Note:

Back! Been working on the plot, so it took longer than expected. But it's here!

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall depicted a sunless sky, white and sterile. The coldness of the sky above them was mitigated by the hundreds of candles that floated in the air, flickering warm and bright. She never got tired of the sight.

"Morning," James said, his face brightening when he saw Hermione, smiling in that way he always did; warm, attentive, a touch shy. "You look knackered."

She smiled back, despite her fatigue. It was nice to be thought of. She caught a pair of dark eyes looking at her from across the hall and she let her eyes shift over him as if she hadn't seen him, sipping her pumpkin juice. She could still feel the way his lips had brushed over her skin.

"I had detention again yesterday," she explained to James. "And I have it again tonight. Every night, until Saturday," she tried not to sound so glum.

"How are the detentions going with Riddle?" Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair wearily as he looked down at the latest Prophet. A picture of a fire-bombed castle keep was on the front page, GRINDELWALD TAKES PARIS!

Hermione felt a twist of worry in her chest. Aunt Mirabelle was in France, a nurse serving on the frontline. Hopefully Grindelwald's forces would be driven out by then. She didn't want to imagine how two parallel wars would be fought at the same time on the same ground. The chaos that would ensue … she didn't want to think. She'd send a letter to her, try to warn her that Paris was taken, that …

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She debated whether she should tell Sirius and James about what happened in the Forest yesterday. But she hesitated - they would be so concerned. She was too tired to deal with more questions, questions which were already swirling in her brain.

"Fine," she lied. "How was Quidditch practice?"

James, to her surprise, gave her a quick hug around the shoulders. "Grindelwald isn't going to come to Britain. He hasn't taken Paris fully, he's just begun his attack, despite what the Prophet says. The Ministry, and Dumbledore, will help the French."

Sirius coughed, lightly.

"What?"

He gestured up to the head table. Dumbledore was sitting alongside Headmaster Dippet, his long white hair tied back, his arms folded in front. His plate of buttered toast was untouched.

"What's he doing back already? I thought he went to fight Grindelwald," James asked, his eyes wide.

Sirius shrugged, taking a bite out of his own piece of toast. "No one knows, really."

James groaned, remembering something. He looked glum. "I guess he'll be teaching us Charms today then. I haven't done the homework." If there was one teacher that James looked up to, it was Professor Dumbledore.

Hermione had a full day of Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Potions and Herbology. The first term was nearly at an end and the work was piling up. Exams began next week and then after that the Christmas Ball, to wrap up the year.

At dinner that evening, she received word that Professor Slughorn would be overseeing their detention. Riddle had come to the Gryffindor table himself with the news.

"Hermione," he said, before glancing at James and Sirius who wore identical expressions of mild dislike. He nodded at them before continuing, "We've been told to meet Slughorn after dinner," he checked his watch, "in about five minutes."

She noticed a few girls at their table had suddenly sat up a little straighter when Riddle approached. It was tremendously irritating that Riddle always looked the picture of charm, his dark hair neatly combed except for an errant lock of hair that curled at his temple. She could see him from their perspective: refined, handsome, polite. A quiet smile here and there, an air of repose and grace. No one knew what she knew, which was that behind those dark eyes there was a level of sheer arrogance that was simply unparalleled. He was aware of how he appeared because that was the image he could create. Effortlessly, at that. The attentions of girls like Claire Dubois (who was currently eying him with a shy smile) unfortunately only fuelled that arrogance.

Hermione sighed, pushing away her plate. "I'm ready."

"You haven't finished dinner!" James exclaimed in dismay. She had scarcely eaten, it was true. She had nibbled at her chicken, taken a few bites of salad, a few sips of pumpkin juice here and there. Her appetite was pretty poor.

"It's fine, I'm not that hungry."

Despite their concerned protests, she picked up her bag and rose from the table. She did not miss Claire's slight blush at Riddle, who had turned to smile at her. (He knew that his smile was disarming. He knew and she could see that he relished in it. It made her ill to see how well it worked.)

