Hermione put off her confrontation of Riddle. The last interaction they'd had was him pleading with her not to destroy the diary, and then her flying back out of her mental defense to discover she'd been bleeding all over her sheets.

She considered the matter carefully. She didn't really know what all a Horcrux could do, if it felt threatened, if anything. It had managed to possess Ginny successfully, and it had tried to do something to Hermione's mind, though it'd been blocked out.

Tom had been blocked out, Hermione knew. The Horcrux wasn't just an it. It was a who.

There was a piece of soul in that book.

That made it alive.

Hermione felt like she had all the pieces, now. She knew the monster was a basilisk. She knew how to open the Chamber of Secrets. She knew how Tom Riddle had been able to control Ginny into opening the Chamber of Secrets and unleashing the horror within. And she knew why no one had died, only been petrified.

What she didn't know was how to go about telling an adult about all this without admitting she knew about the Darkest magic in existence, and she had been talking to an example of it regularly, telling it about her day.

She could imagine the situation now.

Professor Snape, she'd go. I know what's behind the attacks, sir. We can call off the security measures.

Snape would raise an eyebrow at her.

Miss Granger, he'd begin. You are a teenage girl. If you really think you have solved this mystery when the staff and the Headmaster have not—

It's a basilisk, she'd interrupt. A basilisk is the monster in the chamber.

Snape would stop.

And how, he would inquire, do you know that?

Hermione would have to explain her reasoning: Harry hearing the voices in the walls, interviewing Myrtle, the effects of the basilisk's gaze when reflected, and it being controlled through Parseltongue.

Are you saying that Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin? Snape would say, being openly sarcastic. Or are there other snake-speakers in this castle I am unaware of?

Though her coven would fit the bill, Hermione wouldn't admit to that. She'd have to explain that there was an evil diary that could possess people, make them talk to snakes, and have the basilisk attack people. And Snape would stop all his movements abruptly.

And how, Miss Granger, he would whisper, did you come by this diary?

And Hermione would have to lie. I found it, sir.

Did the diary make you do such things, then? Snape would say, his eyes sharp. Is this a confession from you?

And Snape would continue to press her until it all unfolded.

It's a Horcrux, sir, she'd admit, babbling in nervousness. It's the Dark Lord's diary from his teenage years. It writes back to you if you write in it. It tried to possess my mind, once, but my Occlumency ritual kept it out. But someone had this horcrux, and it possessed them and made them use it, but now they don't have it anymore, so it's all okay. We can just send someone down to the Chamber to slay the basilisk, and then all the loose ends will be tied up.

Oh? Snape would question, giving her a long look, his eyes glittering. Are they, now?

Aren't they? Hermione would say. It answers all the questions.

But it provokes a new one. Snape would move to sit directly in front of her, his eyes boring into hers. How, Miss Granger, do you know about Horcruxes?

And then she'd be expelled, her wand would be snapped, her life would be ruined, and she'd be left destitute to die in the streets.

As simple as it seemed to just 'hand-off' the entire matter to a teacher as a mystery solved, Hermione knew there would be too many questions any of the professors would have. They'd surround her and interrogate her, despite her figuring it all out.

How do you know what a Horcrux is?
Where did you learn?
What did you tell teenage Voldemort?
How did you keep him out of your head?
How did you learn Parseltongue?
Who is teaching you the Dark Arts?

No, Hermione knew. She'd have to deal with the entire matter herself. It was her responsibility, now, really, now that she was the one who had the horcrux in her possession.

Anything else would be irresponsible of her to do.

She sighed, withdrawing a piece of parchment, labeling it Current Plan.

She gnawed on her quill, considering, before putting down a few bullet items.

• Kill the basilisk
- Rooster? Sword?

• Make sure people know it's dead

• Find someone to pin the whole Heir of Slytherin thing on so the security measures will stop

Hermione paused.

Find someone to frame as the Heir of Slytherin?

That sounded like something Tom Riddle could provide advice on.


Hermione jinxed her curtains closed, sitting on her bed. She took several deep breaths, focusing on her intent, before picking up her quill, her eyes alert and sharp.

She was ready to do this.

Hello, Tom, she wrote.

The response was immediate.

Hermione? Are you okay? You haven't written in so long, I thought something had happened to you. The words came quickly, as if in a panic. Hermione watched with detached amusement as they scrawled across the page.

I'm fine, Hermione said. I'm better than fine, actually. I've figured everything out.

Your anxiety is better? Tom questioned, and Hermione snorted.

