Good evening wonderful readers! Busy busy week in work ahead, but then I shall be on break, so hooray! Here's hoping that means a few more bursts of frequent updates. THANK YOU for all the lovely reviews! I'm glad you are all enjoying this, and hope I continue to deliver for you. I'm going to try to reply to the reviews via PM momentarily. For those without PMs or an account, thanks so much for your positive remarks! We are getting closer to Christmas break but not quite to the party yet-that will be in the next chapter.

Do let me know what you think, and many abundant thanks to JKR for the marvelous world in which I humbly play. Thanks for reading.

The days following the DADA trial were awkward for both of them. Word had spread of their trial, and Hermione was being asked to recount how they had taken down both a troll and a graphorn by eager second years in the common room, and slyly accosted in the corridors by fifth year girls who were more interested in tales of Tom's derring-do than of how it actually played out. Of course Tom was saying nothing, but that only added to his mystique. Personally, Hermione was horrified that she had actually hugged the future Dark Lord! Yes, he had saved her from the troll; but because she couldn't say why she had felt compelled to make contact with him, and it had been witnessed by Professor Dumbledore! She was hideously embarrassed with herself.

Tom did not know what to make of the feeling of receiving her hug. It shouldn't have affected him at all to know that she was genuinely grateful to him. He would have been able to chalk it up entirely to another successful move forward toward his goal of securing her, but for one thing: that hand clasp. He had taken her hand, not the other way around. He could have apparated them with a hand on her arm, but he had chosen, deliberately, to take her hand, without any ulterior motive. In hindsight he could see that it was a smart move, portraying to Dumbledore that he was romantically interested in Hermione, but those had not been his thoughts at the time. And this was worrisome, so much so that he distanced himself from her slightly, brooding.

His more astute followers noticed, of course.

"My lord?" Abraxas asked one afternoon, very quietly, as they sat in the Slytherin common room. Tom turned his head to regard the Malfoy heir with a sharply inquisitive look.

"Yes?" he said, and waited. Waiting was one of the best strategies for getting people to do what you wanted them to do, and Tom was a master at it.

"Some of the Knights were wondering about your plans for Miss Girard, if you were planning to make her one of our little group. After her performance during the DADA trial, some would not be so opposed…"

Abraxas was trying to be as circumspect as possible, but Tom was in no mood to answer questions from snippy followers. "You are saying that they are talking about her. Call a meeting. This evening after dinner—8 pm."

"Yes, my lord," Abraxas said, and made to leave before Tom could do anything to him personally for being the messenger. He was too late, however, as Tom called out quietly, "Oh, and Abraxas? Be there half an hour early yourself. You and I need to have a little chat."

"Yes, my lord." Abraxas' eyes narrowed. He was going to hex Rosier into next week for refusing to tell Tom what some of them were saying. He only hoped the rest got punished more severely than himself.

When all of his Knights were assembled, Tom let his magic run a bit freely, the warm up with Abraxas a wonderful reminder of why he was born to do this, to lead. Look at them all, just waiting for what they know will be a dose of agonizing punishment. It was his teaching that kept them coming back for more, however. They wouldn't learn any of what he taught them anywhere else, and for as long as he was alive, Tom Riddle, soon to be known to all as Lord Voldemort, would ensure it remained that way.

As usual, his magic caused them to cower a bit. Tom's personal magic was Dark, as deep and fathomless as the ocean, and more powerful. It was what had drawn each of these boys here, and they would remain here long into their manhoods—here, in his circle of supplicants. Just where he wanted them.

"It has come to my attention that some among you have been speaking of my plans for Hermione Girard," Lord Voldemort began, his wand flexing slightly as he channeled some of his magic through it, the resounding whip crack across their backs causing a few stifled groans. "I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, but I can see that you all need a reminder. Crucio!"

His voice was harsh, the curse equally reflecting the intensity of his anger. What surprised his Knights was that it was a collective curse, causing them all to drop to the floor, their nerves and throats screaming from the pain he inflicted so easily. He held the curse for a minute, then flung Abraxas Malfoy against the wall as he lifted it, wordlessly casting Legilimens and penetrating the boy's mind easily. He flicked through his recent thoughts of Hermione, was pleased to note that none were lustful or disrespectful…that would not be acceptable. And he had told the truth about others, not himself, speaking about her. He let Abraxas drop to the floor, satisfied with his servant after the prequel and the truths laid bare in his mind.