"Hermione!" Sirius called out. He plucked a peach from one of the bowls of fruit and tossed it to her as she began to leave.

She reached forward to catch it but before she could, Riddle stepped out and caught it swiftly, a glint in his eye.

"Cheers," he said, smiling. And ushered her out the Great Hall.

They left the Hall and began to walk across the quad. Snow was drifting lazily down, the evening air was cool and crisp.

Rather than giving her the peach, Riddle took a bite of it himself.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically.

Riddle smirked. "Rather protective, your house mates."

"They're not protective. I don't need protection. It's what friends do, we look out for each other."

"I assume they're concerned about the latest news."

"Mm," she said noncommittally. She wanted to ignore him but couldn't help herself. "I suppose you order your 'friends' about instead."

Riddle took another bite. "I look out for them. They return the favour."

"Slytherins," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Professor Slughorn greeted them in his office, his arms spread wide. "You two," he winked cheerily at them. "Been naughty have we? Professor Volanthen has been called away again, important business, which I cannot tell you about, of course, serious matter." He was smiling fondly at them, as if he was inviting them in to another one of his parties, rather than detention. "Our two best and brightest. Professor Volanthen has instructed that you continue to be useful and replenish the School's potions supply."

He waved his hand and a small gilt door appeared in the stone wall of his office. He led them through it into a wide, circular room with a domed ceiling. There was a small skylight cut into the stone above and the walls were completely lined with shelves apart from a small arched window. A round work table and two solid gold cauldrons sat in the middle of the room.

"Now, this is my personal classroom, reserved for seventh years. It's stocked with plenty of supplies, some quite rare; Poppy – Madam Pomfrey – would have my head if she knew I had some of these ingredients, there's been a serious shortage during the war."

Hermione caught herself looking quite appreciatively at the room. It was decadent, as Slughorn was prone to be, but practical. Rows of neatly labelled glass bottles, handsome green quills, crystal decanters. There were several ornate silver lanterns around the room, flickering with green flames. A leather backed armchair sat in one corner, a small footstool by its side.

They were tasked with brewing healing potions and a number of obscure antidotes, and even, Wolfsbane. The sheer number on the list was suspicious.

"Sir," Hermione ventured, "is this all for the School?"

Slughorn smiled knowingly. "I'm not allowed to tell you what they're for, only that the School requires them."

They began. Hermione and Riddle prepared the ingredients in relative silence. Slughorn kept a close eye for all of five minutes before he left to 'take care of other matters'.

Hermione was just decanting a vial of yellow fluid (bubotuber pus) when Riddle suddenly said, "You know what these are for."

Hermione didn't answer. Of course it wasn't for the School entirely. Some of the potions were quite specifically for triage. Anti-coagulants, anti-venoms, blood replenishing potions, more advanced healing potions like Wiggenweld potions.

If the war was going well, they wouldn't be here, brewing extra potions for the frontline. Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

At the end of the hour, Slughorn returned. With two cauldrons, they had brewed enough healing potion for about fifty doses. The dark glass vials sat in rows on the table, each with a cork stopper and a label.

"Excellent," Slughorn beamed.

They were to repeat the process tomorrow and Hermione thought that this made a nice change from foraging in the Forbidden Forest. Which reminded her of something.

She hesitated before she asked, "Sir, has Professor Volanthen said anything about what we found the other night? In the Forest?"

Slughorn's face darkened. He grew serious before replying. "The wards in that area had apparently been breached. Professor Dumbledore has been alerted, they are looking into it as we speak."

When it became evident that no further information was forthcoming, Hermione just nodded. "Were we in any real danger?"

"No my dear girl. Of course, not. The Forest has always been full of mysterious creatures, they've evolved over the centuries. Nothing that Albus can't handle. Don't you worry, Miss Granger. Now, you better be off!"

He clapped his hands, smiling down at them once more as he showed them out of his office.