I sorted that out ages ago, she replied. No, I've figured everything out about the Chamber of Secrets.

There was a pause, there.

Are you going to tell me? Tom asked.

Do I need to? Hermione questioned. After all, you already know.

This time, she was prepared for the abrupt drop into fire, and she strode right to the edge of the river of lava to glare at Tom Riddle through the fiery storm.

When looking closer and not in as much of a panic, smaller details stood out. He was still tall, with dark hair and bright eyes, but she could see how meticulously put-together he looked – his badge shined, his robes wrinkleless, his trousers pressed. His gaze this time, though, was evaluating.

"I thought this way might be easier to talk to you," he said, from the other side of the fire. "It's faster, at the least."

Hermione scoffed. "And how am I sustaining this?" she asked. "This is using up my life energy, isn't it?"

"Your magic," Tom corrected her. "Your magic fuels this construct." He gave her a considering look. "I daresay you have enough to keep us here for a while."

"Oh," Hermione said. She considered. "…that's alright, then. I can probably hold it for a while."

The wind of fire died down somewhat, as did the oppressive heat. The river of lava burbled threateningly, a clear barrier between them, but the noise level reduced enough for them to speak. Tom raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He moved to the edge of the lava river and sat down, elegantly folding his long legs as he did.

Hermione sat down too, choosing instead to dangle her legs off of the ledge into the river of lava, just to show off. It was her mind, and she wouldn't be hurt by the fire like he would.

Tom regarded her carefully.

"You said you had figured everything out," he said.

Hermione lifted her chin, defiant.

"I did," she said.

Tom smirked.

"Then, by all means…" He gestured to himself, giving a courtly bow. "Your audience awaits."

Hermione was never good at turning down from a challenge.

"You're the Heir of Slytherin," she told him. "Fifty years ago, you opened the Chamber of Secrets to unleash the basilisk inside against the school. You only stopped after Myrtle died. I'm not sure if you meant for her to be attacked, or if it was just poor timing, what with her crying in the bathroom where the entrance to the chamber is, but she died. Afterward, you framed Hagrid and his Acromantula for the attack, and the fervor around the chamber died down, which makes me think that they were thinking of shutting down the school."

Tom's expression didn't flutter. "What makes you think that?"

"This time, people are nervous, and there are security measures, but no one has talked about shutting down the school, and we have way more people petrified than there were in your time," Hermione pointed out. "Petrification is reversible; and as unfortunate as all this is, it's also considered just 'another unfortunate thing that can happen' by people who grew up with magic." She paused. "The only way I think they would want to close the school and pull their children out was if someone died, and they thought their children weren't safe anymore."

Tom tilted his head slightly. "An interesting deduction."

"It follows," Hermione said, shrugging. "You wouldn't have needed to frame anyone otherwise, I think."

"And this is everything you have figured out?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Not hardly," Hermione scoffed. "I figured all that out months ago, before I even had your stupid diary."

A flicker of surprise crossed Tom's face. Hermione continued on.

"The puzzle was figuring out how it was happening this time," she said. "I asked around, but Voldemort didn't have children, so it couldn't have been a new Heir – it had to be you again."

Tom jerked.

"You think—"

"Again, I'm not an idiot," Hermione snapped. "Your name is an anagram of 'I am Lord Voldemort'."

Tom gave her a considering look.

"You continue to impress me, Hermione," he said, but Hermione rolled her eyes.

"For figuring out your word play on a scrap of parchment and lucky chance?" she said. "Please. No, you should be impressed with the rest."

Tom's eyes gleamed. "Then, by all means... please continue."

"I did the ritual that I did to speak to snakes in order to speak with spiders," Hermione told him. "They told me the creature was a basilisk, which was one of the key pieces I was missing – I'd known it was a serpent of some sort for months, but not what kind. And that led me to research basilisks… which leads me to you."

Hermione fixed her eyes on him, setting him in her gaze. Tom appeared unruffled.

"I know what you are," she said softly. "And I know how you controlled Ginny by means of just a book."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do you, now?"

"I do. It was just a matter of research." Here, Hermione smiled nastily. "After all, Herpo the Foul created the first basilisk, as well as the first one of you."

Tom's face twisted with rage, and there was a sudden roar of fire and whoosh of flame, and then Tom was yelping, hastily stamping out the fire on his robes and hands. The lava between them burbled with satisfaction, and the flames between them stayed high, defending in case of another sudden attack.

Hermione was impressed, regarding her own mindscape. This idle piece of defensive magic with Draco had really paid off, hadn't it? Draco's fiery temper and magic had provided a far more useful defensive location than her own sea of ice would have for him in the same situation.

