Hermione felt vindicated. She knew that Riddle had been more than the soft-spoken, studious boy everyone seemed to find quietly charismatic. It was his voice, his expressions, the casual gestures of courtesy that girls blushingly accepted, like pulling out a chair or holding open a door … all of that was too nice. Almost meticulously so. Of course, there were other hints, like the way horrible boys like Lestrange looked at him with careful respect. Rodolphus Lestrange was a hulking brutish boy, who towered over even the seventh years. He was known for casting vicious hexes on those who crossed him, particularly first years. And now, Riddle's admittedly very convincing façade had fallen away. Although, it had been so quick, so shocking in the moment, she wondered whether she had only dreamt it after falling exhausted into her armchair in the Room of Requirement. Especially since Riddle now continued to act as if their furious duel had never happened.

She found herself pausing, when she heard him say politely to a blushing Victoria Swindle (a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Slytherin girl whose father was the Assistant Minister of Magic), "Would you like me to hold that for you?" Or when he laughed quite charmingly at one of Professor Slughorn's over-done, not-very-funny-at-all jokes. "This potion here is Amortentia. Anyone caught siphoning a little out of this cauldron here will land detention for a week. In the dungeons. Though, Tom," he had said in a very dramatic and audible aside, "do be careful about what you drink from now on, will you now, my boy?" To Hermione's surprise, there had been quite a few titters from both the Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls. She could barely conceal her derision and stared at the back of Riddle's perfectly coiffed head as if the contempt in her eyes could drill holes.

Now that her timetable had changed, her breaks which she spent at the library, inevitably coincided with Riddle's. She was surprised to see that he spent as much time there as she did. He kept using her favourite spot, however, so she was forced to sit elsewhere. Often she sat at one of the large shared tables or at a quiet desk lodged at the end of a row of bookshelves.

It was eleven a.m. and she had just finished Transfiguration. Riddle hardly spoke to her, or looked at her in class. The feeling was mutual and she was happy that their interactions would remain extremely minimal. Glancing around her in the library, she was surprised to see that there were quite a few people there already. She supposed people had finally woken up to the fact that exams were approaching.

Walking in the narrow space between the bookshelves, she stopped when she heard a noise. It was a strange hissing, guttural sound that made the nape of her neck prickle in a very odd way. She felt a slight rumble through the floor beneath her feet. Then silence.

Frowning, she searched for where she had heard the sound. It seemed as if it was coming from over there, in the back corner, where her favourite place used to be …

She swallowed a cough as she squeezed between the bookshelves, inhaling the thick dust. The desk was empty, she realised. Riddle wasn't there, for the first time this week it seemed. So where had the sound come from?

After looking around for a while, she decided that since Riddle was gone, she would study here till lunch.

Dumping her bag on the floor, she levitated her Transfiguration homework out of it and onto the desk. She was about to bring out her ink and quill also when she spotted something carved on the wooden floorboards beside the desk. It was a symbol, no bigger than a Galleon. She leaned down to inspect it closely. She was almost certain it had never been there previously.

The image was of a twisting serpent, its forked tongue flickering, its long body wound around the stem of a lit candle.

How strange, she thought. Vandalism was not uncommon, but they were usually words, sometimes obscene words, or names. Never intricate symbols. If it hadn't been done by hand, it had to have been carved by a very skilled wizard or witch, for the symbol was detailed. There were tiny diamond-shaped grooves on the snake and the flame of the candle looked like it was almost flickering.

Humming to herself, she turned back to her homework.

She worked diligently for an hour, absorbed in her research. So focused was she, that she did not see Riddle appear out of nowhere behind her.

"Miss Granger. I thought we had an arrangement."

Startled, she jumped up out of her chair and turned around.

He looked furious. But also, she couldn't quite place it, perhaps … shocked? No, that was too strong an emotion. She could not tell.

"Well, no one said you owned this part of the library. I only let you take my spot because I was avoiding you," she replied coolly, recovering from her initial surprise.

"Let me?" He repeated, very calmly.

"Yes."

"I see."

He said nothing else, just looked at her.

Hermione wondered how it was possible that a face could be so unreadable. His eyes were dark and he held her gaze with a certain amount of intensity, but they also revealed nothing. Rather like looking into a very still body of water. Perhaps, it was so disconcerting because he was also standing perfectly still.

Not knowing what to say, Hermione turned around and sat back down. She picked up her quill and continued to write, ignoring the feeling that he was behind her, watching her. She stayed there for a half-hour and when she packed up her things to go to lunch, she turned around to see that he had left. Of course he had. But she felt as if she had been watched the entire time.

At meal times, over the next week, she noticed him glancing her way a couple of times. The last time she had caught him doing it, he surprised her by giving her a brief smile before turning back to his conversation with Abraxas Malfoy.

It unsettled her deeply.

Meanwhile, James kept trying to talk to her. He cornered her between classes, sat next to her in the Great Hall, waited for her in the common room in the morning and in the evening. She usually escaped by walking quickly away and ignoring him. Finally, she snapped.

