Chapter Four: Too Many Secrets

Once the palpitations settled, Hermione was left with her outrage.

Who did Riddle think he was? At this point in time, he was nothing more than a Dark Arts-obsessed bully and pathological liar who abused the power he had been given as prefect and Head Boy. He was a murderer, but he was not yet an infamous terrorist leader. Hermione smiled grimly, back in the common room. She had cast that particular Unforgivable herself, after all. It was in the battle, in a war, but she had still done it, and it had hit target. If he did have a Horcrux—or two—then that was a problem, but she had tracked down the accursed things once and she could do it again. Here, she knew they would be in the school, at least. No, she was not intimidated by him. Well, not that much.

Instead, she was infuriated at the whole exchange. So he thought he could frighten her into explaining the book in her possession, as if she bloody answered to him? He was in for a surprise. What would he do if she didn't? Tell Slughorn about it? Dippet? He did not have nearly as much leverage as he thought. He would have to reveal that he too had read the tome to be so "morally" outraged about its presence in his fellow student's personal effects. And that was the other thing. Hermione was not precisely sure of the rules, and she knew that Horcruxes were already banned from the curriculum, but for the foreseeable future, that was her book. She had stolen it, but not this time's copy.

As Hermione saw it, she had no reason to give him any answer whatever. It was probably nothing more than his own egomaniacal insistence on having control over everyone in his environment, along with a standard Slytherin power game to sort out who was "strong" and who was "weak." She was not going to blink first.

It was also monumentally irritating that Slughorn believed them to be—ugh—a couple, going to the Slug Club together on Friday, and that Riddle was more than happy to use the man's misconception to his own advantage. Hermione tried not to let it get to her too much. Perhaps, she thought, she could use it as well. That might surprise the bastard. He was so sure that the notion made Hermione uncomfortable, which was part of why he went along with it in that encounter. The idea of playing along at being the girlfriend, or date, of someone appalling was certainly not new to her. She had already pulled that with Cormac McLaggen in sixth year.

A resigned smile formed on Hermione's face as she thought about the Slug Club meeting. Yes, that was the thing to do, actually. And she would need help doing it. Slughorn, of all people, would certainly approve an unofficial Hogsmeade visit for her so she could get some robes at Gladrags….

The rest of the week passed relatively uneventfully. The academic rivalry between them continued, though—oddly, to Hermione's thinking—not quite as intensely as it had the first week. Perhaps Riddle was biding his time.

Let him think that he is, Hermione thought with a scoff. He'll be surprised.

Friday afternoon, Hermione scurried back from her secret—but teacher-authorized—Hogsmeade visit. Her infinitely useful beaded bag held the large package she had picked up, so no one would be the wiser. She shut herself in the girls' bathroom and began immediately to arrange her appearance.

Eventually her dormmates turned up. "Green, hurry up!" Druella said angrily. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Getting ready for Slug Club," Hermione called back cheerfully.

Druella snarled. "He invited you? Or is one of the boys taking you?" From her tone of voice, it was unclear which possibility was more offensive to her. Hermione recalled that Druella Rosier was not a member of the group—she had made some inquiries this week and learned that, in fact, she was the only witch—and that Druella's arranged fiancé was too young to be invited. Hermione stifled an amused snort.

"Both, actually," she said silkily through the door. Then it opened, and she stepped out.

She was dressed in a long, sleek evening gown with a slit that reached her knee and a low-cut bodice. It was dark charcoal grey and shimmery. She had accentuated it with opal jewelry.

Hermione was pleased with how her charms and makeup had turned out, since she had not had Parvati Patil or Lavender Brown to help her with them this time. And her hair—well, she was very pleased about that. With the assistance of Sleekeazy—apparently only recently invented—she had again tamed her hair, this time into a fetching 1940s coif.

Druella was seething. "You look good, Green," she finally bit off. "Wouldn't have thought it possible."

"I'm not surprised. You do lack imagination," Hermione replied without skipping a beat. She narrowed her eyes at the jealous girl. "Really, Rosier? Tattling to the Head Boy about my books?"

Druella's face locked down. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Green."

Hermione smiled coldly. A brilliant idea had occurred to her in that moment. "Of course not. Though I should be grateful to you, actually. Riddle and I had a delightful conversation about advanced magic due to that stunt of yours."

Her eyes popped. "You're going with—"

"Yes. Slughorn was thrilled, let me assure you. He invited me on my own, of course, but Riddle was there, and naturally…." She trailed off, smirking, and picked up her beaded bag. Leaving Druella without another word, she stalked into the Slytherin common room.

He was there, as she had expected, dressed in devastating black dress robes. A contemptuous scowl filled his face, but Hermione could tell that when she walked into the common room, it lifted momentarily before slamming back into place.

"Green," he said perfunctorily.

