When Hermione found out that she and Tom could stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, she was nearly over the moon with joy. "We can read all day, and there will be almost no one around to interrupt us." She sighed happily and leaned against Tom who, as usual, allowed Hermione to do so without any fuss. He had learned early on in their friendship that she was physically affectionate, and not to take it personally.
He hadn't said as much, but Hermione knew he must be excited too. Even more than she did, Tom hated the orphanage. It wasn't that it was a horrible place per se, but it wasn't home for her. It was mostly dreary and she and the other children didn't get on. The adults were kind enough, but the food was bland.
For Tom it was worse. She knew he'd received some unfair punishments in the past, and far beyond not getting on with the other children, they outright despised or mistrusted him. And the adults didn't seem much better. Mrs. Cole did her best, but Hermione could tell the woman mistrusted Tom; there was a tightness in her eyes any time she looked at the boy.
To be fair, Hermione had been considering that lately. The incident with Amy Benson tickled at the back of her mind ever since learning that Tom really could talk to snakes. He'd close-to-lied at her when the incident happened, though she couldn't rightly call it that. Then again, she had shared her greatest secrets with Tom, but he had withheld something huge from her.
Perhaps he thought I'd think it was a step too close to madness.
Speaking to snakes was bizarre, she admitted. It seemed to be a rare ability in the magical world as well, and Professor Dumbledore had highly implied it would not be welcomed by most.
Hermione resigned herself to find out during the holiday.
She did not expect much for Christmas, though she wrote to Mrs. McCarthy to ask if she might have a few pounds forwarded from her inheritance, something the woman was glad to do the rare times Hermione asked in the past. This way she could procure both a Christmas gift and birthday present for Tom.
For that, she had to speak to Professor Dumbeldore, her head of House.
"Can I help you, Miss Granger?" he asked when he saw her hovering about after her last Transfiguration lesson before the break.
She pursed her lips, suddenly nervous, then stole herself. This was for her friend, after all (ammending immediately, best friend, since she had other friends now, too). "I was wondering if you might assist me with an errand, sir. I'm trying to get gifts for Tom— and perhaps one for my friend Ignatius— for the holidays. I know something along the lines of what I'd like to get them, but I don't know how I might exchange my money, or whether I'm allowed to leave Hogwarts to shop."
Dumbledore nodded in understanding, stroking his auburn beard. "I see. Unfortunately, you won't be allowed to leave Hogwarts during your stay until your third year, but I could perhaps assist you if you have an idea what you would like to purchase. And I can exchange the currency, as well."
"Would you really?" Excitement rose, as she'd half expected to be told there was no way to do what she wanted. "Oh, I know just what I'd like to do!" She pulled out her little purse and began to explain.
There were Christmas trees in the Great Hall. They were decorated in all the house colors and in shimmering lights and tinsel, and she thought it was one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
The common room was also decorated; on opposite sides there was one red-decorated tree and one gold-decorated tree. She thought they were quite handsome. There were wreaths and garlands, tinsel, and even the rare bunch of mistletoe was appearing in doorways. One had to be wary of Hogwarts at Christmas time.
"It is irritating to check every threshold," said Tom as they settled in the library.
She smiled. "You won't think so when you're older and wanting a kiss from someone like Walburga Black."
He made a face at that. "Must you choose the most repulsive Slytherin to pair me with in your fantasies?"
"It could be worse. I could have chosen Abraxas Malfoy."
"I should prefer Malfoy to Walburga Black," he griped.
"Why Tom," she said, as though aghast. "I didn't realize you were like that."
"Like what?" Her brown eyes remained wide and unreadable. "Oh, come off it. I should prefer to be like 'nothing' rather than that way or the other."
"Noted," she said.
"What are you— are you reading about famous Slytherins?" he asked, looking down at the book she had just opened.
Hermione blushed. "So what if I am?"
"Why?" he asked.
"I want to learn about my best friend's House," she replied evenly. "Besides, you'll be in this book someday, I've no doubt."
"Best friend, I'm your only friend," he reminded her, but she became haughty and shook her head.
"I've another friend now, maybe even more." At the narrowing of his eyes, she said, "Ignatius Prewitt decided we're friends earlier this year. He's always nice to me during meals, and he's even talked with me in the common room."
