually willing to stand beside you no matter what. Or do you honestly think you can handle Tom Riddle alone?"

His words were such an echo of what she herself had said to Harry what felt like ages ago that Hermione almost cried. Instead she laughed, a mirthless laugh born of frustration and anxiety. She looked at him again and sighed. She couldn't make him understand, so the best option was to try to keep things on an even keel.

"Fine. But please, if he gets angry, let me deal with him."

"No promises," Herecles said, pulling her arm through his firmly. "Let's go make the wrong impression."

"You do have a death wish," Hermione muttered, but she didn't try to take her arm away from him.

To say that Tom was displeased when Hermione showed up on the arm of Herecles Potter would be a cool understatement. He masked it easily enough, but the few times Hermione had glanced at him had been enough to know that she was well aware of his feelings about the matter. He would talk with her before she left. Herecles, however, was another matter. He caught Abraxas' eye and was satisfied that his servant knew just what had caught his attention.

Casually during the pre-dinner aperitifs, Abraxas left his date chatting with some other girls and stopped briefly at Tom's side.

"Tonight?"

"I think not. Let Mr. Potter think he's gotten away with it," Tom said coolly, his attention fixed on Hermione, who was laughing at something Herecles had said as they chatted with Phineas and Augusta Donaghy. "He'll know differently soon enough."

Abraxas tilted his head minutely, then continued across the room to speak to Slughorn. Hermione glanced across the room at Tom again, and found he was ensconced in conversation with a Hufflepuff prefect. She turned her attention back to her friends, but couldn't shake the niggling feeling that he was taking in everything she did. She let out a relieved sigh when she was seated a good distance away from Tom Riddle at the dinner table.

On the plus side, she found Augusta Donaghy to be a curious and refreshing witch. She was in Gryffindor, and her brashness seemed to suit Phineas. It was obvious that he was secretly head over heels for her, and it seemed that Augusta didn't find him lacking either. She found it sweet, knowing they would end up married. She hoped Neville had known his grandfather, then felt sad when she realized that Phineas had died sometime before she really got to know Neville at Hogwarts. She didn't want to know how, the stark clarity of the thought of this quiet, brilliant boy meeting an early death very painful. It was hard to know things before they happened, and she was glad she wasn't a Seer.

Tom watched Hermione's appetite suddenly vanish during dinner, connecting it easily to the look she had thrown at Longbottom. Miss Girard knew about more than just himself, it seemed. That was a useful bit of information. Of course, it made sense with the other tidbits he'd chipped from her—her prior knowledge of Hogwarts, her familiarity with Dumbledore. He mentally flipped through the images he'd pulled from her mind in Hogsmeade Wood that day, fixating on the black haired boy on the path. There was a resemblance to a certain Gryffindor, perhaps. He took a sip from his goblet and easily engaged in conversation with his tablemate, some piece of fluff fifth year from Slytherin with a well-placed father in the Ministry. It was easy enough to distract her with questions about the Ministry while internally shuffling around the pieces of information, toying with it in a detached manner and waiting for his opportunity to deal with Hermione's little faux pas this evening.

When supper was concluded, Slughorn vanished the table and everyone was free to serve themselves coffee or tea. The evening was drawing to a close, small groups of students conversing as Slughorn drifted between them, a happy smile on his face. Tom had worked effortlessly closer to Hermione and her date, the inestimable Mr. Potter. Finally Tom had the opening he had been looking for, slipping a small amount of a potion from his pocket in Potter's coffee with no one being the wiser. Then he turned to the professor who was chatting easily with Abraxas and smoothly cut into their conversation.

"Tell me, Professor, what you think about the proposed changes to the international Quidditch rules?"

Tom knew that Slughorn was a Quidditch fan, and this particular topic was the subject of hot debate among Potions Masters in particular, as they related to cheating and the use of potions to do so in the sport.

"Oh yes, of course! Well I'm sure Abraxas and Herecles are most interested in this, aren't you, boys? I think it's necessary to institute regulations for Quaffle skin, of course, because there are so many substances that can be tampered with…"

Hermione was left baffled as Herecles launched an impassioned debate on the subject with Abraxas Malfoy and Professor Slughorn, delving into the intricacies of Quidditch with an alacrity and clever wit that she hadn't known he possessed. She kept an eye on Tom Riddle, who contributed twice to the discussion but largely kept silent. Phineas and Augusta were across the room, and Slughorn seemed surprised when his hourglass chimed.