Successfully smothering the flames, Tom stalked back to the edge of the river, sitting back a bit further. His eyes fixed on her, and this time there was no fake friendship in them.

"Going to try and cross the river again, Tom?" Hermione mocked softly, and his face twisted.

"No," he said tightly. "I'm not."

Hermione folded her arms. "Good."

He sat there, looking at her with piercing eyes, and Hermione just watched him back, before finally continuing on.

"So, you're Voldemort's Horcrux," she said. "Being part of a Horcrux allows you to manipulate those around you. This gave you the power to draw Ginny in and possess her, directing her to carry out your evil orders."

"Bravo." Tom's voice was sarcastic and cutting. "You've figured it all out."

Hermione gave him a mock bow. "As I said."

"So now what?"

"Now what?" Hermione felt surprised, her eyes scanning his face for clues. "Now, nothing. I keep your diary, I don't let you possess me, and I figure out how to capture or kill the basilisk while simultaneously framing someone else for it so the security measures stop – not dissimilar to what you did, really, but with the real culprit monster this time, not a stand in."

Tom's eyes were evaluating. "And then…?"

Hermione shrugged. "I mean, I might get a Special Services to the School award like you did? That'd be neat. But then the Chamber of Secrets mystery will be finished, your evil plan will have been thwarted, and that's that."

Hermione tossed her head and gave him a look of satisfaction. Tom's rage-torn expression had lessened, and he was now giving her a judging look, looking her over from top to bottom.

"And that's that," he said softly. "But you seem to be forgetting a key part of all this, Hermione."

Hermione blinked. "I am?"

"Yes." Tom's eyes glittered. "Me."

"Oh…" Hermione trailed off. She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm going to need to figure out a way to frame whomever I pick without using your diary. I'm thinking maybe sneak a Dark book into their things? I don't know how to fake conclusive evidence, yet, so the plan's still a work in progress."

"Hermione," Tom said patiently. "You are too intelligent to continue believably playing dumb with me. You know what I am asking."

"I do?"

"Hermione…" Tom's eyes were dark, and they held hers. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Oh. Keep you, I guess." She shrugged, uneasy. "It's not like I can let you go somewhere else – you might possess someone else and wreak other havoc. I'm the best person to 'keep watch' on you, so to speak, as I know what you really are and seem the most mentally protected."

Now Tom looked annoyed.

"You're not going to hand the diary in?" he demanded. "Not going to run to Professor Dumbledore and explain how the evil Lord Voldemort was possessing your whiny little friend?"

"What, and explain how I know about Horcruxes?" Hermione scoffed. "I'm sure that would go over brilliantly."

"You're not going to destroy me?" Tom's eyes were slitted. "If you read about Herpo the Foul, you would know how."

"Destroy you?" Hermione was appalled. "No! No, I wouldn't do that. Good lord, Tom; what kind of a monster do you think I am?"

Tom stared at her while Hermione looked back, her hand to her chest. Had she really come off so cold as all that to him, that he'd think her capable of that?

"Let me explain this from my position," Tom said evenly. "I am a Horcrux; I have been manipulating the whingy first year to attack your classmates. You have discovered I am a Horcrux, made with the Darkest magic of all, and you are just going to keep me?"

Hermione was quiet.

"The diary has a soul," she said. "You are a soul. Part of one, at least. That makes you alive."

Something flitted across Tom's expression.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he told her, warningly. "You know I go on to try and rule the wizarding world."

Hermione shrugged.

"The other part of you became Lord Voldemort, maybe," she admitted. "But you? You're just Tom, stuck in a diary, still sentient, trapped for all of time."

"I am evil," he snarled.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I know that."

"Then why do you not destroy me?"

"Because, Tom," Hermione said patiently, "our moral codes are different. You may kill indiscriminately and do horrible things, but I don't. I can't knowingly murder you just because of what the other part of you did."

"I have my own misdeeds," Tom reminded her, angry. "I am the Heir of Slytherin, and I have unleashed the monster—"

"And one person died fifty years ago," Hermione said quietly. "Don't get me wrong, Tom, that's a tragedy, but you've been imprisoned in a cell of your own making for the rest of your life. That seems rather a fitting punishment to me."

Tom looked at her for a long moment, the lava occasionally releasing a steam burst around them as it bubbled and flowed.

"You're really just going to keep me?" he said finally.

Hermione shrugged. "That's the plan."

Tom still looked skeptical, so Hermione took a deep breath.