"Being nice to someone does not make one friends," Tom returned.
"Well, he said we are. Anyway, you're looking quite friendly with your fellow Slytherin first years of late," she said.
Tom stilled, then said, "They have learned better than to be cruel toward me."
"Oh? Did you sic snakes on them like you did with poor Amy Benson?" she half-joked.
"Amy Benson deserved it for what she said about you; besides, it was a garden snake, nothing dangerous," he defended.
Hermione's eyes brightened. "I knew it! You tried waving it off, but I knew you did it! That poor girl is going to be scarred for life."
He shrugged. "It was hardly a big deal. The poor snake was terrified and refused to come into the courtyard after that. Why aren't you upset on her behalf?"
"Her? The snake was a girl?"
That was the end of the discussion.
Hermione met up with Dumbledore the night before Christmas and spent the evening preparing for the next day. Midnight saw her sneaking to the owlery in her first harmless act of rulebreaking, but she had to get Ignatius his Christmas present. It wouldn't be right for him to get it late, and Professor Dumbledore had tracked down the loveliest red enamel bookmark.
She could hardly sleep for the excitement of getting to see Tom the following day, and eating what she was assured of was the best Christmas feast in the world. When the morning dawned, she practically threw herself out of bed, and would have fallen over the two little gifts at the foot of her bed had her luck not been with her.
Curiously, Hermione crouched down to inspect the twosome. One was in scarlet paper and one was in gold. The gold had a tag that read, "To Miss Granger, from Prof. A. Dumbledore." Inside was a pair of woolly socks, red with a yellow lion. She immediately put them on her feet and was warmed to her soul. She hadn't thought the professor would be so kind, and decided she would get him something next year and every year thereafter for making her first Christmas at Hogwarts so memorable.
The second was in a similar vein, a goldenrod sweater with a deep crimson H blazed on the front. It was wrapped around a short letter.
"Hermione,
I asked my mum to knit this for you when I first declared you my friend. It's a yearly Prewitt tradition, so you'd better not mind getting more in the future.
Cheers to a Happy Christmas and New Year. I'll see you soon.
Yours,
Iggy."
She wiped away tears as she read the letter, then pulled the jumper over her head. It was just as soft and cozy and it looked. She couldn't believe how perfect it was.
She had never had handmade gifts before, and there was no doubt that the socks were also handmade by the lopsidedness of the lions. She wondered if that meant Dumbledore himself had knitted them, and she was touched. She would have to thank him.
Hermione threw on a skirt from Wool's, stockings, and shoes, and made her way down to the Great Hall, a wrapped gift in hand. She set it beside her plate and made her usual eye contact with Tom, then set about eating a light breakfast; if Hogwarts' Christmas feast was really so lovely, then she didn't want to fill up during the day and be unable to fully enjoy it.
Once finished, she met Tom at the doors and they continued up to the library.
"Before I forget, here." She placed the obviously-book-shaped emerald-wrapped package in front of her friend. "Happy Christmas, Tom."
He lifted a brow. The pair of them usually forewent Christmas gifts, but he pulled it toward himself and neatly unwrapped it to reveal a handsome black leather volume. It was curiously blank as he thumbed through it.
Hermione excitedly declared, "It's a diary. I know how much you dislike annotating our textbooks, so I thought you could write your remarks here and save them all in one place. It's spelled against weather as well, and ink won't run or bleed through the pages."
He looked up at her curiously. "How did you manage to get this?"
"I asked Mrs. McCarthy and Professor Dumbledore for help. It's a forward from my inheritance—"
"You shouldn't do that—"
"Sod the money. I'll work anyway, so I'll spend the whole lot on you if I want," she said defiantly.
Tom's jaw firmed, but she could see the delight when he looked down at the handsome black leather. "It is rather lovely."
"Besides, someday I'll be able to say I got the famous Sorcerer Tom Riddle his famous journal, and everyone will be in awe of my contribution to the Wizarding world."
His eyes flinched at his name; she knew he hated how common it was, but she thought it was a name that showed greatness could come from anywhere. Besides, it was him who mattered and not what he went by (and she rather thought 'Riddle' a neat surname).