"Oh, that's it then," Slughorn said, sounding almost disappointed. "Time for you all to go back to your houses, I wouldn't want to be responsible for you being out past curfew!"

There was a low groan but people began to leave in small groups, and Hermione felt a small bit of unease as Tom moved easily to her side.

"But Professor, don't you think it's a bit of a stretch to assume that Girding potion would maintain its effects via skin contact alone?" Herecles asked, and Slughorn smiled at him.

"You are very keen, Herecles! I don't suppose you and Abraxas would like to continue to discuss this for a few minutes over a small dram of mead? I can give you a note to be out late in the halls…"

Abraxas indicated his agreement and Herecles responded enthusiastically, "That would be great, Professor! Now, about the skin contact…"

"I'll just escort Hermione back to her dorm then," Tom said smoothly, cutting her away from the vigorous debate before Herecles could register her shock. Hermione realized that he didn't even notice she had gone, so engaged was he in the conversation.

"What did you give him?" she asked in a low tone as Tom moved her swiftly through the door with his hand at her lower back. "And don't try to tell me you didn't engineer that little scene!"

"Of course I gave him something," Tom said in an equally low voice, smiling affably at the seventh year Gryffindor prefect as they left the room. "He's too stupid to notice. I doubt he'll even realize it tomorrow. But that is going to be the least of his concerns."

Hermione fell silent at this implied threat, walking out of the dungeons with Tom at her side as she thought what he might have given Herecles, how many potions could bring about his sudden loquaciousness. Was there a poison that caused those effects? She couldn't think of one but she wouldn't put anything past Tom Riddle. Finally she could stand it no longer.

"What have you done?" Hermione asked, her heart rate speeding up as they entered a darker corridor and Tom flicked aside a tapestry with his wand, revealing a shortcut that was bound to be deserted.

"What do you think I've done?" he said as he registered that she was trying to dig in her heels about taking the shortcut. "Relax. I'm not going to hex you."

"As if I believe you," Hermione said, her wand in hand as she faced him in front of the passageway.

"I'll warn you once, Hermione. Put your wand down," Tom said softly, his fingers steady on his wand. She wasn't going to catch him off guard, but he thought now would be a good time to try a theory he had developed after reading the blood magic book.

"Sanguinem invocabo," he said softly, and was pleased when she stilled slightly, the momentary hesitation giving him the opportunity to cross to her in a single step and remove her wand from her hand.

Hermione couldn't describe what had happened, just that her magic had, for that split second, felt like it was waiting for something. It disturbed her greatly, and she asked quickly, "What spell was that? Did you put it on me that day when you brought me back from the infirmary?"

Tom smiled. "I absolutely did not."

Hermione was shocked. She had never seen him smile before, and it made him devastatingly handsome. The realization made her even more skittish. He turned his attention to her wand. It was intricately carved, the details difficult to appreciate unless you were up close—just like her.

"You have a beautiful wand, Hermione," he said as she involuntarily took a step backward, away from him. He could feel the magic in it, slightly antagonistic, just like her. "Dragon heartstring, am I right?"

Hermione ignored the shivers from his handling of her wand, calling on its magic. She didn't want him touching her wand, wielding its magic like that.

"You said 'blood' in Latin. What do you know about my blood?" she asked instead, hoping he wasn't lying about not wanting to hex her. What exactly he did want was muddy, but she had no doubt he would soon enlighten her.

"Let's just say that it confirms a theory I have about your mysterious past," he said, walking forward and causing Hermione to move back slightly toward the passageway.

"What would you know about that?" Hermione asked defensively, aware that her best option at this point was to talk and keep moving toward her common room.

"I suspect I know more than you do about how you arrived here," Tom said, pushing her back into the passageway with a flick of his wand and ignoring her question about his spell, allowing the tapestry to fall behind him as he caused the sconces to flare so he could see her. Hermione wondered what he meant by that, and again cursed his Obliviate and the way he was playing with her. He made a show of tucking both of their wands into his pocket, holding his hands up to indicate he wasn't going to hex her.

