"Merlin, 'Mione, you look like a drowned rat!"

The fifteen-year-old, who had been trying to push her sodden curls from her face, glared up at her gangly friend. "Thanks, Ronald." She was finally warm, thanks to the warming charm Professor Riddle had cast, but the sharp cold of the Black Lake had penetrated far inside her, bone-deep.

Hermione finally managed to tie her hair back, then cast a drying spell (really, how had no one thought to do that before?). The loose little curls frizzed out in a halo that would have given Lady Cissa a conniption, but Hermione ignored them, feeling much more herself now that she was dry and warm and out of the water.

"I am so sorry, Her-me-own-ee," Viktor said, pulling her into him. His head was finally fully transfigured back to its normal rugged handsomeness; when she'd surfaced beside a strange shark creature, she had nearly drowned herself in terror, despite having been told what was happening before she was put under (preening at the idea that she was the most precious person to Viktor at Hogwarts).

Hermione felt oddly beloved for the first time she could remember, surrounded as she was by people who cared for her. Draco, Harry, and Ron had all three crowded her the moment they saw her flop out of the water. Professor Riddle had already been there with blanket in-hand, assisting the Heads with managing the task, and Viktor had clung to her throughout his transfiguration and discussion with Karkarov over the events that had occurred underwater as Fleur Delacour finally surfaced with her sister.

"For not only being the swiftest of all Champions, but also assisting his fellow Champion, Miss Delacour, we have awarded forty-seven points to Cedric Diggory! For brilliant use of transfiguration in rescuing Miss Granger, we award Viktor Krum with forty points! And finally, for resilience in the face of almost certain defeat, we award Fleur Delacour with thirty points!"

"I'm surprised they gave her so many, considering she wouldn't have been able to finish the task without Cedric's help," muttered Draco.

"Zee grindylows proved too difficult for Fleur to handle on her own," Hermione said with a laugh. "Perhaps they are not on the curriculum for Beauxbatons students." That was the only explanation she could see, as the swarming creatures were not native to France.

Professor Riddle, whom she'd assumed was focused on the announcements Mr. Crouch was intoning, chastised her gently. "Not all students are so blessed in their professors, Hermione."

She reddened, but nodded.

That evening it seemed half of Hogwarts celebrated in the Hufflepuff common room. Hermione and the boys were welcomed in by Draco, who led them into his dorm to collect the special chocolates his mother had sent in anticipation of the win. They were infused with honey from magical bees, who produced the golden syrup that had the edge of euphoria.

Hermione felt slightly guilty for not celebrating with Viktor, but the one time she had gone aboard their ship, the whispers and stares had blanketed her in a melancholy the likes of which she hadn't experienced since her first social event with the Malfoys. Oddly, Professor Riddle had gone with Headmaster Karkarov after the task, the latter looking almost nervous to her eyes.

Three mornings later, The Daily Prophet brought with it the most ridiculous bit of libel Hermione had ever read. Which was saying something, as she often perused the society pages to keep up with Pureblood happenings.

"Miss Granger, a passingly pretty young witch of unfortunate birth most notable for her know-it-all attitude, has a history of ingratiating herself to those above her station. She is currently a ward of the Malfoy family, and reportedly has the Pureblood heir wrapped around her little finger. Young Draco Malfoy was no doubt heartbroken to see his own constant companion on the arm of Quidditch star Viktor Krum.

"Additionally, she can often be seen fawning over famed Auror James Potter's oldest child, Harry Potter."

Hermione growled in irritation and disgust, lip curling as she tossed down the wrinkled paper. "Rita Skeeter is a gossiping cow!"

"I dunno, 'Mione, Malfoy is looking mighty peaky lately." Harry glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where Draco was elbowing Susan Bones with a mischievous grin. "You can see it in his eyes. You've positively broken him. Right, Ron?"

The redhead grinned. "Oh yeah. And Harry's been absolutely wrecked. Wails every night, he does. We have to silence the whole dorm-"

"Oi!" Harry poked Ron. "I do not wail."

"Do too," Ron said adamantly. "Sounds like a dying kneazle, it does. Drives Seamus batty."

Neville snickered, distracted from his own conversation with the mentioned boy. "He weren't far from it. But why's this now?"

Harry and Ron eagerly explained the article and how Hermione was stringing along all of them, and they were now heartbroken at her treacherous, lecherous (Ron was proud of the rhyme) ways.