The others were less fortunate, although Rosier, too, passed his little test after the second go-round of the Cruciatus. Slowly Voldemort worked through the circle of boys, assessing who was doubting his plans for the future. Once he was through with all of them, he waited for them to drag themselves back to the appropriate kneeling position.

"Let me make something very clear. Every single one of you failed to protect your mind from me after being exposed to the Cruciatus curse. Every one of you. I have seen one person withstand my Legilimency after being subjected to my Cruciatus—any guesses as to who that is?" Tom's voice was a whisper of its usual volume, but he knew he had every iota of their attention. Silence reigned for a few seconds before one dared to speak.

"Hermione Girard, my lord," Abraxas ventured hoarsely, and Lord Voldemort's eyes glinted coldly in the torchlight of the room.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Now, I believe you can appreciate how that sets her apart. And that is merely one of the secrets she holds. You can understand why this interests me. Furthermore, whatever I plan to do to or with Miss Girard is none of your business, now or ever. If any of you give any thought to this matter again, other than to carry out your duties as I have assigned them to you…well, let's just say that Mummy and Daddy will always wonder what happened to you, as there won't be enough left of you in the Forbidden Forest for identification. Have I made myself abjectly clear?"

"Yes, my lord!"

Tom's voice softened just a fraction, enough to let them take a collective breath of hope that he was through punishing them. "Remember, you are the beginning…the start of a new order, a reorganization of our society that will protect our world from the chaos that threatens through Muggles. A society that will reward those who are deserving, and remove those who are not."

There was a low murmur of approval, and Tom knew they had forgiven him for his harshness. They always did. They had seen how his power and influence only grew, and privately congratulated themselves on what it would mean for themselves in the future. Once he was unleashed on the wider wizarding community, they knew that all would know of him, and soon.

"Now, time to practice curses." He paused, could almost feel the collective shiver that ran through them. Usually they used each other to practice, but sometimes, on very rare occasions, he let them use golems instead. He wanted them to think that Hermione made him more charitable, thus they would want to protect her more. He paused, making them wait, then said, "Since you have been diligent in your task of protecting Miss Girard from undue influences, I think golems will function adequately today…"

The sense of relief was nearly palpable in equal measure to their fear. Never let it be said that he was not a merciful lord.

Hermione had a free hour Wednesday before dinner, and she was determined to speak to Dumbledore, who had been extremely difficult to find outside of the Transfiguration classroom. Christmas was approaching fast, and she figured she would remain at the school, but she needed to confirm his thoughts on the subject. Additionally, she was desperate to talk to him again about Tom Riddle. She knocked on his office door and breathed a sigh of relief when he called, "Enter!"

"Good afternoon, Professor," Hermione said, sitting down across from him as he indicated. The clutter of his office was familiar, and Hermione felt a bit better.

"What can I do for you, Miss Girard? I presume you haven't come simply to clarify what to do with yourself over the upcoming break."

His uncanny ability to read her thoughts had her reminding herself that he knew Legilimency, like another wizard she now knew. She flushed and began, "Well, sir, it's about Tom Riddle."

Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "Ah yes. I wondered when you would come to me about him, Hermione, after your experience in the DADA trials. He is a very dark young man, and he appears to have taken a fixed interest in you beyond what we had suspected. Pray tell, what have you done to discourage his attentions?"

Hermione's forehead wrinkled slightly under the blunt question. "I am at a loss to understand why he is still interested in me," she said.

"Yes, it is a bit of a mystery to me as well. According to Professor Slughorn and your own Head of House, Mr. Riddle seems to be expressing a romantic interest in you. Can you determine why that may be, Hermione?"

Hermione was startled a bit by the professor's interpretation of events. She knew he was thinking of the hug she had given the Head Boy after their DADA trial, and she felt she had to explain her actions somehow.

"Oh no, I assure you, that is not his intention, Professor."