"That's better, wouldn't you say? More…intimate for our little talk about your erstwhile date, hmm?"

"He's just a friend," Hermione said warily, continuing to move away from him stealthily. He obviously noticed, because he kept coming forward. "He's worried about me because of you."

"How touching," Tom said, far closer to her than she would like. She could smell the coffee on his breath, along with the faint scent of the soap he used. "Ironic, given that I'm worried about you because of him."

"You don't worry about anyone but yourself," Hermione said, and he placed his hands on either side of her, boxing her in against the wall.

"You presume to know me quite well, do you know that?" Tom said, his eyes locked with hers. "Shall I tell you what I know about you? You're not related to Dumbledore, but you do know him. Furthermore, you know Hogwarts quite well, almost as if you'd gone to school here at some point. And you're not a pureblood, and maybe you're not even a halfblood," he said with a sudden flash of insight.

"You're guessing," she said firmly, pretending a confidence she didn't feel even as her heart thundered like mad. "You don't know anything about me, and you keep trying to find out. But any secrets I have are mine to hold, not yours for the taking."

Tom's hand moved to her neck, cupping the back of her head and tilting it up so he could look at her. "You're so brave, and so foolish."

He paused, letting the words marinate in her brain while he privately thought, You already belong to me, and you don't even know it. He moved closer and whispered into her hair, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, "I can feel your magic thrumming under your skin…strong…powerful…but uncontrolled, skittish without your wand. You have mastered some wandless spells, but how much of your magic slips away before you can direct it? I can give you control, Hermione. All I ask for is a peek inside that mind of yours."

Internally Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. His request meant she had held out against him before, even when he did his worst. She had hoped that was the case, as it was the only thing that would explain his continued interest in her, but to hear him confirm it was a godsend. It gave her the reinforcement she needed to continue fighting him.

"My mind will always remain my own."

"I doubt that very much," he said softly, allowing his own magic to flare slightly, until he could feel her own trying to twist away from it. "There is much you don't know about magic, Hermione. No secret is safe from me forever."

Hermione squirmed, and his hand tightened his hold imperceptibly on the base of her skull, fixing her in position while his magical essence rolled off of him in waves, suffocating her with its intensity. "You see what I mean, don't you? You can feel it, crawling around you. The difference is that I have control over it; control which you lack, witch."

Hermione bravely met his gaze. "If the price of such control is the loss of my soul and my emotions, then no thank you. I'd rather be a lesser witch than become a lesser person."

There was a spark of something in his eyes, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was. He leaned forward, his breath whispering against the shell of her ear in an intimacy she could not like but equally could not escape. "Are you saying I'm less human than you, Hermione? That I don't feel things the same way you feel them? Because if that is your assumption, you're going to find out very quickly how very wrong you are."

There was an uncomfortable tension between them, nearly palpable, as Hermione pushed back with her magic against the oppressive force of his. Neither of them moved, their bodies not touching by only the slightest degree as their magics thickened the air around them. Tom smiled slightly against her neck…he had her now. He allowed some of his emotions to suffuse through his magic, heard the sharp hiss of Hermione's indrawn breath as she felt the difference permeating along every surface where the core of her magical self was pushing against his own.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was low, almost guttural, and she instinctively turned her head toward him, her breath hitting his ear in an equally intimate manner, his magic laced with seductive, alluring notes that made her want to reach out to him. She resisted, strongly, her magic fighting with her.

"You see what I mean, don't you, Hermione? Your instincts know what to do. What other wizard of your acquaintance really knows what this is like?" He raised his head to look at her, and for a brief second, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her, his eyes darting down briefly before returning to lock with hers. At that moment, she didn't know if she would have refused it. The moment was gone before she could think about that, her eyes unconsciously dropping to his full lips for a split second as he continued to speak.

"But let us focus on the problem at hand: your supposed knight in shining armor is now firmly being shepherded by my housemate. Whatever could go wrong, I wonder? Abraxas is not a babysitter, and Mr. Potter is so clumsy…wouldn't it be terrible if another accident befell Mr. Potter? Perhaps one that he won't recover from?"

He felt her magic flare in response to that, her emotions not under as good a regulation as she pretended. So she does know something about that boy, he thought, his face a careful blank as he watched her contemplate if he dared, her eyes scanning his own for any hint of what he would do.

