The Knights of Walpurgis left, one by one. She felt their lingering gaze on her frozen form, even a wisp of pity in their eyes.

At last, when the door shut, Riddle locked it.

Then he turned to her.

"Now. What to do about you."

Her mind was racing, she desperately clung to the remaining scraps of her strength but felt it ebbing faster. She needed a rejuvenating potion, immediately. The shield charm had exacted its price and she was paying for it.

Stupid. How could I be so stupid?

It was the strongest shield charm she knew (had read about) and it had leapt unbidden into her mind in that dire moment when she had felt a dozen wands pointing right at her.

"I could Obliviate you."

It was a curious feeling, to feel your muscles twitch as if they were shuddering when they were in fact locked in place.

"But why delay the inevitable. You already know about our Friday evenings."

Riddle seemed to ponder, his dark eyes examining her intently. She was still glaring at him, her features frozen. He seemed deeply amused by it.

"The Knights think I'm punishing you of course. They definitely wouldn't want to be you right now."

He stepped forward all of a sudden, grabbing her chin.

"You certainly deserve it," he said coldly. "Can't have you doing whatever you want, undermining me in front of my friends. There are some lines that shouldn't be crossed."

He tugged on another curl, as if he couldn't help himself.

There was a long silence as he looked at her, contemplating something.

Then he did something surprising. All of a sudden, she felt her limbs loosen and she could move again.

He returned her wand, placing it in her hand. She was speechless.

"See you at detention tomorrow," he said.

And walked out.

She stood in the Room of Requirement for a further few minutes, shocked.

What on earth?

How did he manage to throw her off balance every time?

As soon as she thought she understood him, he showed her that she didn't.

Perhaps that was part of the game.

He had been angry. That much was certain. He'd let his 'Knights' think he was punishing her. For what? For 'insubordination'. That was the word he'd used.

Pfft. The gall. They may be under his thumb but she wasn't.

Then why hadn't he tried to put her in her place?

She'd been completely powerless (part of that was her own stupid fault) and he hadn't taken advantage.

Well, maybe that had been enough. To leave her with the knowledge that he could have but had chosen not to.

Maybe he wanted her to feel confused. Maybe this was his punishment.

But, like light cutting through fog, her natural cynicism brushed aside those thoughts. She quickly ran a series of complex diagnostic spells on herself, looking for slow-acting curses, hidden hexes. It would be so like Riddle to curse her without her knowing, something sinister that would lie dormant before rearing its ugly head.

Nothing.

The questions swirled endlessly.

As Hermione left, she could feel the beginnings of a migraine.

It just made no sense. She caught Malfoy looking at her for the first time at breakfast the next morning, a smirk on his face. He wasn't the only one. Lestrange and a few of the other 'Knights' (honestly, knights? Were they twelve?) glanced at her a few times surreptitiously. She'd only noticed because she was staring back.

Malfoy's smirk only grew when she accidentally knocked over her pumpkin juice, sending the goblet flying.

"Sorry, sorry." She vanished the spill and set her goblet upright again.

She hadn't slept well at all, and her migraine was slowly but surely coming on. She fumbled with her knife and fork, hands shaking slightly as she tried to slice her toast.

Malfoy nudged Lestrange with his elbow, nodding towards her.

Riddle was oblivious to the exchange. He was engrossed in a new tome. A pretty girl with long silver blonde hair sitting next to him leaned in and gave him a second helping of something, trying to catch his eye. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, all but batting her eyelashes at him. But he only murmured something in response, still reading.

Hermione tried to gather her thoughts but they were so scattered, they kept slipping through her fingers.

Suddenly, she realised she had been sawing away at the plate. The piece of toast had already separated.

She blushed as she also realised that a few people at her table were staring at her.

When had she been this absentminded? This was not her at all.

No. This was not acceptable.

She stood up suddenly, excusing herself. It was time to see Madam Pomfrey. She left, ignoring the feeling of people staring at her back.

It was Saturday, so there were no classes for which she was immensely thankful. She would not have been able to concentrate.

She still felt weak from yesterday. She needed that rejuvenating potion.

The only problem was that the kind of potion she needed was not so easily handed out. For one, it was expensive. Not like a Pepper-up potion. What she needed was a full body restoration. Something to soothe and regain vitality. That required no ordinary rejuvenating potion.

And secondly, these particular potions had a reputation of being slightly addictive. So they were carefully prescribed.

She entered the infirmary cautiously. A spike of pain lanced through her head. The migraine was now coming into full force.

Gasping, she called out, "Madam Pomfrey!"

The woman stepped out from behind a curtained bed. "Just a moment, dear."

Madam Pomfrey resumed talking to the person lying down behind the curtains. "Now, you need to stay in bed and rest. Not a word of protest. Shh."