"Oh, yeah," Neville chirped. "We Gryffindor boys are all in love with Hermione, right Seamus?"

"Wot?"

The girl, who was laughing in spite of herself, threw up her hands. "Honestly, you're insufferable, all of you!"

While those who knew her, like the Gryffindor boys in her year and Draco, knew the Prophet story was rubbish, too many others were glad to see the muggleborn scholar brought low, and indulged in whispering and name calling. She was an early riser by nature, but started waking even earlier, to make her morning ablutions in peace and be out of the Great Hall before most of the student population had risen.

Some of the professors were even keen on the rumors, like Professor Snape, who made snide allusions whenever she paired with Harry at Potions (thus, she was prone to pairing with Neville instead, though that wrought its own difficulties).

She masked herself behind perfectly quaffed locks and shining leather shoes, every inch of herself the ward of Narcissa Malfoy, who believed appearances were the first line of defense in battle or politics. However, not even Lady Cissa could have prepared her for the unexpected bite that came in DADA one day.

Professor Riddle had asked a question to which Hermione did not know the answer- she would later find the information about the Unforgivable wasn't readily available outside of the restricted section- and she had said, "I'm afraid I don't know, Professor. I thought there wasn't a way to counter the Killing Curse?"

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, if you spent less time canoodling with Viktor Krum and more time studying, you would have read about the rumors that a sacrifice borne out of love may shield the intended target," he'd responded coolly. The Slytherins with whom they had class had hissed in wicked glee to see the lioness called out.

The truth was that Hermione did little with the Champion since the task, put off by the article, the rumors, and how very interested in her Viktor seemed. It wasn't a relationship that could continue, with the daunting distance between them. Narcissa had cautioned her to be careful, that some Purebloods were happy to mix with muggleborns while younger, but would discard them when marriageable prospects became available.

"Time will only tell what sort Viktor Krum is, my dear," Lady Cissa had written.

Hermione hung back after class the day Professor Riddle had humiliated her. He was about his business and seemed not to notice her, forcing her to clear her throat and begin, uncertain, "Professor, I'm sorry if I've done anything to offend-"

His dark eyes hit her like a dart and the words stuck in her throat. "Offended? Because a bright young woman like you is proving even the clever students of today aren't above hormone-driven foolishness? Not at all, Miss Granger."

Her brows crinkled. "I'm not that sort of girl at all! I've hardly seen Viktor-"

"Is that so?" Professor Riddle walked around to lean his backside against the desk, looming over her more effectively. "You have not wasted yourself snogging away with Krum? Karkarov certainly thinks you have- what was the phrase- 'sunk your filthy claws firmly into the boy so that he has eyes only for you.' And a stubborn young man like that, whom witches throw themselves at so easily…" He shrugged. "What is one to assume?"

Feet frozen in place, face flushed red with horror, Hermione did not know where to begin. She knew Viktor liked her, but this implied he was besotted, bespelled almost. People were- people thought she was- that she was- "I've never engaged in more than a little kissing," she whispered at last, her gaze having fallen to her leather shoes. "A little more, erm, enthusiastic during the ball, perhaps, but all rather harmless and fully clothed, I assure you. I've no idea why Viktor likes me so much; I've caused him nothing but trouble."

Tom Riddle's much larger, just as perfectly polished, leather shoes appeared at the upper edge of her vision, followed by his hand as he tipped her chin up. Her eyes shook with sudden hot tears that trickled down her cheeks. Whereas he'd been cold and sharp the last few weeks, his features were warm and interested now. "You've only exchanged a few kisses?" She nodded furiously and he chuckled, cupping her cheek. "I forget sometimes what it's like to be so young. And I confess, there were never any girls worthy of attention when I attended Hogwarts. Vapid and concerned mostly with engagements. Perhaps I'm being unfair. You're mature in so many ways, but not this one. When it comes to physical charms, you're still a child."

She wiped away her tears, frowning. "I'm not a child. I know about things."

He laughed and leaned back again. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. You're clever. What did Albus say? Ah, the cleverest witch of your age." His narrowed, suddenly sly. "You know, that's what they called me. Some still do. And others call me even greater titles."

"Like what?" Hermione was suddenly aflutter, butterflies sweeping away the sorrow that had weighed her down, eager to see more of this version of her professor, intimating to her as though they were equals.

"All in good time, Hermione. Now get along, before Draco thinks I've murdered his companion."