"Are you sure? Because in his nearly seven years at this school, I haven't seen Mr. Riddle date a single witch. Use them and discard them, yes, but doggedly pursue them, no. What I believe has happened is that Tom has realized that you are a very powerful witch, Hermione. I'm sure you've noticed that Tom likes to…acquire people. Allies, if you will, people whom he believes will give him influence and favors in the future. And he's set his sights on you as a witch he would like to have in his corner. He has decided that the best way to make that happen is to pursue you in the traditional fashion, hoping that your heart can be easily swayed by his attentions while he seeks to corrupt you."

Dumbledore waited to see the effects of his words. He had not been convinced that this was an adequate explanation for Tom's behavior, but Herbert was generally a good judge of such things, and he had a much more placid temperament when it came to Tom Riddle. The fact that Herbert had been willing to believe him when he had confided his suspicions about Tom and the Chamber of Secrets had cemented a deepening of their friendship which, Albus confessed, was helping him greatly as he saw what Gellert was degenerating to. Therefore, he felt he owed it to Herbert to give a bit more credence to the simplest explanation for Tom's baffling behavior.

"I am not so easily corrupted as that," Hermione protested, and Professor Dumbledore looked satisfied.

"I hoped not, but believe me, it is heady to receive the attentions of a powerful wizard."

Here Dumbledore paused, a flicker of sadness passing across his face. Hermione wanted so badly to tell him that she knew all about his relationship to Gellert Grindelwald, but she just couldn't do it. Her future headmaster looked drawn, almost haunted these days. It had to be a terrible thing he was facing, but she couldn't tell him she knew. It might be the single stone that set off the landslide, and she had to let things progress on their own.

Unaware of her internal struggles, Dumbledore continued, "I urge you to refrain from accepting Mr. Riddle's attentions. I understand that it will be difficult to continue to stonewall him, but that is what you must do until you graduate and can be safely off into the world, or, better still, back to your own timeline."

"How are your inquiries proceeding in that regard, sir?" Hermione asked, uncomfortable with all the talk about Tom Riddle's intentions. Far better to hope that he had some lead concerning how she could return to her own time.

"I'm afraid I have not received very favorable responses, and my research has uncovered only abstract concepts," Professor Dumbledore said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. "There is one avenue which I am reluctant to pursue, for fear that it will draw an undue amount of attention. But I am considering it."

Hermione decided to surreptitiously probe about Grindelwald, a sinking suspicion that it was he to whom Professor Dumbledore referred.

"Sir, some people have asked me about what happened to my parents. They are inferring that it was Grindelwald, that…that I witnessed an atrocious event of some kind. I'm afraid that this kind of talk has persisted despite my saying nothing about what happened to me. I would feel better if you could assure me that that wizard's aims don't reach into this country, sir."

Professor Dumbledore regarded her steadily, a troubled look entering his eye. "As far as I know, his aims do not extend to this island, no. However, I have little doubt that sooner or later, something must be done about him."

Hermione looked down at her hands. "Of course, Professor." She then looked up at him. "Since I am here, perhaps you could give me some direction as to how to handle inquiries about the Christmas break."

"I will be traveling away from Hogwarts at that time, Hermione, and I shall put it about that we have decided it is best for you to remain at the castle. The very rumors which you seek to squelch will make that plausible, I'm afraid. Now, was there anything else I can do for you?"

Hermione wildly wished that she could tell him; that she could behave as a child and ask for his pensieve, show him what Tom had already done, had already succeeded in wrangling from her…clues that had certainly whetted his appetite for more. But this was not the Dumbledore of her time. She didn't know this Dumbledore at all, hints of who he would become emerging only briefly before being shrouded in things that time and events had yet to burn away. It made her less easy with him, this man who hadn't yet confronted all of his own demons. How could she, in good conscience, ask him to now also wage war against her own?

"No, sir," Hermione said, standing from her chair. "Thank you for your time."

"Any day, Miss Girard."

As she left his office, Hermione thought that perhaps Professor Dumbledore's interpretation of romantic interest on the part of Tom Riddle was his manner of avoiding the issue. He certainly had enough other things on his plate. Hermione sighed as her feet hit the stone stairs up to Ravenclaw Tower. She was still on her own in her private battle of wits with Tom.