"I don't have anything to give you," he said after a long moment.
Hermione laughed, reached across the table, and squeezed his hand. "You've already given me the greatest gift I could ask. If I can't be the most brilliant student at Hogwarts, I may as well be his friend."
At that, Tom smiled.
The Christmas feast was indeed as magical as Hermione had been told. There were a hundred fat turkeys, tureens of buttered peas, roasted and mashed and baked potatoes aplenty, thick slices of venison, cranberry sauce in amounts Hermione didn't think possible and wizarding crackers stacked high all around the singular table at which they all sat.
Hermione took a seat beside Professor Dumbledore. "I greatly enjoy the socks, sir."
The man's blue eyes sparkled. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm still quite new to knitting."
"They are the warmest socks I've ever had," she assured him, and the professor blushed.
Tom sat on her other side and tried to pretend not to notice their professor, though that was foiled when the older man wished him holiday greetings.
"Happy Christmas to you as well, professor," he returned.
She didn't know why Tom disliked Dumbledore; the professor had been nothing but kind and informative to them. In the end, it didn't matter so long as he was polite.
Those present sat and ate, making merry with conversation (and, for some of the professors and the two or three seventh year students who remained, with drink as well). Hermione ate food that was at least as rich as what she ate when she was with her parents, if not more, and for once the thought of them didn't make something ache inside her. She was too busy talking Transfiguration to Professor Dumbledore, or books to Tom, or listening to Professor Slughorn's anecdotes.
By the time the pudding course came, full of more varieties she ever thought possible, Hermione was well and truly full but enjoying herself so much she couldn't dream of leaving yet.
"Tom, pull a cracker with me," she insisted. Tom turned to her, looked at the cracker in her hand, and shook his head. "Please," she begged.
"Fine," he conceded, and took the other end. When they tugged it apart, a crack like a cannon shot through the air and blue smoke obscured them. Hermione waved it away only to find a few streamers in their hair, a full chess set, and a crow sitting askew atop the thing. She immediately plucked up the yellow paper crown and placed it atop Tom's head.
He glared at her.
"We shall have to learn to play chess," she told him, waving to their new board.
"I already know how," he replied. At the tip of her head, he said, "The orphanage had one before you came. I'll teach you."
She beamed. "I would love that."
He turned the board and began to set it up immediately, launching into an explanation on what each piece was, its function, and movement.
That was how they filled the remainder of their evening, with Hermione learning at every loss, and enjoying the din until they were shooed away.
Tom's birthday was cold and dreary, except that Hermione didn't feel that way at all. She was a girl on a mission, and took up a spot at the Slytherin table to await her friend. She received many a strange look for her position, but she had decided to make this Tom's best birthday yet, and it would start at the very beginning.
When he entered the Great Hall, he balked at the sight of her. "What are you doing?" he asked, taking a seat beside her.
"I wanted to give you your present," she said, setting a sleekly silver-wrapped gift in front of him.
It was tradition, so he knew it would be a book; what he did not expect was that it would be a brand new copy of her absolute favorite, Hogwarts: A History. He picked it up and skimmed through the pages, marvelling at how crisp and clean they were. The journal had been new, yes, but this was different. Every year, Hermione had given him something from her personal collection because that was what she had and she knew his opinion on each book. This was the first book ever bought for him, kept as pristine as he would like it.
And inside the front cover there was a silver and emerald-enameled bookmark in the shape of a snake (Professor Dumbledore's own addition, though he had told her not to tell the boy). It was a perfect gift for him.
"I— your own copy is second-hand," he remarked.
That was true; they had both picked out used books to avoid higher costs; it was the only way they could have afforded everything. "You deserve better," she said. "I'm used to old books— after all, many of mine were from my parents. You should start fresh with everything, because there's no one like you, Tom." She meant it. No one her age, not even Hermione, was as devoted to cool logic as Tom Riddle. He had dubious morality, but he was a true genius, able to make intellectual leaps that she had to struggle along the path to find.
Over the course of the year, she had seen him apply his genius to magic, and the difference between them was almost painfully obvious there. He found shortcuts in Potions that allowed him to finish sooner; he tweaked his Transfigurations and produced results just a little different, a little more special than she could.