Hermione was staggering now, she leaned on a nearby bed, panting.

"What's wrong, dear?"

"Migraine," she grimaced. "Need rejuvenating potion … The strongest one."

Madam Pomfrey tutted. "What you need is pain relief and a good sleep. Come, dear."

Hermione didn't have the strength to protest anymore. Light became unbearable, dark spots danced in her vision. She collapsed into the nearest bed.

When she woke, she felt weak. The migraine had disappeared but every limb seemed boneless, as if she was floating on the sheets.

As awareness returned, she realised she was still in the infirmary.

Even breathing was difficult, as if she had to consciously remind her lungs to expand and contract. That was not good at all; somewhere, deep inside, she felt alarm.

She groaned faintly and rolled onto her side, trying to get up.

"Did you truly know the price you had to pay for casting that shield?"

Her eyes widened. She knew that voice. But she didn't have the strength to reply.

She turned her head slowly to see a figure sitting on a chair by her bedside. Legs crossed at the knee, wand twirling in his hands.

He looked disgusted. "Well, did you?"

Her eyes fluttered shut. "Yes."

"Then there is simply no excuse." She recognised the tone, it was angry. But she couldn't summon enough energy to care. She needed something … important but sleep was dragging her down.

Distantly, she heard an irritated sigh. She felt warm hands on her jaw, prying it open. Her brows furrowed, why couldn't he let her sleep just a little longer?

Cold liquid landed on her tongue and trickled down her throat. She gasped, choking, but he closed her mouth and held it tightly, tilting her head back on the pillow, forcing her to swallow.

She couldn't breathe, forgot how to.

Then, feeling returned. She felt something inside her swell, glowing deep inside, warmth spreading all the way to her fingers and toes.

Opening her eyes, she saw the vaulted ceiling of the infirmary. Colours, lines, shadows, all were crisp. Then his face, all sharp angles, leaning down over her.

His eyes burned. "You are so incredibly stupid." He moved away and sat back down on the chair.

Shaking her head, she sat up and picked up the empty vial on the bedside table, examining it. It was the exact potion she needed, which was no surprise.

What was surprising was that he had found her in the infirmary and given it to her. He could have let her die …

"Erm." She cleared her throat. "What time is it?"

His eyes narrowed. Apparently that was not the right thing to say.

"You." He jabbed his finger harshly at her chest. "You are immensely annoying. Do you know that?"

She swallowed uncomfortably, shifting on the bed. "I tried telling Pomfrey what I needed but the migraine unexpectedly sapped the last of my strength."

"Migraine?"

"Yes, from last night."

A pause. Something flickered in his eyes. She couldn't discern what it was, it was too quick. Recognition? Surprise?

But the moment passed. He spoke again, his eyes piercing. "You almost died because of sheer idiocy. How does that feel, Granger?"

She felt suitably ashamed with herself indeed but she pushed those feelings aside for the moment to deal with them later.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"My friends congratulated me for punishing you so severely that you ended up in the infirmary." A ghost of a smile touched his face before it disappeared.

"Huh. Funny." She really didn't know what to say. "How- how did you get the potion?" There was another question she wanted to ask but she repressed it.

"Nicked it."

"Ah."

"So. Do you know the price?"

"What?"

He sighed impatiently. "For casting the shield charm. I'm assuming you don't."

"It takes a little of your life force. Your energy. Which can be replenished."

Riddle was shaking his head in disbelief. "That's only a side effect. You really don't know."

"Just tell me." She couldn't bear his condescension.

"No." He stood up and walked away.

"Riddle!"

It was almost dinner time. She had missed the entire day. With a groan, she remembered she still had detention.

The thought of food churned her stomach but it wouldn't do to miss dinner. She wouldn't give the Knights any further satisfaction.

As she walked to the Great Hall, she felt tempted to abandon ship and run to the library instead. What price had Riddle been talking about? She longed to know.

She'd found the book in the Room of Requirement of all places. It was an old, tattered book, tucked in the back behind some yellowing scrolls. The room had been filled with centuries of junk, things that students had either hidden away or lost. There were cabinets, teacups, even old wands, empty owl cages, rings and necklaces. And bookshelves. Vast, towering bookshelves that reached the ceiling.

She'd examined them one by one, starting from those closest to the door.

This particular book had no cover, no title. The pages had radiated with a subtle magic, that pulsed beneath her fingers, sending a thrill of excitement through her.

Ancient runes and complex diagrams filled its pages. Old Magic. It wouldn't surprise her if the book was a thousand years old.

Many of the spells were rituals but her eye had been caught by the shield charm.

Of course, she hadn't had any opportunities to test the spell until yesterday. She hadn't really been able to try any of the new spells she had discovered, she'd only committed them to her memory, practising the wand movements, murmuring the words.