Hermione had discovered a happy tradition existed during the '40s which had somehow vanished during her time—the elves would put out assorted snacks at about 3 pm during the weekends, which made for a nice break from studying if you were doing that over the weekend instead of goofing off all day. A nice cup of tea and a mince pie were an earned treat after successfully finishing her first term paper for Magical Theory. She had refused to let Tom Riddle read it, certain he would just punch holes in her essay about the rights of magical creatures.

"Hey!"

Hermione looked up from her table in the Great Hall to find Herecles Potter waiting, looking thoroughly windblown. She couldn't help the smile that crept unbidden onto her face.

"What's up?" she asked, feeling somewhat relaxed as the Great Hall was nearly empty at this time of day.

"The snow has stopped long enough that a few of us are getting a snowball fight together. Want to be on my team?" Herecles' grin was easy and unaffected, some snowflakes clinging to his hair. Hermione looked around the hall again and contemplated whether it was worth it. She caught herself mid-thought and stood. I'll be damned if Tom Riddle will dictate my participation in a snowball fight as if it were the deciding battle in a war.

"Of course I will!" Hermione picked up her scarf and coat. She had hoped to at least get some fresh air in the courtyard, but a snowball fight sounded much better.

The teams were mixed, all Houses represented, although the Slytherins involved were considerably younger. A couple of impressive snow forts had been hastily constructed, and Hermione spent a happy hour dashing through the snow, forgetting to renew her impervious charms toward the end as she was laughing too hard at the sight of Augusta Donaghy charming a snowball to slither down the Hufflepuff prefect's neck.

"Over there! Charge!" Herecles cried, spotting a weakness in the opposing team's fort. Hermione scrambled madly, noticed Olivia keeping pace behind her as a group of them charged forward, dodging the onslaught of the defenders' snowballs. There was a crazy mix of wandwork and hand tossing going on, and Hermione laughed when one of her snowballs was deflected by Phineas from the defending fort, a manic gleam in his eye as he sent it hurtling toward Herecles.

"Through th—" Herecles got a mouthful of the snowball, and Hermione doubled over with laughter, causing Herecles to stalk over to her and toss her bodily into a snowdrift. She was still laughing as she rolled herself over and got up again, brushing snow from herself with good-natured grace.

"Oi! There's a war going on here! Now's not the time to laugh at your commander mid-battle!" Herecles huffed, then turned to see if they were making a dent on the opposing team's snow fort. "Keep going!" he yelled, then picked up another clump of snow and hastily lobbed it. "The corner is crumbling!"

He missed the twinge of pain that crossed Hermione's face at his war comment. Suddenly, she didn't feel like a snowball fight any longer. She made her way out of the melee, intent on heading back indoors.

"Had enough? I wouldn't have thought you to be the type to give up in the middle of a war, Hermione."

Tom's voice was full of innuendo, but of course only Hermione would understand that, despite the other students who were strolling about, casually taking note of their interaction. Hermione hesitated briefly, then decided it was best to talk to him outside, where at least there were plenty of other people milling around. She turned slowly to face Tom Riddle as he peeled himself away from a column in the courtyard, having had the perfect vantage point over the snowball fight that still raged down the hill.

"It was just for fun. It isn't like it means anything, whoever wins or loses. We were all just having fun." She didn't take her eyes off him as he circled her, idly appraising the state of her as if he were distressed.

"You didn't keep up your impervious charms well enough—I'm sure your boots are soaked through, and you've a wet patch here." He pressed the icy cold, sodden material at the back of her coat into her, causing her to gasp and twist away from him.

"Yes, thank you, I know!" she said in a clipped tone. "Was there anything in particular you wanted, or did you just want to harass me in the cold because you can?"

Tom ignored her glacial tone of voice. She was like a spitting cat when she was getting riled, and he found it quite amusing. However, she did remind him that he had a point in all of this. "I believe I warned you about your…friends. I noticed Mr. Potter was making rather free with your person. I do hope he isn't laboring under the mistaken impression that you are unattached."

"I've told you before: you have no claim over me, Tom Riddle. Don't think because you have been partnered with me in so many classes that it entitles you to a say in what I do in my free time, or who I spend it with."

Tom moved closer, the wind seeming to pick up in tandem with his increasing temper. When he spoke, his voice was low and still mellifluous, the acid content enough to convey his meaning. "I regret that you are so callous in disregarding others, Hermione. Although perhaps this is just another indicator of why I'm so drawn to you?"