Exams were to begin Monday the following week, so over the next few days Hermione settled into a routine. She studied in the morning before breakfast, ate tiredly with James and the others, attended class, studied during lunch, rushed to her last classes, studied at the dinner table (waving aside Sirius' attempts to pile her plate with more food) before heading to Slughorn's office with Riddle.

Riddle kept up his appearance of chivalry, escorting her to and from Slughorn's office. People had begun to whisper that Riddle seemed to be interested in Hermione, romantically, and he did nothing to discourage these rumours. In fact, he did quite the opposite. He smiled at her more often, letting his gaze linger on her face during meal times. Such gestures did not go unnoticed by James. If anything, Hermione frequently caught his arm casually slinging around her shoulders or waist, a touch possessively. Annoyed, knowing exactly what James was thinking, she would shrug his arm off saying, "People are staring. You- I- we aren't dating, James." To which he would blush and say nothing. She had no interest in dating, James was sweet and caring but Hermione did not appreciate feeling like she was something to desire, to claim. She was her own woman, thank you very much. There were exams upcoming, which no amount of tomfoolery would distract her from.

On that Friday, as the last class finished, Hermione hauled herself to the Gryffindor common room, utterly exhausted. She dumped her bag on her bed before heading to dinner. Stopping by the girls' bathroom on the second floor, right above the Great Hall, she splashed some water on her face. The girl in the mirror looked tired, faint dark circles were beginning to form and her hair was frazzled. As she turned off the tap, Hermione noticed something inscribed on the faucet. It was the same symbol she had seen in the library, a snake wound around a flickering candle. So whoever had vandalised the library must also be a girl, she thought. Probably a Slytherin. But she didn't have time to ponder it any further and hurried back down for dinner.

That evening, after detention, Hermione was sitting in the common room, examining Zabini's ring as she often did when alone. Turning it this way and that. Suddenly, it grew warm in her hands and this time the runes shifted into another word. Daedalus.

The word rang a bell but she couldn't quite recall where she'd heard it from. As she watched the letters fade and dissolve back into the runes, an idea formed in her mind. It was Friday.

Hurrying to the seventh floor, she paced by the wall and then stopped abruptly. What if it worked? What then? But no matter, she would ensure they wouldn't see her.

I need the room that opens to the password Daedalus, she repeated in her mind. Nothing happened for a short moment. Then, a reinforced steel door appeared, looking much like a door to a secure vault.

Her breath caught in her throat. She quickly cast a strong Disillusionment charm on herself, a variant she had discovered in her research that minimised the telltale magical disturbance in the air.

"Daedalus," she whispered.

The door unlocked with a click. She reached out and grasped the handle and before she could overthink it any further, she opened the door and walked in.

The room was dark, lit only by torches mounted on the walls. There was a large duelling stage on the left and some plush velvet green couches on the right. Several boys, some whom she recognised immediately as Malfoy, Lestrange and McNair, were sitting on these couches, drinking from silver goblets. There was a plate of refreshments on a nearby tea table. The rest of the boys were standing, watching as two boys duelled on the stage.

Riddle was sitting in his own armchair at the back, observing the duel. As the door closed softly behind her, she watched carefully to see if anyone had noticed. They were all too absorbed, fortunately. She stood in a dark corner to look.

The duel was ferocious. Magic whipped across the stage, snarling, crackling. They were apparently evenly matched. Some of the curses, she realised, with dawning horror, were Dark spells that would put the Offocare curse to shame. The boy with dark hair and olive skin, Blaise Zabini she realised, had just sent a curse that was designed to eat the other boy from the inside out, a slow and torturous death. Did they even know the counter-curse? She shook her head faintly. If the boy hadn't dodged, that curse would have sent him to St Mungo's for a month. The damage would have been instantaneous and the internal tissue could only be removed and magically regrown at a painstakingly slow rate.

Still, she found herself creeping closer to watch the duel. Soon she was near the front of the audience, her shoulder scraping the wall.