Unlike most spells, the incantation was not in Latin. They were words from an ancient language, from a civilisation long lost. Living long before the Aztecs, the unnamed wizards and witches of that period lived a reclusive existence deep in the jungles of Mexico and South America. Hermione was pretty sure the Ministry secretly studied them. Old Magic was not commonly known and despite pressing Professor Binns for more information after class, he had not been able to tell her much more than that.

Of course it had been stupid to cast that shield. Now she needed to know the price.

At dinner, she found herself smiling and laughing at Sirius and Nuben's Quidditch stories, ignoring the looks from the Slytherins. Honestly, she'd never felt better, stronger even. (This was why the rejuvenating potion was restricted, she could see that.) Hermione didn't even complain when Sirius gave her a huge dollop of cream. "You're finally eating more, Hermione!" Sirius, who had no sisters, treated her like one. Although most girls of their age were rather proper, some were shamelessly flirty and Sirius was with a new girl every month it seemed. It was like he was unable to stay away from their shy smiles (and their skirts). It didn't help also that he had a massive ego and any hint of girlish adoration attracted him like a moth to a flame.

James was more subdued around her lately, no doubt because of what she had said. She did feel bad, she hadn't meant it entirely. She'd just been stressed. Maybe after exams, she'd try. He was rather sweet. (And pretty, but she stomped on that thought fairly quickly.)

When she finished her dinner, she made her way to the Slytherin table herself. She was unsure if Riddle would continue the pattern and she wouldn't let him get away. She had questions.

"Riddle."

"Granger. I see you've recovered."

Malfoy tried to hide a smirk. The image of him bound and defeated in the Room of Requirement rose in her mind and she smirked back. Did he think she wouldn't remember?

"Just a migraine," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Takes a lot more to shuffle off these mortal coils." She lingered on the last word suggestively. Malfoy scowled. Riddle leaned over and whispered something in his ear. The scowl cleared but Malfoy still looked put out, she observed rather gleefully.

"So, what's the price?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Why the fuck not?"

He clicked his tongue. "Language."

"We're not prefects yet."

"Do you think you'd make a prefect next year? With that unseemly vocabulary?"

"What do your minions think you've done to me?"

He grinned widely, stirring the potion, his eyes gleaming behind the tendrils of steam. It was the only time he allowed his emotions to break free of that icy mask, when they were alone.

"Oh, nothing that you'd remember."

Hermione grit her teeth in frustration. Fine, another game. She could find out for herself, no matter.

"Malfoy is an annoying git, I don't know how you stand him. Pompous, arrogant, snide." She stabbed the root she was cutting up. "He has nothing going for him other than the Malfoy name and even then he loses to someone like me."

Riddle glowered. "And what do you have going for you?"

"Magic."

At that, he didn't reply right away. "Everyone here has magic."

"And they take it for granted. No one here tries to know more, some can't even master a simple levitation charm." This was unfair, there were quite a few students who were smart and just as studious. Hermione knew that but she'd meant something else in her mind. Nobody else seemed as ravenous as she was for more. More than the curriculum, more than what was expected. No one except … Riddle.

He said nothing as he watched her butcher the roots. When she passed them over so he could add them to the cauldron, he stopped her and started to carefully mince them into finer pieces with his knife.

This annoyed her further.

"And what do you aspire to be then? After school." His tone was conversational.

"I don't know. More."

He glanced up at her sharply. But said nothing.

On Sunday, she accompanied the boys to their Quidditch practice. Sitting in the stands, her books arranged around her, she attempted to study.

But something was different in the air. It was still cold, of course, but it wasn't snowing, the skies were clear, even sunny. There was a feel of something electric, like after a lightning storm. She sniffed, trying to place it.

Without knowing what she was doing, she stood up, leaving her books. Her feet took her beyond the Quidditch pitch, past the Great Lake. Shoes crunching in the snow, she drew her cloak closer around her.

She felt she was being pulled towards something and her eyes widened as she realised she was at the edges of the Forbidden Forest. The trees stood tall, unmoving. She peered into the darkness, hesitating. Something felt different. She didn't feel afraid.

Her feet moved of their own volition as she walked into the Forest. Inside, a part of her was screaming that she wasn't supposed to be here. It was forbidden. But another part of her felt that it wasn't wrong, she wasn't doing anything wrong.

Irrationality. That scared her more than anything. Her mind was always her own. She halted before she could go any further. She placed a palm on a scarred tree trunk to steady herself.

All at once, she felt something rush through her hand, a warm pulse of energy. She leapt back, as if burned.

Turning around, she ran back to the Castle.

Note:

There is a secret in this chapter, one that I'm dying to share. Can anyone guess what it is?