Hermione wanted to slap him for his inference, but she knew it would be more than unwise. She was nothing like him. Instead, she cut him dead, turning around and walking off without a word. Tom watched her go, a dark expression on his face.

"Rosier?"

"Yes, my lord?" Evan had not been close enough to hear the exchange between Lord Voldemort and Miss Girard, but he knew a black mood when he saw one.

"Tell Mr. MacNair that the newest spell in his arsenal will find a ready home in Mr. Potter's broom."

"Immediately," Rosier replied.

"And send Malfoy to me. Now."

Nodding briefly, Rosier hurried off. He had no idea what MacNair had been working on, but he doubted it was anything as innocuous as a Christmas charm.

Hermione and Tom were now working on their second partner potion, and in DADA Merrythought had made them duel in front of the class. Now that the cat was out of the bag regarding her dueling, she was not able to pull back. In fact, Tom demanded even more of her than Merrythought, taking it upon himself to correct her technique quietly during practice sessions in class. He also began not so subtly leaving books on darker hexes for her to read when he 'happened' to pop by her table in the library. If he had thought she would comply, he would have suggested one on one tutoring sessions, but he knew she was still stubbornly clinging to her belief that she could keep him at arm's length. Since it suited his purposes to let her think so, he kept his contact with her light and casual. Soon enough she would realize he was after more.

"He is so sweet on you," Olivia whispered to Hermione when Tom dropped yet another book beside her on his way out of the library to do rounds. The library was packed with students as the weather was so foul that all Quidditch had been canceled for two weeks' running, and everyone was going a bit stir crazy inside the castle.

"There is nothing 'sweet' about Thomas Riddle," Hermione replied tartly, and Olivia poo-pooed her.

"Please, he is head over heels for you. He has never taken such an interest in a girl before, ever. If it were anyone else, I don't doubt that you would have been hexed or poisoned by half the female population of Hogwarts. As it is, everyone is too afraid to try anything, between Tom himself and his Slytherin friends."

That caused Hermione's head to come up. "What?" she said, her tone sharp.

Sophie raised an eyebrow as she scribbled on her parchment. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed your little bodyguards," she said quietly, nodding her head subtly toward the opposite study area, where Evan Rosier was lounging, chatting with a fifth year Slytherin. "Or did you think Rosier, or Malfoy, or Gibbon, or MacNair, really just happen to be around whenever Tom isn't?"

Hermione's blood ran cold as she thought about what her roommates were saying. "No, that's ridiculous. It's just a small seventh year…I'd run into them all the time regardless, with all the classes we have together."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. Because it's purely coincidental that no one from any other house, other than Herecles Potter, is brave enough to talk to you. Even OUR House prefects are treating you deferentially…what does that tell you, or are you emotionally more suited to Hufflepuff?"

Hermione's breath hissed inward, and her other roommate finally lifted her head from her Transfiguration essay to fix Hermione with a knowing look. "I told you, Hermione. Tom Riddle is interested in you—and he's warned off everyone else. He's going to either get into your knickers or get a ring on your finger by graduation, mark my words."

Olivia gasped at that, but Sophie just looked coolly at Hermione, who blushed and then blanched at the implications of what Sophie had said. "No…that can't possibly be his aim—"

Sophie was bluntly appraising. "You're the only witch he's ever actually courted. The others were Slytherin tramps and he has rarely taken whatever they offered. He's taking you to the Slug Club Christmas party…and I'm betting he's got a proper courtship gift planned for you for Christmas. If there were bets being placed, I'd say he's going to marry you, Hermione Girard."

Hermione felt panic whirling through her, had to force her breathing to remain normal, to not hyperventilate. "You're wrong," she said, but her roommates just looked at her. "We're still so young…he's, what, eighteen? Who is thinking about marriage…"

"Everyone."

"Excuse me," Hermione said, grabbing her papers and stuffing them haphazardly into her bookbag, then leaving. She needed some air, snow or not. Impossible, that's what it was, impossible! Just all of them falling for Tom's clever front, falling under the impressions he wanted to project like they always did. It simply gave him freedom to operate with her, to work on her without any suspicion. That's all it was, she was sure of it.