"Oh James. What is it?"

She pinned her hair back into a bun, disgruntled, as they both left the common room and made their way to breakfast.

He surprised her by catching her arm and spinning her so she faced him.

"Look, Hermione. No, listen! I … it's true, I said a lot of things to make you like me. But- no, Hermione, listen, please!" he begged. Biting her lip, Hermione let him continue.

"To be honest, I didn't understand half the things you said. You're far more intelligent than I am. But I said those things because I didn't want you to think that- that I was stupid. I really like you. And not in the way Sirius liked Isobel, or Beatrice."

He swallowed, his face flushing but did not avert his gaze. He held her with both hands on her small shoulders. There was an expression of such intensity and vulnerability on his face that Hermione felt herself relent.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

She paused, taking it in.

James was handsome in a way that Riddle wasn't. Riddle was handsome, yes, tall and lithe, with neat hair and fingernails, and a face that was always so poised, so calm and neutral. Consciously, she found herself examining James, for the first time. He was tall also, but had the shoulders and build of an athlete. His skin was a light golden brown, his sandy hair slightly long and always tousled just so. He was Gryffindor's star Seeker, the youngest in a century when he had joined in first year. Before he had approached her that first time in the library, she had only ever seen him with Sirius and Remus and the rest of his Quidditch mates. Rugged, boyish. Alien.

But all that did nothing to abate her sudden confusion.

"James. I don't know what you want."

He smiled, bravely. "I want us to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend."

"A date?"

"Yes."

She sighed, folding her arms. "I like being friends, James."

"Me too. Just come with me to Hogsmeade. Don't be mad at me anymore."

"I wasn't mad at you – well, maybe a little – I was just … upset."

He reached forward as if to hug her. But instead, he brushed her hair out of her face, tucking the strands behind her ear. "Sorry," he said, regretfully.

At that, she felt the last of her inhibitions fall away. She allowed him to lead her into the Great Hall, his arm around her shoulders.

She had been pacing beside the stone wall when she almost collided with him.

Hermione drew her wand. "I was here first."

Riddle's wand was already at his side. But he merely looked as if he was contemplating something.

Surely they wouldn't duel out in the open? Never mind that it was the seventh floor. She readied herself to cast a protego and a number of choice hexes, just in case.

"You never did say how you discovered the Room, Granger." He glanced down at her hand which was gripping her wand so tightly it trembled.

"I assume I discovered it much the same way you did. By paying attention."

"Are there any other places in the castle that you've stumbled across?"

"Nothing of note." There were the kitchens but the Hufflepuffs knew about that and anyone who cared to befriend them.

"It doesn't matter, the Room is mine."

She was ready the moment he cast– a silent Body-Bind that shot out of the tip of his wand like a bullet. It dissipated harmlessly into her shield.

Hermione exhaled sharply in disbelief.

Instead of being annoyed, as she had expected him to be, he seemed amused. "Nice reflexes, Granger."

"Shall I test yours?"

He smiled then. "If you must."

She gritted her teeth. "The Room isn't yours."

Riddle cocked his head to the side, studying her face. "Do you know all of its secrets? I'm positive you don't."

"Look, I'm busy. This conversation is eating into my scheduled reading time. We can ask the Room of Requirement to give us two rooms–"

She almost could not hide her gasp when she felt a hand close around her upper arm like a vice.

"No."

Looking up at his still inscrutable face, she said rather impatiently, "Why?"

"Because. I do not share."

In the silence, Hermione wrenched her arm away.

"If you touch me again, I will set your hair on fire."

He raised his eyebrows incredulously. He stared at her in much the same way he had that time in the Room, as if she were a creature he'd never encountered before.

Then, abruptly, he burst into laughter.

The sound of it was rather shocking.

It was far removed from the light charming chuckle he reserved for their professors. Instead, it was completely unreserved, echoing loudly through the corridor. His eyes, for a moment, flashed quite mischievously.

Hermione stared at him. It was as if he had torn away his face to reveal another, one that was much more alive ...

His laughter was unsettling, perhaps because it actually sounded genuine. She wondered if she was seeing the real Tom Riddle. Or if this was also another mask, designed to unnerve her, like those slow smiles he'd been sending her way.

"Will you– excuse me- just what is so funny? I have no qualms about setting your hair on fire, you know. And, I won't have you take my sanctuary away from me. We must share or I'll …" she hesitated, "I'll tell everyone all about it."

His laughter subsided as he said, "No, you won't."

"Yes. It only takes one person to know …"

"You won't tell a single soul because you value the Room as much as I do."

"I-"

At that, Hermione snapped her jaws shut, trembling angrily.

"What do you use it for?" he asked.

"Books. Reading. And hiding from annoying pests like yourself."

He folded his arms across his chest and leant against the wall. "That's almost exactly what I do."

"What else do you do then?"

He didn't reply.

Hermione was about to speak again when he abruptly said, "Stay away on Friday evenings. Any other time, whoever is first may use the Room."

Then he left her, speechless and alone on the seventh floor.