She inclined her head. So they weren't going to pretend to be polite. Just as well. "Riddle," she replied.

"I suppose you're ready to go," he said ungraciously.

"As you see."

"Then let's go. It's nearly seven." He held out his arm. She linked hers with it and glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

Finally he seemed to remember his manners, or perhaps it was in spite of himself. "You look nice, Green."

"Thank you. Likewise for you."

Hermione noticed the conspicuous absence of Riddle's clique of boys. She had observed over the last two weeks that he tended to associate with a pack of fifth, sixth, and seventh-year Slytherin boys who called themselves the Knights of Walpurgis, and many of the older ones were Slug Club members. Evidently they had already left. Or he ordered them to go first, she thought. That seemed more likely. It really was like a wolf pack, just like the Death Eaters of her time, and he was obviously the alpha wolf.

As soon as they left the common room and were out of sight of the portrait, Hermione understood why he had, indubitably, ordered his "followers" to go without him. His face filled with that same predatory look she had seen on Monday, and he shoved her against the wall and took out his wand.

"It's a five-minute walk to Slughorn's office," he said in a low hiss. "You have five minutes to explain to me what you are doing with that Dark Arts book."

Hermione's pulse started to race again. She attempted to put on a show of indifference, even surprise. "You have actually thought about that all week? Listen, Riddle, I don't owe you an explanation for any book I own. Why do you think you have the right to interrogate me about my personal possessions?"

"You and I both know that there is no legitimate reason for you to study the magic in that book."

"Oh, so you're no longer feigning innocence yourself, I see," Hermione said hotly and recklessly. "Good to know. Now, let me make sure of this. By your own admission, the book is not in the Hogwarts Library, but you also just admitted you know what its content is. So why, may I ask, have you read it?"

She had intended to knock him off balance, but to her surprise, his face filled with smug satisfaction. "Clever, aren't you," he said in a low tone. "As it happens, Green, I take an academic interest in all kinds of magic."

Hermione scoffed. "Of course you do. Maybe so do I, then. Has that ever crossed your mind?"

"It would be a great deal more believable that you were telling the truth about this if you weren't lying about what you are doing for Dumbledore."

Hermione stopped cold. Her mouth opened, and her eyes widened. She immediately slammed her features back in place, but there was no doubt in her mind that he had seen it. A cold triumph filled his eyes.

She attempted to recover from the mistake. "I have never said I was doing anything for Professor Dumbledore, so I can't be lying. Why do you think that, anyway? Are you just so much of a liar yourself that you assume everyone around you is too?"

He glared. "I know you're lying about something, and that it relates to Dumbledore, because I saw how Slughorn winked at you when he said you were connected to Dumbledore. There is a secret, Green; I'm not stupid, and I can tell that you are up to something for him. And apparently Slughorn knows—or thinks he does," he sneered disdainfully, "and is keeping your secret."

Hermione suddenly had it cross her mind that she could draw this out until Slughorn made his appearance in the hallway. She could bluff and generally infuriate Riddle, but it would be a way to stall for time until he simply could not get the information that he wanted. At least right now.

"Riddle," she said in a hiss, "I recommend that you stop being so paranoid. It does your intelligence no credit. Not everything is a sinister plot."

He sneered. "That's facile, Green. You can do better."

"You assume that everything that goes on must have some connection to you," she continued, as if she had not heard his comment at all. "What do you think I'm 'doing,' exactly? Do you think Dumbledore told me to spy on you and gave me that Dark Arts book because he suspects you have read it too?" She scoffed. "Oh, I forgot; you don't think he knows I have it. So what is it, Riddle? What do you imagine I am doing? Or is this nothing coherent at all, just your paranoia and arrogant presumption that everything is about you?"

He was breathing heavily, almost too angry to speak, but finally managed to get words out. "I will find out your secret, Green," he said. His words were intense, meaningful, and hissed right into her ear. "I will find it out, one way or another. I always discover secrets, no matter how deeply buried they are."

A chill shot down Hermione's back. Was that a reference to what it sounded like?

The patter of heavy, rapidly approaching footsteps filled the hall. Slughorn, Hermione thought with relief.

Her relief lasted about one tenth of one second. Just before Slughorn rounded the corner, Riddle leaned all the way in and planted his lips on her cheek. His hands found her waist. The fabric of her grey gown suddenly seemed far too thin.

Hermione wanted to scream and thrash away. She understood what he was doing, on a certain level; he was trying to maintain the façade that they were an item rather than be caught threatening another student in the hallway. But it was—

–Considered objectively, without the baggage of knowing who he was, it actually wasn't unpleasant, Hermione thought. That thought curdled.

"Oho!" Slughorn exclaimed, extremely pleased at the sight before him.

Riddle jumped away, looking sheepish. Hermione could not believe what a good actor he was when he wanted to be. "Professor," he said. "I—I think we'll just go inside now."

