I know, I know…I abandoned this for way too long, but I'm back and determined to finish this. If anybody still cares that is. 😊

The following morning was a Saturday, and Hermione had promised Harry she would accompany him to the Quidditch try-outs that were taking place at nine. She still wasn't completely certain that this was the best use of their time here, and had been sure to tell him such when he'd initially mentioned his plans to try for seeker on the Slytherin team. But Harry had eventually convinced her by mentioning the names of some of the people also hoping to make the team. A lot of them were people they had previously identified as being likely candidates for the original Death Eaters. Between stricter curfews in this era, all the lessons she was taking and the homework each of those classes involved Hermione hadn't had much free time to get to know her fellow Slytherins in the way she and Harry had originally planned. In fact, she hadn't properly spoken to anybody other than Harry since her conversation with Tom in the library. She hadn't even had the chance to properly tell Harry about the things Tom had said whilst they talked over her Arithmancy book. There simply hadn't been a good moment within which to tell him, as there was always somebody else in hearing range. She often wondered if this was deliberate, having already figured that Tom was watching them carefully and awaiting reports from his followers. That much was apparent from Malfoy's ridiculous attempts to flirt her history from her during her first potions class.

Choosing to take it as a good sign that Tom was apparently intrigued by them, she cast it from her mind for now as she zipped up her coat and wound her scarf securely around her neck to keep the chill out. The weather had taken a turn for the icy this past week, and she wasn't particularly enthused about sitting on an exposed wooden bench in the bitter morning air. Satisfied that she was wearing enough layers, Hermione finally exited her dorm room, and headed down the spiral staircase to wait for Harry. Predictably, Harry emerged a little after she did, bleary eyed and stifling a yawn with his broom slung over his shoulder.

"Morning 'Mione." He mumbled, sounding as though he was still half asleep. Smiling bemusedly to herself at the fact it was his idea they do this, Hermione set off ahead of him towards the portrait hole.

Not even ten minutes into the Quidditch trials, and Hermione was bored beyond belief. Quidditch had never been her thing, and the cold weather wasn't helping her to hold onto what little interest she had originally summoned at the thought of observing and possibly getting to know the team. There was only so long one could watch blurs of green shooting across the pitch and running through the same trials without getting bored, and that was without factoring in how cold she was. Taking out her wand and transfiguring a discarded plastic cup she found on the floor under her bench into a small glass jar, she murmured a spell that would generate a small blue flame, which she carefully guided into said jar. The jar soon heated up thanks to the magical fire contained within it, and she eagerly wrapped her hands around it, holding it close to her chest. Sighing in contentment as she warmed herself and felt the blood return to her fingertips, she reached into her pocket to pull out a piece of chocolate she'd brought down with her. Perhaps it was because she'd been raised with such strict rules with regards to sugar and treats, but Hermione found herself to have quite the sweet tooth as she got older. Chocolate was her favourite, particularly in the light of everything she had seen in the war and everyone she had lost. She remembered Lupin always recommended chocolate after any trauma. "Eat, you'll feel better," he would promise. It seemed to her he always carried a piece or two of chocolate for such an occasion. A tear rolled down her cheek as she found herself lost in memories, remembering the cruel way in which Lupin had died. A safe house protecting muggle-born children had been discovered by none other than Fenrir Greyback. In an attempt to save those around him Lupin had fought with him, but a werewolf taking wolfsbane potion was no match for the strength of a fully-fledged werewolf who so readily gave in to his animalistic side. He'd destroyed Lupin in seconds leaving the man in tattered ribbons. Lupin had died a hero, those he'd sought to protect having had enough time to leave, but he'd died nonetheless, and the world he'd left behind wasn't one that looked fondly on his sacrifice. There had been many tragedies throughout the war, but what upset Hermione the most in that moment as she chewed on her piece of chocolate was that none of them had thought to ask Lupin why he always felt the need to carry chocolate even before the war broke out.

So lost in her thoughts was she, that Hermione didn't recognised the figure approaching her until he was right in front of her.

"Mind if I sit?" Tom Riddle asked her, and she looked up at him in shock, before swallowing the mouthful of chocolate and nodding, swiping a hand across her cheeks to remove any evidence of tear tracks. Looking out at the pitch before them he took the seat beside her.

"I didn't place you as somebody who was interested in Quidditch," he stated, once again mastering the art of interrogation without actually phrasing a question. Knowing he was in fact awaiting a response even if he hadn't requested one, Hermione gathered her thoughts once again and shrugged.

"I'm not at all really, but Harry is trying out and was pretty insistent I accompany him." He gave no signal he had even heard her response, but she was starting to learn that was typical for him. "I didn't exactly place you as an avid Quidditch fan either." She mirrored his own style of questioning. He took so long in replying that she almost thought he didn't plan on answering her, and she turned slightly in her seat to see him. He was quite the enigma, she thought to herself, taking in his windswept hair and cheeks flushed with the cold. He looked so deceptively normal and handsome when in reality he was anything but. Well, she conceded, maybe handsome. Before she could properly process the dangerous thought she had just had, he turned suddenly to face her.

"Perhaps you shouldn't judge a book by its cover," he drawled, still watching her intently. His brown eyes bored into her own, regarding her unblinkingly. Feeling her heart rate inexplicably pick up under his scrutiny, Hermione fought to keep her mental wall in place and her voice even.

"My sentiments exactly," she replied calmly, meeting his gaze.

There was an incredibly long and pregnant pause, in which she noted a movement so small she might have missed it, the faintest hint of a smile, or rather a smirk, before he turned to face the trials once again.

"I have absolutely zero interest in Quidditch, or any sport for that matter," he admitted a short while later.

"What brings you here today then?" Hermione asked, wondering whether he would answer honestly or not. She had little chance of ascertaining whether he did or not of course, but she wondered all the same. After another lengthy pause she again started to wonder if he would even answer her.

"I happen to enjoy the tranquillity of a morning walk, I was heading back to the castle when I saw you sitting in the stands."

Somehow Hermione doubted that was all there was to the story, but she knew to gain his trust she would have to accept what he told her. Or, at least appear to do so.

"Well, I appreciate the company. Like I said, Quidditch really isn't my thing," she said, reaching into her pocket for another piece of chocolate, before hesitating and bringing out the rest of the bar still contained within the wrappings and extending it to him. She had noticed his eyes following her movements as she reached into her pocket, and fancied she'd even seen him tense up, as though expecting an attack. When he saw she was in fact offering him chocolate he blinked for a moment down at the small brown bar in the gold foil, clearly surprised at the turn in events. As was Hermione, truth be told. She was offering her chocolate to Voldemort for goodness' sake! Upon noting his shocked expression however, she decided it was worth it to see his reaction. Tentatively he reached out and snapped a small piece off the bar, avoiding looking at her the whole time.

Returning her attention to the pitch once more, Hermione realised trials were now over, and Harry was making his way up the stand towards them. His new green robes were spattered with mud, and his face looked raw from the wind, but he had a massive grin on his face.

"I made seeker!" He yelled to her as he approached their level.

"Congratulations, you flew well!" She called back down to him. As Harry finally reached their bench, Tom stood up from beside her, shoving his hands in his pockets in an apparent effort to keep his hands warm.

"I will see you in potions," was all he said to her before nodding at Harry and taking his leave.

Watching him until he took the final step off the stands and began walking back to the castle, Hermione turned to find Harry looking at her with his eyebrows raised, a question evident in his expression.

Hermione shook her head. Later, she mouthed.