That was a mistake.

The pair were tiring from their duel and their spells became increasingly erratic and inaccurate. One of Zabini's spells missed and a shower of icy water droplets landed right on top of her. She shuddered as she felt them on her skin and then realised to her horror that suddenly eyes were turning to her, to her form that was betrayed by the droplets of water that clung to her skin, her hair.

"Finite," someone hissed. Riddle had stood up now, his wand in his hand.

She clutched her own wand as she became visible. Dozens of more wands were pointed at her; the Slytherins wore expressions of shock and contempt as they saw her Gryffindor robes.

"What is this?" Riddle spoke. His voice was smooth but carried easily across the room. "Spying, are we?"

In that moment, an awful nervousness gripped her. She felt everyone's sharp gaze, caught as she was, extremely red-handed. But in the face of such confrontation, she suddenly felt the need to defy expectation. She couldn't allow herself to feel embarrassed or guilty in front of them.

She replied with an air of indifference, as if she hadn't just been caught snooping, "Zabini, I believe this is yours." She tossed his ring to him and he caught it deftly. When he recognised it, his eyes flashed. He glanced at Riddle and then back at her as he pocketed it.

Malfoy spoke. "Mudblood Granger. What in the fuck-" He lifted his wand angrily, and several other boys followed suit, about to cast.

Without thinking, Hermione cast her shield just as a volley of hexes and curses landed. As they ricocheted off the glowing barrier, she gritted her teeth and felt her temper rise.

Mudblood, was she? These spoilt, inbred, vile Slytherins thought she was inferior, unworthy of magic?

She'd show them.

Several of the boys flew back, crashing into the wall. She swiftly bound them with dark tendrils of smoke that formed over their wrists and ankles (a spell that wasn't quite Light, but no matter). They struggled but the bonds only grew tighter, impervious to cutting spells. Wands clattered to the floor, which they wouldn't have been able to use anyway as the curse suppressed their magic. They could only free themselves if someone cast the exact counter-spell. In quick fashion, Hermione dispatched the rest of the boys with various Stunners, hexes and curses until they all lay on the floor bound by her magic. None of their spells had hit her, her shield was too strong. Of course it was no ordinary shield, it required a little bit of arcane (read: restricted) knowledge. It also required a bit of her vitality. She had felt her strength ebb dangerously but she was confident the shield would last. Nothing that a quick potion wouldn't fix.

And of course, only Riddle remained. He was still standing on the other side of his room, his hands in his pockets. A seemingly impartial spectator, if not for the coldness in his eyes.

Huffing, Hermione pointed her wand at Riddle with a wry smile. "Self-defence," she offered by way of apology. She had been intruding, after all. Her wand and her tone was challenging. Duel me if you dare, she thought.

Riddle said nothing.

The silence stretched until she felt inclined to break it. Turning to Malfoy, who lay writhing on the ground, his clenched fists becoming white from blood constriction, "I wouldn't struggle any more if you don't want to lose your limbs." She felt a smile form on her lips. "See, a filthy Mudblood like me can easily overpower you. Given what you believe, maybe you aren't so pure after all? Centuries of inbreeding can only be … hazardous."

She spoke perhaps a bit more viciously than she would have otherwise but, oh, she had wanting to stick it to his snide face for years. The Malfoy heir, who had always looked at her as if she wasn't worthy even to lick his school shoes. Everything about him irked her, from the way he sneered, his expensive robes, the vast Malfoy library full of rare tomes that he didn't even deserve since he didn't even read. The list was endless. And she was victorious.

So consumed she was in the moment, in her gloating, that she hadn't realised Riddle had crossed the room and was standing beside her.

Swiftly, he rendered the Slytherins unconscious. She watched in surprise as the thrashing stilled and their eyes began to close in sleep.

Then, he raised his wand to point at her.

His gaze was cool, no trace of false charm on his handsome face for once that week.