It irked her because shouldn't the instructions be enough? Shouldn't they always produce the best results as swift as was possible?
But no, Tom could find what she could not.
"Hermione…" Tom took her hand, a rare touch initiated by him rather than her. "Thank you."
After breakfast, they spent the remainder of the day reading, though Tom was engrossed in his brand new book rather than something he'd never read before. He wanted to christen its pages, he said. Hermione retrieved her own copy, so the pair of them read through the same passages and talked about them back and forth throughout.
"What do you think of the Chamber of Secrets, Tom?" she asked when they came back from lunch. She had just turned to chapter eight; there wasn't much on the subject, but she was curious to see what an actual Slytherin thought about it.
Tom hummed. "My copy has an addition. It says, ' Professor Albus Dumbledore , who stated that during his time at the school he had personally seen nothing to convince him that the legend was based on anything other than supposition.'"
"That holds with the whole most reputable scholars don't believe it exists thing," she said. "Do you think it's real?"
He considered his book for a long moment. "I'm not sure. Perhaps, though one would suspect that someone would have found it by now. Surely Slytherin has descendents."
"Perhaps. I don't know much about wizarding lineage, though it seems important to some," she replied. "Ignatius has said something about Slytherins being obsessed with blood purity. Are— are they treating you alright, Tom?"
He gave her a reassuring smile. "Well enough. There was tension at first, but we have resolved our differences."
"Oh, good," Hermione responded.
"What would you think about researching Slytherin's line?" Tom said after a few moments.
"Hm?" Hermione had already lost herself in the text again and had to blink away the words behind her eyes. "Oh, er, that might be an interesting project. At the very least, it will help us remain safe."
"What's our safety to do with it?" he asked.
"Slytherin's monster is supposed to attack muggleborns," she reminded him. "And while we don't exactly know your family, I've no doubt my parents were muggles. They always chided me on making things up when I did accidental magic."
"Oh."
That was it on the topic, and they whiled away the hours until curfew, when they wished one another good evening and Hermione wished Tom a happy birthday one more time.
Next year, she told herself, she would find the kitchens and make him the cake she'd promised once upon a time.
The remainder of the year flew by in a rush up to the end of term. The closer they got to May, the more exams and essays they had heaped upon them.
They learned how to make inanimate objects dance and the ice jinx, and they learned how to produce various colored sparks on purpose in order to alert others of something. In Transfiguration, they learned Avifors and Flintfors , the former of which turned other creatures and objects into birds; in their lesson, it specifically turned the creature or item into a sparrow, which was roughly the same size as the little boxes they were each given.
But Tom, ever the showoff, decided he wanted to create something different and made a raven. He told her about it later.
Professor Dumbledore paused at his desk and clapped the boy on the back. "Marvelous, Tom. Ten points to Slytherin for a fantastic transfiguration. My dear boy, however did you manage to account for the size difference at your level?"
Tom went into his thought process behind the transfiguration and Hermione glared at him. He had altered his spell and that was why he produced something different.
Her eyes had narrowed at his retelling. She had created the standard sparrow, but Hermione was sure that if she'd spent the entire lecture trying to figure out a work-around similarly, then she, too, would have produced a different bird.
She tried not to be bitter about it, but sometimes Tom was as much of a show-off as he proclaimed her to be.
End of year exams were upon them as soon as the weather turned; most of the first years would have preferred to be out in the sun, but all were stuck indoors. Some, like a handful of studious Ravenclaws and a certain Gryffindor and her best (Slytherin) friend, were perfectly happy inside.
One day while the two were prepping for Transfiguration finals, when there was a false cough from behind Tom.
Hermione looked up and Tom turned to look over his shoulder. There was James Avery, satchel in hand and staring down at Tom nervously. "I was wondering if I might study with you," he said.
Tom considered him carefully. Hermione wasn't particularly fond of the boy, but she supposed he wasn't too bad, and he was one of the few who had never seemed outright hostile to Tom. "Fine. You may sit here," Tom answered, gesturing to a seat at the end of the table.
The blond nodded and took it eagerly. "So, what are we working on now?"
That was how Avery joined their study sessions.