"Of course, m'boy, of course," Slughorn said genially. "Good evening, Miss Green." He winked at her.

She could not bring herself to wink back. Instead she silently walked into her Potions instructor's office.

She should have seen it coming, but he was dazzling during the meeting. Of course he was, she thought. He always managed to pull this on the teachers, especially Slughorn. Slughorn aided and abetted it, she could tell from tonight, by favoring him in terms of giving him opportunities to shine before their distinguished guest, but he was impressive in his own right.

The guest was, as Slughorn had hinted, Pollux Black, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione could see the resemblance between him and his daughter Walburga. The man had the same greasy, thin black hair. He was starting to go bald, which did him no favors in the looks department, and his face bore the same scowl as his daughter's most of the time. He actually had lines set around his mouth from frowning.

She was not particularly impressed with him as a wizard or a Ministry Department Head—or, she realized, even a politician. It was impossible for her to understand how the man had got his job. He had no vision, no more than average intelligence, and was not even the head of the Black family. That title apparently went to his first cousin, Arcturus Black, who was Lucretia's father. Hermione had picked up on an undercurrent of rivalry between Lucretia and Walburga in the dormitory, and this was definitely the source of it.

Perhaps Arcturus had had his cousin placed in an important Ministry position so that he would have influence—Pollux Black certainly seemed to be the sort who would be a malleable tool, Hermione thought disgustedly; his mind was obviously filled with pureblood prejudice and little else—but Arcturus did not want to dirty his own hands with direct involvement. Yes, that made sense. It did not improve her opinion of the man currently before her.

To her surprise, Riddle seemed just as contemptuous of Pollux Black as she was. That was unexpected, she thought, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she took a glass of wine. Wasn't he involved in this ideology up to his neck, despite being a half-blood? He certainly had been in fifth year, if Harry's recollection of the diary Riddle was accurate. And yet, as Pollux Black reeled off one implicitly prejudiced statement after another, Hermione observed Riddle's face growing stony. Perhaps it was that Black was not interested in someone whose surname was not that of an ancient wizarding line, and he was making it too obvious, and it offended Riddle's ego. Still, though—

Slughorn tried again to push his favorite students forward. "You know, Pollux, that Mr. Riddle and Miss Green are seventh years. Best students I've seen in years!" he shouted. He had clearly had too much wine. "Keep each other on their toes in every class, brilliant pair!"

Pollux smiled insincerely. "I am sure that the Department will be interested in their CVs next summer."

"Well, unless, of course, Tom has other plans for Miss Green by then," Slughorn said with an excessively long wink.

Riddle smiled knowingly, one of those empty smiles that did not touch his eyes.

Hermione wanted to retch her supper onto the floor at that innuendo. Clearly, pretending to be Riddle's date—his real date—was a mistake. She quickly tried to recover. "I'm actually quite interested in the idea of Magical Law Enforcement," she said as smoothly as she could. It was true in her old time, after all. "What with Grindelwald…."

The temperature of the entire room seemed to drop by several degrees. Pollux Black's scowl deepened. "A disgrace to wizardkind," he said in tones of real disgust.

Hermione was taken aback again. Weren't the pureblood extremists on the same side as Grindelwald? She had always read that in her history books. Not, of course, that they could openly admit it, especially those who held prestigious Ministry positions… but Pollux Black had really been revolted at the mention of the man's name. That was not faked. Hermione was too good now at recognizing deception to be fooled. Maybe there was something else behind it.

The discussion shifted to general abuse of Grindelwald and his movement in continental Europe. At one point, Avery—one of Riddle's hangers-on—turned to Hermione with a shifty look.

"I've heard a rumor that Dumbledore knew Grindelwald when they were young. That they were even friends. Is it true?"

Yes, it's true.

But Hermione kept her composure as best she could. "I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore has no sympathies for Grindelwald. I've no idea who the professor's friends were when he was younger, but it hardly seems relevant even if that is true. They certainly are not friends now." She peered at Avery. "Where did you hear such a rumor, anyway?"

Avery shrugged. "Old stories get passed around in families."

Hermione peered skeptically at him before wordlessly continuing with her wine, but not before she noticed that Pollux Black did not shift his gaze away from her after that.

When the meeting broke up, Hermione quietly asked Slughorn if she could stay after for a bit. She knew that Riddle was going to attack her in the halls as soon as they were alone, and she wanted to make him squirm a bit first. Leverage, she thought. Leverage was important in Slytherin. It was a little unsettling to her how quickly she was grasping the principles of how to thrive in the viper pit, but then, she supposed she always grasped anything quickly.

Sure enough, Riddle hovered behind after the office was deserted of anyone but their teacher and the two of them, passing it off as chivalry. Slughorn was fooled. Hermione was not. She expected it, though, so she did not let it bother her.