"Back when we were both playing dumb and trying to manipulate each other in the diary, a lot of that was annoying and faking being a scared schoolgirl or you faking being a concerned boy, I'm sure, but some of it I rather enjoyed," she admitted. "Your jealousy over my coven was genuine, as was your excitement. When we talked about other things, too, like the bullying, I think true parts of you were peeking through. And... I enjoyed talking to those parts of you."

"I know this doesn't really make sense, but…" She shrugged, helpless. "It was nice, you know? And now that you know I know who you are, we can both drop the act and just talk openly, now. I think that'll be a lot more fun and more rewarding for the both of us, yes?"

Tom looked incredulous.

"You want to keep writing in the diary to me?" he said. "Even knowing who I am and what I've done?"

"Would you rather be alone in your Horcrux jail for time immemorial?" Hermione countered. "Even prisoners are permitted visitors from time to time."

Tom gave her a puzzled look, before he started to smirk.

"That phrase," he said. "You're using it wrong."

"What?"

"'Time immemorial'," he said, amused. "It means 'ancient beyond memory or record'."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose. "It doesn't work for the future tense?"

"No." Tom's eyes glittered. "Only going backwards."

"Well, drat," Hermione huffed. "What's the future counterpart, then?"

"'Forever', perhaps?" Tom suggested.

"That's not a counterpart," she said, annoyed. "That would share the same meaning as a future counterpart, but it's not one itself. The counterpart would be something like 'time memorial'. Only that doesn't work, either – that has its own meaning, so it would have to be…"

Hermione trailed off, muttering to herself as she turned over words in her mind. There was a strange sound from across the river, and her head jerked up.

Tom was laughing.

It wasn't a polite, charming laugh like she imagined him manipulating people with, nor was it a high, evil cackle of a megalomaniacal sociopath about to enact his doomsday plan. It was deep, and it sounded a little bit like a cackle, but it was real. It was a schoolboy's laugh at something funny.

Hermione stared at him, astonished.

He looked different, when he let his façade down.

When he settled down, his eyes fixed on her, he was smirking.

"Being annoyed about vocabulary while in a hellish construct with a scrap of Voldemort's soul," he commented. "Not quite what I expected from you, you know."

Hermione flushed. "I don't like it when I don't know something."

"No... I couldn't tell…" His sarcasm was heavy, but his smirk remained. "If you truly want to continue chatting with me, Hermione, I would be delighted to chat back."

"Really?" She brightened.

"Yes." Tom gave her a look of grudging respect. "You're not wrong, you know – being sentient and trapped in a diary is… not exactly the result of what I thought making a Horcrux would be."

Hermione let a smile play around her lips. "No, I imagine not."

"Then, as the first true conversation between us since dropping our masks," Tom said, settling himself on his bank of the river and lying down on his side, propping his head up, "how did you figure out I was a Horcrux? I researched for years, and even I didn't truly know what they were until the Fall of my 6th year."

"Oh, I—err—" Hermione's face flushed. "I may have had an advantage, there. I have a trunk of some of Lord Voldemort's books that I'm supposed to be keeping watch over for him until he returns. There was a biography of Herpo the Foul in there."

"Really?" Tom Riddle's eyes glittered, and his smirk grew wider. "Hermione Granger, you just become more and more interesting as time goes on."

Hermione looked away, face red. "Pleased to be of service, I suppose."

Tom laughed. "Now, Hermione, tell me; how does a 2nd year witch with muggle parents manage to get her hands on the Dark Lord's library?"

"It wasn't his library," Hermione objected. "It was just some of his books that he'd managed to re-find last year while he was possessing Quirrell, our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…"

They continued talking long into the night. Tom's sense of humor was sharp and cruel, but Hermione retorted and gave as good as she got. He was interesting, too, and very informative – he knew a lot about ghosts, as part of his research on souls, and she was fascinated to hear about it. When Hermione finally realized that she had no concept of time passing, Tom acquiesced easily enough, and she fell back onto her bed, slightly dizzy, before she glanced at the clock.

It was half past two o'clock in the morning.

Hermione cleared off her coverlet and collapsed back into bed without undressing, suddenly exhausted. By force of habit she checked her magic, seeing what she had left to try and expend. To her surprise, there was very little left, maybe just a quarter or a fifth in her pool, the part she never seemed to get past and fully empty anymore, what with her core constantly and frantically regenerating.

Talking to Tom had certainly been a more productive way to empty her magic than levitating her four-poster had been, she sleepily mused, eyes already half-closed. She'd have to remember it again in the future.