"How do I know that you really have Herecles?" Hermione said quickly, trying to give herself time to think.

Tom pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware you held a life so cheaply—but I suppose he is a Gryffindor, and they are rather useless all things considered…"

"What do you want?" Her voice was quiet; and the sweet sense of triumph that suffused Tom was heady.

"Something simple for today, I think," he said, tilting his head to the side. "I want to see your memory of the first time you heard my name."

Hermione's mind processed the implications of what he was asking, reviewing the memories as she tried to stall for time. She hadn't let him know that she knew he was Lord Voldemort, but she did know that, so would she have to show him that memory, or the first time she'd heard the name Tom Riddle? She wasn't sure which her brain would bring forth.

"You are a heartless bastard," she whispered, looking away from him. He drew his hand to the front of her throat, his fingers resting briefly on her pulse before they drifted to her collarbone.

"No, Hermione, I assure you, my parents were married." His voice was hard, expectant, and Hermione swallowed, then met his eyes again.

"Legilimens," he breathed softly, his left hand clasping his wand in his pocket.

As she expected, he was ready to pounce on her mind, and she had prepared herself, pushing forward her memory of hearing Tom Riddle's name for the first time. The other was a bit more vague, but she knew she had read it in a book before starting at Hogwarts. Hermione felt him in her memory, watching silently as she looked in a display case, his name on a trophy for Special Services to Hogwarts. He felt her close off, ruthlessly tried to skip on to the next memory without any notice of the expression of pain that flitted across her face. She was talking to the black haired boy again, and the ginger boy.

"Harry," she said, "Who does that belong to?"

Hermione was there, pushing him out, disrupting the trail of memories connected to that thought, to his name. She didn't know what he saw, if he saw anything connected to the Chamber, or the diary itself—her mind blurred from the pain of fighting him, but he had clearly decided to be done. He pulled out of her mind with a speed that had her crying out in pain, and he reflexively caught her before her knees gave out. He stood there, thinking, as Hermione tried to curtail the pain in her head and figure out how to get her wand back from him.

"I want to leave," Hermione said, and Tom snapped his head around to look at her. "Please."

"I need to think about this," he said, and Hermione knew it was more of a promise than a statement. She had to get away from him before he demanded more from her. Panic rose in her breast and she began to breathe more and more shallowly, which caught Tom's attention. She could feel him staring at her, and she felt even more vulnerable. She needed to get away!

Tom's response was the exact opposite of what she wanted. He pressed himself completely against her, bringing both forearms against the wall on either side of her arms, effectively pinning her to the wall. "Calm yourself."

His tone was so relaxed, and again Hermione felt that insistent, seductive pull of his magic. Despite the pain in her head, she gritted out, "You won't seduce me with your magic, Tom. I still don't trust you."

"Trust is for fools," he said placidly, "But I will tell you this: I promise you that I won't hurt you, now or in the future."

Hermione gave a little laugh at that, which unfortunately deteriorated into a moan of pain that she bit back as soon as it began. She would not show more weakness to him. "You've already hurt me, just now."

"No, you hurt yourself. That wouldn't have happened if you had shown me the truth," he retorted.

"I won't argue with you further. My wand, please," she said, feeling absolutely pathetic because she had to ask for it back. He must have read her mindset correctly, because he flipped it into her palm without a word, then helped her through the passageway with every appearance of a gentleman.

"What about Herecles?" Hermione asked, breathless from the pace he set, as well as the throbbing pain in her head.

"He will be at breakfast tomorrow," Tom said, taking in the expression of pain on her face at last. "Be thankful it's only a headache, Hermione—and it wouldn't have happened if you had kept to your side of our agreement. Remember that."

"I don't need reminders of your ruthlessness," Hermione retorted in irritation, and Tom clasped her face in his hand, his thumb idly tracing her lips.

"Don't you?" he asked, looking up from her lips at last to meet her gaze. "You will be my date for Slughorn's Christmas party next month. Make sure your…friends understand that, or I'll do it for you."

"You could ask me, instead of commanding me! It might produce better results," Hermione said, desperate to claw back ground that she somehow felt she'd lost.

"That would give you the illusion of choice—and while I enjoy a good illusion, I have none where you are concerned." With that ominous pronouncement, he let his hand fall and walked away.