"Professor," she said hesitantly, "could I—ask you a question about something? Something I've… come across here?"

Riddle shifted. That was far too similar to the way he had begun a certain conversation a year ago with this teacher—and it was exactly what Hermione had intended. But she had other plans for the conversation.

"Certainly, Miss Green, by all means, ask away."

Some things never change, she thought wryly. That was similar to how he had responded to Riddle.

"Well, I've… heard people talking about an incident that apparently occurred here. The Chamber of Secrets, they call it."

Riddle started, then forced his features back the way they were.

Slughorn looked troubled. "That was bad business, Miss Green. Are you saying—you don't—I mean, your cousin hasn't told you anything?"

The words were too heavily emphasized. Hermione knew he was trying to speak in code, to ask her if she had heard of the Chamber of Secrets in her own time, but this was not good. He was tipsy. And Riddle was alert and observant.

"I have heard rumors," she said firmly. Let him figure out what that meant. "I just—wondered if you could tell me anything about it. As a trustworthy source."

He looked uncomfortable. "It was a year—no, a year and a half ago now. Late in the term. There were attacks. Petrification. And then a student was found dead in a girls' bathroom." He gazed at Hermione, trying to determine if she knew anything already. "They said it was an Acromantula…." He trailed off and then shifted his gaze to Riddle. A smile flooded his face. "You know what, Miss Green, you should ask your beau about it. He can tell you everything. He was the hero of the piece."

Riddle smiled modestly. "I would be honored to do so, Professor. Thank you for an enjoyable evening."

Slughorn smiled and nodded jovially, heading back to his desk. "You're welcome, Tom. Always happy to put these little gatherings together. Now off with the two of you!" He gave them one last tipsy wink.

Riddle turned to Hermione with fierce eyes. "I quite agree. Good night, Professor. Come, Miss Green." He extended his arm to her.

Hermione tried to suppress her shudders as she took it. All her attempts to hide her fear, to deny it, to bluff her way through it, were crashing down at her feet. Possibly it was the wine. But she had a really bad feeling that she had pushed him too far, and she was terrified of the look he was giving her.

She knew it was coming, so she was not surprised that as soon as they were out of Slughorn's hearing, Riddle shoved her against the wall and took out his wand. His eyes were ferocious.

"What are you doing, Green?"

Hermione shoved him away and glared at him. "I'm not listening to this again, Riddle. Good night."

He pointed his wand at her carotid artery. "Yes. You are listening to it. And you're going to answer me."

"Then here is my answer. I am not doing anything except attending classes for my seventh year of school."

"Liar. What are you doing? Why are you here, as a seventh year? And don't give me that rot about a private tutor," he sneered. "Why did you bring up the Chamber of Secrets for me to hear? Why does Slughorn keep making oblique, bizarrely inflected references to your relationship with Dumbledore? And"—he leaned in and hissed, "why do you have a Dark Arts book that is about nothing except possession, Inferi, and Horcruxes?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She hadn't really expected him to say it.

"Don't pretend you've never heard the word before," he said contemptuously. "I want to know and I want to know right now just what the hell you are up to."

Hermione blinked, trying to still her rapid pulse and maintain a brave—no, indifferent—face. Indifferent. Slytherin bravado was indifference. "Good night, Riddle. This conversation is over. My secrets are my own, and they will stay that way." She turned away, but he placed a hand on her shoulder. It was surprisingly strong.

"You aren't walking away. Answer me, or I will take the answer from you." He grabbed her chin and tilted her head so he would be able to meet her eyes with his own.

Her mind felt invaded for a brief moment, but she marshaled her Occlumency skills—they were much better than Harry's complete incompetence, but were still only mediocre—and shoved his presence forcefully out. It was exhausting, and she was not sure if she could successfully do it again. She had to get to the common room and then her own dormitory.

Riddle seemed impressed that she could Occlumens at all, however, and he did not attempt Legilimency again. "Yet another surprise," he remarked. "You really are remarkably intriguing, you know. Unfortunately for you, I insist upon solving puzzles." He turned aside, robes swishing.

"Wait."

She didn't know why she said it, but this whole situation seemed far too much like a win for him instead of the standoff that it ostensibly was. She didn't like that.

He turned and raised an eyebrow.

Hermione took a breath. "Why did Slughorn direct me to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets?"

He peered back coldly. "I'm not answering stupid questions, Green. Why don't you ask whatever it is that you really want to know?"

"But that is what I want to know," she said innocently.

He sucked in his breath. "That's it. We're done tonight. But don't think I'm forgetting about you." He strode to the Slytherin common room, spoke the password, and opened the door.

Hermione's head buzzed, tired from wine and a long week—long months, really—and intellectual exhaustion from playing Slytherin with the Slytherin himself. She was fed up with this. "I wouldn't dream of it," she said sarcastically as she entered the room after him.