"The Knights of Walpurgis," he said, gesturing at the fallen forms with barely disguised disdain. With a slash of his wand he deftly undid Hermione's curse. The black tendrils of smoke disappeared, leaving behind angry welts on their skin.

Even Malfoy looked peaceful with his eyes closed, his slips slightly parted, blond hair falling over his face as he lay prone on the ground.

Tom's wand returned to pointing at her. She tensed, ready to re-erect her shield, despite her fatigue.

"Duelling club?" she asked, trying to buy time, trying to fill the silence.

"Of sorts."

"Well, they've certainly got a lot to learn."

"Quite," he said, allowing his face to contort with contempt once more. He looked down at his housemates briefly before looking back. His wand was still aimed at her.

"They're no match for a Mudblood," Hermione spoke with venom. "I wonder what their fathers would say. Do you think Malfoy's father would disown him?" One could only hope.

"How did you discover Zabini's ring?" Riddle asked softly.

"He dropped it somewhere and a friend gave it to me on account of the runes. They were a mystery until this evening."

"Ah."

Again, silence.

"What did you intend by coming here?" Riddle's eyes were dark and cold.

Hermione replied honestly. "I was curious what you were up to."

"Been thinking of me, have you." A slight smirk twitched his lips but didn't reach his eyes.

"I- no."

"You don't think I'll let you get away with harming my friends, do you? I dislike insubordination. Immensely."

"Insubordination?"

"It can't go unpunished."

"Excuse me?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed when her wand flew from her hand. Riddle caught it swiftly, his eyes glinting. A non-verbal Expelliarmus. His wand hadn't even so much as twitched. It was humiliating that he had disarmed her so efficiently, so easily. He had taken advantage of her surprise. Hermione swore loudly. "Fuck."

She made to move but found that her feet were stuck to the floor.

"Now, that's very unlady-like."

"Give me back my wand. Now."

He pocketed it, watching amusedly as fury mounted in her eyes.

"Come closer," he said, beckoning her with a wicked grin. He waved his wand and her traitorous feet, heavy like lead, unstuck themselves and stepped closer to him.

She ran through various counter-spells in her mind, trying to summon strength for wandless magic but her brain was foggy. The arcane shield charm had taken too much from her.

"I recognised the shield charm. I admit, I'm surprised that you used it. You must know of the cost." His breath whispered against her skin, his nose inches from her own.

She didn't say anything but instead willed him to burst into flames.

He laughed, genuinely. "Naughty Miss Granger. Experimenting with ancient forbidden magic. Using Dark spells to bind my friends. There's much more to you than I thought, I'll give you that."

She still had use of her hands. Reaching out, she pushed against his chest with what was left of her strength. Unfortunately, she lost balance instead and she flailed wildly even though her feet were still stuck to the floor.

She had no choice but to grip the front of his robes, drawing him closer.

His dark eyes glinted with amusement. "You can't stay away from me, can you. Did you really think I desired you?" His hand caressed the side of her face mockingly. Hermione repressed a shiver.

Two can play at that game. She returned the gesture contemptuously, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth. Distantly, she noted the perfect symmetry of his features, the straight nose, the rosy lips, the hard line of his jaw. They looked like lovers if not for their expressions ... Her other hand inched slowly towards his pocket where her wand lay.

Riddle's lip curled. He waved his wand and she felt her arms fall away and stiffen at her side. And now she was totally frozen, unable to move a muscle. Her eyes were still locked on his, glaring.

And now he grinned fully, unreservedly. It was a dark twisted sort of grin, one that made Hermione slightly afraid.

She couldn't move as he unexpectedly tucked a curl behind her ear. He tugged her earlobe and then leaned in to whisper, "Must say, it's much preferable when you're silent." She felt his smile against her cheek.

He leaned back and then with a word, he woke up the sleeping Knights of Walpurgis.

They came to, standing up groggily, rubbing their arms and wrists. She sensed a circle forming around her and Riddle.

"The meeting is over. Return to your dormitories. I will deal with Miss Granger, alone."